—the intersection of caffeine and curse, brewed under blood moons and ancestral silence
She lived beyond the briar’s reach,
in fog-wet woods with moss for speech.
Her roof was thatch, her eyes were steam,
she ground her beans inside a dream.
And those who drank her haunted blend
were never quite the same again.
The taste was sharp as frostbit truth,
it stripped the varnish off your youth.
It brewed in kettles shaped like skulls,
it hummed in tones too deep for gulls.
And when she smiled so rare, so wide,
a thousand owls took to the sky.
No sugar touched her bitter cup.
She stirred with sticks and drank it up.
She’d whisper things in dying tongues,
recite the names of stillborn sons,
then pour a drop into the ground,
to feed the roots, to keep them bound.
📜 The Bean Witch – The Recipe
Ingredients:
- 3 tbsp Cracked Black Beans (heirloom, hexed)
- 11 oz Rainwater (collected under waning moon)
- Sweetener: None (offer pain instead)
- Stirring implement: One hollowed twig of rowan or ash
Instructions:
Grind the beans by hand, eyes closed, lips sealed. Boil rainwater in a kettle that knows your name. Pour slowly over the grounds in a cauldron or chipped jar. Do not drink if you fear what lives in your bloodline. Serve outdoors, before dawn, with both hands.