Let me embrace you, O Hexers, in the cold mantle of November grey.
After I renounced the priesthood and its unmanly ways of folly, the first woman I knew was named November Gray. Her eyes were gray as mountain mist; her lips were cold as a winter's dawn; her skin was pale as the first snows; her features gracile as sparkling frost. And her hair was dark as November midnight. I remember, I remember.
And grey she wore, always November grey, showing neither passion nor joy. Making love to her was like riding swiift sunsets, icy stars and brief but beautiful days. She died young, alas! I grieve always at her grave each Novemer, lost in cold and sorrow.
In this mood, O brethren, I salute you. For November is the cruel month of bitter memory. We count our losses and our wounds: I know I do. Hence November is the month of the bitter, long standing hex. It is time to spin your webs of hatred and vengeance against ancient foes: old lovers, insolent school teachers and teenaged enemies. Time to curse them, Hex them rightly, punish them with unexpected pain beyond measure.
Let your deepest rages creep forth from their hollow cells, thirsty for blood after long imprisonment. Thirsty for ichor, eager to suck eyes like eggs, yearning to gnaw the marrow of revenge!
Let Guy Fawkes be our inspiration, that martyred villein burnt in effigy across the lands. How near he came to vengeance, yet so far! Unlike poor quartered Guy, make no mistakes: let Hex-Me even accounts with your ancient adverseries.
The 21st of November is our Hexing day. Damien Crowley, Abigail Brown and Dr Kshatriya are straining at the leash like blooded mastiffs! Grimoires emerge from ancient chests, chickens cluck with terror of the knife...
Ah! This maiden is so fair that the darkness engulfs me. Remember my words:
"It is better to die than be vanquished and live."
At Yule I shall return.
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