It stood there, before a broad, brassy kettle.
Perched as before on naked tiptoe, it peers into the wide, toothless jaws of the squat toad-like vessel. Which murmurs thickly with the low, booming voice of roiling oil, or some similarly viscous concoction.
Wispy, redolent steam curling up and about its incarnadine wimple as with the unlikeliest of postures, it bends slowly to dip a ladle with disturbingly deliberate care.
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A dark, fantastical tale that is intended to unfold a paragraph, or thereabouts, at a time.
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15 Oct 2026
2 minute read
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