Witchcraft is in my blood. It’s what I live and breathe. I would not change that for anything, but everything has it’s price…
People talk about hexes or curses and there is all this fear of what one does coming back times three, but that isn’t the half of it. Magickal ability is like a muscle, you practice, you work this muscle out, and in time it becomes stronger. One’s abilities become stronger, but as with many things it’s not by choice.
You see as these powers grow, so do others, and that’s the price. You can’t pick and choose, you get what you get. For example, I have always been a good judge of character, but now I get more than I asked for. I can be at a store on occasions and someone walks by me and my hand will automatically go up as if to protect me or to block their energy, and I feel tightened or upset. I can look into their eyes and feel their pain deeply, or any other emotion they may be feeling. I know my appearance unnerves some, the tattoos, nose ring, vivid hair, clothing, and it’s quite amusing to sense the responses…
I started working with color magick a while back, closing my eyes with my hands stretched out and sensing the colors. It took me a spell but in time it came. Now I’m driving down the highway and I see red all over, a few feet further I see a deer that was run over and a purple haze around its body.
I practice necromancy and have spent years trying to communicate, now I’m to a point where I get it whether I want it or not. Sometimes it’s enchantingly heartwarming, sometimes it’s horribly not.
Cursing is something I do if I feel it be truly warranted, and is by far the biggest repayment. But not how everyone may think. Most people don’t have a clue as to what cursing truly takes. It takes years of study and practice, it’s another realm, a very graphic and unbelievably wild and diabolical realm, and the scary part is once you finally get there it never leaves you. It becomes part of you, and you learn to deal with that.
Other things are amplified as well, which only makes one realize how different they are from others. So it became easier to simply keep to myself, become a recluse to the woods, and so I did. Here in my woods, I don’t have to explain why my hands are flying up, why my head tilts to listen to what others don’t hear, why my house is full of poisonous plants and bones, or why I’m dancing in my garden under the full moon. Life is full of good and bad, and although my crooked path is not for everyone… it bloody well is for me.