In the Midnight Hour, Roses and Sweat

I awoke to a ghostly beam from Mani's boat, god of moonlight, piercing me. It is said he saved two abandoned children starving at their parent's well, condemned to eat dust and mud, and adopted Hjuki and Bil, brother and sister, as his fosterchildren. Now, they guided stars across the sky under sweet lipped, black haired Mani's gentle dozey watch, spilling sweet magick milk to feed cats of ink, whose paws and sweet tongues lapped the milky starlight up, causing darkness to ink out the ancestors.

Without the cats of Nott, the night goddess, and the sun queen Sunna and night king Mani's esteemed mother, who she gave to Mani when he turned thirteen, the whole sky would be the milk of Audhumla, our sacred auroch who nursed forefather Ymir, whom Wotan, Loki, and Mymyr had slain to make all the Nine Worlds.

Yolanda gently dozed, and I imagined all the Hakkonsdottirs and Ynglings - my mother's surname, supposedly sired by fertility and beer and rain god Ingvi with his wife Ga