The front door creaked open, and a gust of wind sent a flurry of maple leaves skittering across her floor. It was Elias, the local blacksmith, looking weary.
"Mel, the forge feels cold. Not 'fire' cold, but... empty," he said, twisting his cap in his hands. Mel Bennett - Autumn Flavor & Witch Essentials :)
She reached for a bundle of dried mugwort, binding it tightly with charcoal-colored twine. This was for the "Threshold Sweep"—a ritual her grandmother taught her to clear out the stagnant energy of summer and make room for the introspection of winter. Next to it went a small, hand-poured candle the color of a bruised plum, scented with patchouli and damp earth. The front door creaked open, and a gust