Devil's in the snow, whispers in the trees, a discord of moribund murmurs. Settle ye bones and saddle up, for we are to endeavor into Satan's dark dominion, what stands before is another in a line of wan wanderings. Disappear into the mists, the fog, the brume cloaked in the strings, the bells, the wordless chants of a thousand years of vision. Tonight is two hours of the darkest, dimmest folk horror cracking with flames, stars and belches of smog. Descend to where no tinctures nor mystical botanicals can mend ye sorry soul. You must cast your apprehensions to the soil and bear it out with me. Come now into the sepulchral hush.
