Let’s say for a moment that there is a “Rule of Three”, and any curse I cast will result in threefold retribution.
I’m going to curse anyway, so you should be thrice as afraid of me. If I curse you, I’ve decided that taking you down is worth the consequences.
I unapologetically love witchy aesthetics. I love dressing in dark mori like some sort of hippe/goth hybrid that crawled out of a forest. I love spaces filled with herbs, candles, oils, trinket boxes, rocks and lots and lots of jars filled with things. So many jars. jars for miles.
I always wonder if people will think it’s odd for me to have a catholic saint and a star of David on my altar, but so far no one seems to have noticed.
When you live in the dark for so long, you begin to love it. And it loves you back, and isn’t that the point? You think, the face turns to the shadows, and just as well. It accepts, it heals, it allows.
But it also devours.