On Clove Row the Witch House sits. A street unto its own, the dirt road twists and turns, crosses an ornate bridge over a river, and goes for near a kilometre before you can see the house. Yarrow House is its true name, called so by the woman who designed it hundreds of years prior. Her portrait hangs large and looming in the entry hall. The same vase of blooms - lilies and lavender and the house’s namesake yellow yarrow - sits on the table beneath it, never wilting, never changing.
The witches of yarrow house welcome you.
