M is for Midnight Soap

M is for Midnight – The Witching Hour

Beneath a moon devoured by clouds, the forest holds its breath. Branches stretch like skeletal fingers, and the earth itself hums with an ancient hunger. “M” is for Midnight—where shadows gather, where footsteps vanish, where the air tastes of both fear and fascination.

Citrus flickers like foxfire through the trees, a fleeting brightness in the gloom. Spices curl in the mist, smoldering embers of rites long forgotten. At the center, black vanilla winds its way like a dark incantation, sweet and sinister, binding the forest to your very skin.

To wash with it is to walk between worlds—half spell, half surrender—never certain what follows you back out of the woods.