Witchcraft Broke Me
Magick has crushed too much of my soul. It gave me access to everything I lusted after, but the consequences were so painful. It turned my hair grey. It externalized my very creative essence into the outside world, then dropped it like an anvil upon my head. It hung me out to dry. As long as I have a human body, I feel that I will keep playing cat-and-mouse with desire. The paths of obedience and worship were neither for me. I have been too independent, too erratic, so very random. Only unlearned a small fraction of my father’s stubbornness. Tributes worked for nothing. Rehashed deity felt like it was robbing me of service to my fellow humans. I writhed in the dark and bled myself open, dancing with each of my fears, occasionally overtaken by them. For what? To be society’s constantly broken mascot? I thought my path was about empowerment. My swords, my blood, my anger, my violence, they are all here too. My pet monsters. Now I try to keep my rage a secret. Now I have teachers who...