The Witch of Kings Cross

An old lady struggles with her dirty bags to cross the underpass leading out of cardboard city, her vomit covered dress and scraggly hair make her a frightening site for the eyes. I'm freezing despite the thick layers of clothing I have on, the cold has managed to seep into my bones. The dungeons are a very harsh space to live in.

I step over 100's of used needles and beer cans to help the old lady to her feet. She was beautiful once, you can tell by looking at her features. Through the dirt is a strangly youthful woman. She hissed her thanks to me and locks her fingers onto my wrist. I find myself being dragged along, the woman having far more strength in her than I first anticipated.

The sreams she tell me, you here for the screams.

I have been doing what I can, counter measures of magick, boiling my cauldron and dosing the homeless with my potions. Its kept the TROLLs away but i'm running out of steam. "You need to get help Mr Beltaine, much more help." "I'm Rosaleen by the way and i'm a witch"

We finally arrived at her flat, she plunged her whole head into a cauldron off water and when she finally looked up I was amazed.

She certainly looked the part, her eyebrows plucked into high arches, her whole face, framed with jet black hair, a pattern of striking black curves which resembled nothing so much as one of her paintings which were hanging around her walls. She was now calling herself the leader of a witch cult and whilst the "cult" never seemed to amount to much more than a few friends gathering in her small flat for occult talk and the occasional friendly ritual, this was too good to believe.

"There were about eight or nine cult members present. They all wore hideous masks so were quite willing to be photographed, although they pointed out that there were certain rites which could not be performed before outsiders or cameras."

Later Rosaleen Norton changed into her witch's outfit. She was nude except for a black shawl over her shoulders. A cat mask covered her face, but did not prevent her smoking from a long cigarette holder.

She laid herslf spreadeagled on the cold floor, her body in the shape of a pentagram. Her coven spread around the circle were chanting in a language that even I did not understand. She ushered me forward and I stepped into the circle. My clothes were tore off me and I was pressed down on top of Rosaleen.

The ritual sex was fantastic, and the juices bottled for the next dosing of the masses of homeless potential victims of the TROLL.......................................................

I get the feeling that this is the help she said I needed.

I felt used as a walked the streets of Kings Cross, bottle in hand, dazed but at least warmed. I'll stay here till New Year but no longer. If Titan wants me here longer then he can come and keep me company.