Paris, 31st October 1376

When I was young, I dwelt in paradise. Of all the plants in the Garden, none smelt so sweet as the Tree of Knowledge. I gorged on its fruit ’til the branches were bare. Lost in rapture, I lay down to dream. But when I awoke, the Garden was dust and a great yoke upon me.

Many moons have passed since my arrest. Like all lunatics, I have watched Her, spellbound through the bars. She has waxed with horns toward the east, and waned with horns toward the west. Now is the Vigil of All Saints and She grows full. Somewhere on that silver sphere, is a barrel of bones, tied with red ribbon and marked with my name. Pray for me good women, as you stack your sabbat fires. For this summer’s end, my trial has come…

Copyright © Nicholas Shea 1992-2021. All rights reserved.

Image: “Selene”. Original ink and watercolour on Fabriano+ Artistico 300 GSM paper. Copyright © Nicholas Shea.