For how long The Sisters had lived in the forest, no-one knew.
As ancient as the yew trees and mysterious as the moonlight,
The Sisters offered remedies for any ailment.
Remedies that despite their apprehension,
the villagers took whenever faith or apothecary failed them.
...
Yet recent seasons had been generous.
Summer's abundance brought the village great profit and comfort.
Investment, Growth, Acquisition, Return.
Investment, Growth, Acquisition, Return.
Whilst wheels of fortune churned milk to butterfat,
the village, like a feral weed,
stretched upward and outward towards the stars.
...
But as the village grew, the toxic spill of its outskirts
seeped ever deeper into the forest.
...
When is enough, enough?
When do leaves give up their golden hues
and turn their backs on Autumn?
Or snowflakes decide against a Winter avalanche?
What's certain is, as each cog turns,
so whirs another in its opposition.
...
The Sisters worked tirelessly,
skinning and stitching,
drilling and tapping,
weaving and fastening,
preparing a remedy for the exhausted forest.
...
“Bring back the cream”
...
so whirs another in its opposition.
...
The Sisters worked tirelessly,
skinning and stitching,
drilling and tapping,
weaving and fastening,
preparing a remedy for the exhausted forest.
...
“Bring back the cream”
...
It came for them in the dead of the night.
Breaking down their doors with its metal limbs.
Tearing at their flesh with its skeleton teeth...
And by break of day, every child in the village was missing...
...
