The veil between this world and the one beyond is thinning, dear Virgo, as harvest season begins and the trees start to shed. Rustling whispers carry stories of the Old Ways, eerie hymns that echo through the crisp air and up to the moon’s murky light. The ancients return, awakening from a time-weary slumber, their spectral eyes flickering with unspoken truths, their quiet murmurs a constant buzz in your mind. Listen closely, for the spirits speak the language of the ever-turning cycle of life and death, an age-old dance vividly painted by the changing leaves.

Beware, though, hearty Virgin; the whispers you hear are not without a toll. As the merriment of the harvest recedes, you may find your dreams plagued by rogue shadows, gnarled tree roots, and swimming circles of crows. Stay on the path, however daunting, and resist the urging of the whispering ghoul willows to stray off into the overgrown darkness. Remember: it is a time to reap rather than sow. Yield to the harvest, dear Virgo — surrender and let the spirits culminate their ghostly journey, manifesting your deepest fears and desires as the veil continues to thin. Be patient, and remember that the sun always follows the darkest night.