The Caster's Cusp

Good colours and beating hearts, torn and crumpled and dog-eared pages. Marks left by witch children, scattered and crumbling, soaring with blustering winds and co-mingling with scorched grass. Spells spoken in hushed tongue, conjured from soft syllables - or pinked and pearly dewdrops, dried breaths kept safe for centuries, twigs cracked and twirled through soil. Spells from words and patterns, tiny baby's breath enchantments from thoughts and rustles and sighs. Commas on the dirt.

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Thank you so much for your comments, especially if they include limericks about skeletons.