Lisette, Priestess Of Spring Pregnancy High Quality Access

“Priestess,” whispered the baker’s wife, kneeling. “My hens have stopped laying.”

Lisette had been chosen seven years ago, when her own mother—the previous priestess—had walked into the first rain of March and vanished into a spray of white blossoms.

Outside, the first crack appeared in the river’s ice. And somewhere deep beneath the frost, a seed remembered how to break.

The villagers came at dusk.