The Fetishes of the Low Born Tribes
The Fetishes of the Low-born Tribes The smoky odor of singed hair hovers above my nose, And I stare above in horror. Swathed in the mummifying black robe of an acolyte, E ntering this ritual ignorantly, I wince as my curly tresses are transformed. They are smoothed to a perfect flatness With the... Sign in to see full entry.