Just your average, middle-of-the-road crone who spends her days making cold brews, sweeping the rooms with her trusty broom (which isn’t flying, as far as I’m concerned, my mother took the answer to that question to her grave), and feeding the local cat or two. On Sundays, you might even find me singing hymns to the Goddess, the one who connects us all.
I look for a man with a taste for the pagan, someone to spend my Winter Solstice huddled in a blanket, drinking my special blend of patchouli-calendula tea and watching the beautiful stars above. A love for cats and the smell of sage in the early morning would be the cherry on top.
I’m not a fan of stakes, metaphorical or otherwise. Also, no bad energies, it’s bad for my pilates.