Archetypes: | THE WHITE WITCH
Her flesh is dust and ashes and she rides a pale mare armoured in the white bones of long dead kings. She is of the high blinding places, of the sky-plated empire of light and the sun-bleached bones of winter trees. She speaks in the harsh, ashen whisper of the unquiet dead; she is the woman bare-breasted in silk upon the bare snow, drawing concentric circles until she cracks and bleeds with the power of it. Her witching home is built around the jagged edges of an elephant graveyard and upon her high pillared chair she sits cross-legged and throws white roses to those supplicants that have found their way to her by the weirding paths. She dances in light and smoke and is the wasteland after the fire.
She will not speak of love but rather of the rapture of righteousness, of the unsullied, undulating perfection of an ordered natural world, held in check by the havok of her wrath.