I am the crone. I live to honour the five elements, glinting in the gems of my sacred pentacle:

Fire: must be wakened, however formidable it seems. Its radiance comforts with its light and its heat. And in its crackling warmth desires are replete.

Water: may drown, engulf all in its wake. But if treated aright, our filth does it take. And reminds us daily that all must pass, as it swifts away rivers, gliding past.

Through air I fall, in the night- in my dreams. It cannot hold me, but I need it to breathe. To carry away the clouds on its back, and bring home the birds to perch on the stack.

Earth: This is my element- my parent, my bastion beneath my feet. Her only failing is man: he whips her until she bleeds. I curse his deeds!

Spirit: eludes physical description. It is what I am. It is fed from the five known senses and engenders the last.

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