"We burn the bitter herb, calling upon the bitter blood."
"We burn the rose, calling upon the fragrant kiss…"
In the rhythmic chanting of Husky, playing "Annan Winter," the Winter's Hands burned different incense in sequence on the heptagram of the ritual.
As they burned them, the aromas mingled, forming a rich and complex fragrance.
The mind gradually relaxed, and a sense of ease calmed the trepidation within. Like soaking in a petal-strewn or spice-laden hot spring, the body entirely loosened, a strong sense of peace and drowsiness overwhelming the heart.
The oppressive feeling in his heart was quickly healed by the complex fragrance.
This was not a sensation exclusive to "Dmitry."
With his last bit of rationality, he looked up to see the Winter's Hands, once standing like ice sculptures exuding chill, now swaying erratically. Their bodies totally relaxed, as did their vigilance.
Even the voice of "Annan Winter" in the middle grew softer and weaker.
