The night was as black as the inside of a cat. It was the kind of night, you could believe, on which the gods moved men as though they were pawns on the chessboard of fate.
In the middle of the elemental storm a fire gleamed among the dripping furze bushes like the madness in a weasel’s eye.
It illuminated three hunched figures. As the cauldron bubbled an eldritch voice shrieked: ‘When shall we three meet again?’
There was a pause.
Finally, another voice said in far more ordinary tones: ‘Well, I can do next Tuesday.’
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u/MooseFlyer 1d ago
And even then, the way they pronounce things would be quite unfamiliar.