Jessamine
The last lock of hair falls across my cheek and the maid steps away, letting me look at myself. To paint a picture of virtue, purity and submission, it is tradition that all unmated women dress in nothing but white to the Howling. No adornments, either facial paintings or jewelry. Nothing other than a plain, white dress, that hides nothing of our bodies underneath. Why wear so much when it gets ripped during the shift?
We may wear cloaks, until the main event starts, after which we shed them, sing to the Goddess, dance around bonfires with cups filled with liquor and bodies slick with heat. Then we shift and run into the wild, giving into the beastly side; becoming one with the air, wind, earth and heat.
We? Who’s we? I’m not even one of them, and I have a feeling I’ll never
