To this accursed dell
Come woodland creatures, seldom to depart:
Once I behold, upon a crumbling stone
Set altar-like before the cave, a thing
I saw not clearly, yet from glimpsing, fled.
In this half-dusk I meditate alone
At many a weary noontide, when without
A world forgets me in its sun-blest mirth.
Here howls by night the werewolves, and the souls
Of those that knew me well in other days.
The Poe-et's Nightmare
by H. P. Lovecraft
Tuesday, March 28-- The Witching Hour
Hermione's dreams smashed the events of the past months into a disturbing mix of horror. She awoke, sweaty and partially gasping for air on account of the sheets twisted tightly around her body. She needed to speak with someone-- she needed help. Her mind made up, she decided that she would speak with Vera as soon as classes were over for the day.