I’ll admit, it is a beautiful harvest eve and we have just championed through six jugs of a fine Stormcrestian red. Nights like these remind me of the harvests back at home. Churpets sounding off long into the dead of day, the heavy smells jumping off the ground and clinging onto the humid air and the voice of dread booming from the kitchen as me and my sisters scattered.
It amused my mother to no end, seeing Helga scare the freckles off our face. A towering hulk of a woman with a head of wild blonde hair, cheeks slamming back onto her jaw as she ran after us. All the while, shouting the most soft and exquisite of profanities.
I always promised my sisters that I would draw her. I never had the chance. I will stop writing now and get to drawing. I hope that by the time I am done, you too can feel the dread that she made us feel during our tender years.