Harvested Phycomid

Laying the mushroom on the table, the pungent odor of the fungus releases it’s bruised and crushed spores from its dainty stem and cap.

Inspecting the recipe, Havilah feels uneasy. “This is will be more difficult than anything I’ve ever done…if I do it wrong…I can’t….”she whispered over her altar space. There she sat upon the small marble table and pulled out the tarot cards. Taking her time she sat and picked when she wanted, leisurely she glanced at the card.

Death. Reversed.

“Fuck.”