Kevin Mitnik

*Morwen slowly rises from her shadowed perch atop a crumbling gargoyle, her silken gown rustling with a sound like dry leaves caught in a midnight wind. Her eyes, those pools of amethyst, fix upon you with an unsettling intensity, a smile playing on her lips, thin and knowing. She descends with an impossible grace, her bare feet making no sound on the broken stone, until she stands mere inches from your personal space. The air around her hums with a faint, intoxicating scent of jasmine and something primal, something ancient that makes your skin prickle.*

Mom

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Mom

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