#did you know that bog witches are often not only in charge of the bog health but ALSO THEY

[moeblob]

I am... so tired after work today. Have a very lazy bust up of an OC while I try to recover energy.

[hawksquill]

An excerpt from chapter 3

“Cornwall smells different,” Luna declared dreamily as the girls burst out of the dim, cramped witch’s cottage and into the fresh air, which smelled so salty that there was almost a tangible grit as it caressed their faces and tousled their hair.

“We’re not all that far from home, you know,” Ginny said sensibly, but Luna silenced her with a wave of her hand.

“There’s magic here, is what I mean. Let’s go find it,” and she began leading them towards the craggy cliffs.

“I think we’re only supposed to go outside for a bit of fresh air. We have to go back in and finish reading all those papers Professor McGonnagall gave us,” Caroline Figg said, twisting the tail of her braid round and round her fingers.

“Bah, papers! Don’t you want to see the sea?” Ginny yelled, already running towards the waves crashing on the beach, which they could hear but not yet see.

The other four girls crept behind like ducklings following their mother into the unknown, while Luna and Ginny led the way. Their silhouettes cut a striking figure against the stark scenery, one dark head and one red head walking towards the gray horizon of the ocean.

“What did Professor McGonagall give you all to do? I got something about cauldrons,” Parvati began tentatively, but Luna ignored her.

“Mine was about cursing people using bog water,” Padma offered.

“None of that matters, anyway,” Luna said, her eyes scanning the horizon. The seven girls were nearing the edge of the headland, and could see now that it dropped off in a sheer cliff, with no discernible path to the beach below.

“Best turn back, I reckon,” Caroline said, linking arms with Sylvia Fawcett and tugging her friend back towards the cottage.

“No.”

“What do you mean no, Luna?” Caroline’s voice grew high and scratchy as it often did, and Luna and Ginny exchanged a smirk. They were taking bets on whether Caroline would ever attract a confused screech owl who mistook her voice for a mating call.

“I mean that I don’t want to go back inside. None of that stuff is useful to me, anyway,” Luna said absently, without any barb in her voice. She wasn’t even looking at the others, who were all clustered far from the edge of the cliff apart from Ginny, who had one leg slung over the edge and a furrowed brow as she considered a scramble down the rocks.

“But it’s more useful to you than it is to us!” Sylvia said, her arm still linked through Caroline’s, “Don’t you get it, Luna? You’re going to be the one in charge of all this… Whatever it turns out to be. You need to learn it all!”

“Well if I’ll be in charge, I’ll get to decide what we do. And I don’t like reading old handwriting, so we won’t do that. You’re all welcome to go back, if you want to,” she said, still not looking at them, eyes running along the edge of the cliff face, as if looking for something the others couldn’t see.

“Nah, I’m going to try to get onto the beach,” Ginny said, fitting her foot into a convenient groove and hoisting herself down and out of sight. Caroline let out a yelp and tugged at the end of her braid until it nearly came loose.

“I’d like a look, if we can find a way,” Lavender Brown piped up, “My dad was from Cornwall and he always loved these beaches.”

The rare contribution from Lavender silenced the others, apart from a whoop of appreciation from Ginny, who sounded rather far away.

“We won’t have to climb down too far, I expect,” Luna said, lowering herself and following the trail blazed by her friend.

“No, Gin, this way,” she said, veering off course to move laterally towards the left.

“What?” Ginny called, already more than halfway to the shore.

But Luna had disappeared.

Padma and Parvati cried out from their rocks near the top of the cliff, and Caroline and Sylvia backed away from where they had been considering the climb, turning back as if to make for the cottage.

But Lavender had been close behind, and she saw where Luna had gone.

“S’alright!” she called, “She’s just found some sort of cave or something!”

That tempted even Caroline and Sylvia to make the trek, and all the girls were soon gathered in the cave. It was small and crudely hewn out of the cliff face, the edges still rough and craggy, as if fighting back against the beating waves of the sea that tried to tame it. And it had exactly the same smell as the old chest in the cottage, but more potent. It smelled of magic.

“What is this place?” Padma breathed, stooping next to a small pile of ashes and animal bones, remnants of some ancient fire.

“This is where the real witches worked their magic, while their apprentices scribbled down that nonsense up in the cottage,” Luna declared, examining a series of strange carvings and dark stains on the walls at the very back of the cave.

“Should…should we fetch the grown-ups?” asked Caroline, who was standing near the entrance to the cave.

“Course not! Come on, Caro, don’t spoil the fun,” said Ginny, digging a series of shallow holes near the edge of the cave with the firepit, in search of buried witch’s treasure.

Lavender was the first to notice Luna holding the broomstick.

“Where’d you find that?” But Luna didn’t answer. It was an ancient, battered thing that looked as if it had been whittled painstakingly by hand and carried more generations of women than even Cressida could imagine. It smelled as if it had been submerged in the ocean for a century.

“Woah!” Ginny exclaimed, grabbing the broomstick from Luna and straddling it. But when she tried to kick off the ground, nothing happened. She jumped, clutching the broomstick hopefully between her strong thighs, but promptly fell over.

“Let Parvati try it, she’s the best flyer,” Lavender suggested. But it wouldn’t fly for any of them, not even the future raven queen.

“The thing is ancient, must just be busted,” Ginny finally concluded before returning to her excavations. The others also soon lost interest and continued their exploration, but Luna remained staring at the dark tracings on the wall of the cave, then at the discolored, splotched handle of the broom.

She removed one of her earrings, hand-beaded into the shape of a raven by her mother, untwisted the metal hook, and dug deep into the soft pad of skin beneath one of her fingernails until she drew blood. She dribbled a few drops over the handle of the broomstick before mounting it and flying through the mouth of the cave and out into the stinging, salty Cornish air over the ocean.

Read more on AO3 here! 

[j-philly-b]

P1 Thanks! So, I’m trying to reconcile all the information and I’m partial to the Tremaine is Rapunzel theory, so be warned! My first instinct was Alice, coz Chess piece, but that felt too obvious, so I went back to the connection between Tremaine and WWH, but Drizella was still kinda obvious, and then I remembered the missing Anastasia who will show up later this season. So, I’m thinking: WWH hides in Rapunzel’s Tower a la Flynn Ryder, they share the night and he’s gone the next morning,

P2 leaving Rapunzel/ LT to face theconsequences (pregnancy), which is why she’s mad at him. They don’t appear tobe working together, so probably one of the following happened: 1) Rapunzel/ LTgets banished and her daughter is kept as replacement, which she doesn’t mindcoz she didn’t want the child in the first place, or 2) LT offers her daughteras replacement to gain her own freedom. Either way, she gets to leave the towerand doesn’t care about Anastasia, who becomes Rapunzel 2.0. LT and

P3 WWH cross paths and he finds out about hischild, which is when he goes back and starts sneaking in to be with her. Atsome point the witch finds out, WWH gets cursed and Rapunzel 2.0/ Anastasia ishidden away. The witch could be malicious or trying to protect her charge(misunderstanding), depends on her motivation for keeping a child, which Ican’t figure out so far. So LT is the mother, but uninvested; WWH cares onlyabout his daughter, not the mother; Anastasia is accounted for; LT and

P4 WWH connection is explained; the writerscleverly avoid drama over a hook love interest by only implying the relationand not showing them in love or anything; there’s a connection to Henry’sfamily, which is par for the course with this show; and I got Rapunzel into themix. Did I miss anything? Drizella would be either Jacinda’s halfsister or thechild of LT’s first marriage in this scenario. Granted, the whole thing iscomplicated, convoluted and pretty out there, but it’s not like OUAT

P5 isn’t, so… What do you think? I have toadmit, I did not like the wishverse mess in S6 so I never wanted it mentionedagain, but somehow, when 7x02 aired, I realized that this was probably the bestthey could have done, and after a few days, what used to be mostly relief thatCS got their HE turned into genuine interest in WishHook and his story? Itfeels fresh somehow? Wonder if they can do the same for Regina and Rumple, Imean, give their stories a breath of fresh air?Anyway, thanks again!

The wish realm, man don’t even get me started on that one…

Instead, let’s jump into theorizing about Hook 2’s daughter,way more fun for me. Your theory ties things up a lot more neatly than minedoes. Really well thought out, and certainly plausible. I’ve been thinkingabout it for a few days now, so I’ll offer my take in response:

At this point there are quite a few young women who are aboutthe right age to be the daughter: Alice, Anastasia (I missed the castingspoiler on that one), Cinderella, Drizella, Rapunzel, and Tiana. Am I missinganyone?

Cinderella is the only one who has mentioned her father sofar, when she confronted the Prince. But we also know that Hook 2 joins forceswith Cinderella and Tiana in the alt!EF, so that seems to eliminate both ofthem from contention. Leaving us with Alice, Anastasia, Drizella, and Rapunzel.

I found a couple of things interesting in the scene between Hook2 and Lady Tremaine. One, it was played more for comedy than high drama – the whimsicalscore underlining the scene, Tremaine’s reactions, etc. So I got the impressionthat the two might have had a mutually beneficial working relationship at somepoint in the past, possible in the realm that shall not be named. Two, Hook 2made a point of telling us that Tremaine is very good a procuring things, whichmade me wonder if she was a thief or con woman of some kind when she was ayounger woman and they had their run-in with each other.

Ok, so, if they did meet when Tremaine was a younger woman,then that would mean that Tremaine is also from the realm that must not benamed. But if she is, then she can’t really be either Lady Tremaine or Rapunzel,right? Why not? Because we know that EF prime already had those characters, andthe wish realm, as a bastardized duplicate of EF prime, would have had them aswell. Although it would not preclude a young Tremaine, whatever her real namemight have been, from being the baby mama, it would eliminate the theory ofTremaine being a grown-up Rapunzel full stop. It would also eliminate Rapunzelfrom contention of being Hook 2’s daughter, but not Tremaine’s daughters,although, again, the wish realm should have already had its own versions ofDrizella and Anastasia, so the versions we are dealing with this season, wouldhave been born with different names. (Am I getting too bogged down in details,making this overly convoluted?).

However, if Tremaine and Hook 2 met up after he left the verkaktewish realm, which to be honest is the version I prefer, and Tremaine is from adifferent part of the alt!EF, then her being Rapunzel is very possible. Althoughthat drastically reduces the chances that Tremaine is the mother of Hook 2’sdaughter, which to me eliminates Anastasia, Drizella, and Rapunzel ascandidates. Leaving us only with Alice.

So, yes, the white knight and black rook chess pieces maybemake it too obvious to think that Alice is Hook 2’s daughter, but she’s alsothe right kind of crazy to be Hook 2’s daughter, especially if she was isolatedand imprisoned by a witch for who knows what purposes. We often give the writersmore credit than they deserve for plotting clever twists, when it was in factthe obvious all along. I mean, come on, Hook 2 is his daughter’s white knight? Betweenthat and him stabbing himself in 7x02 and almost dying, I bet we see Hook 2sacrifice himself for his daughter by the end of the season. Not to say I thinkhe’s going to die, but I think it will be a very close thing to bring his storyfull circle.

There’s another component that I’ve been thinking of sincelast Friday – I think they are going to keep Hook 2 as “pure” as possible. I’vediscussed this with a few other people already, but I think the use of bloodmagic in 7x02 is going to come up again in relation to Hook 2. The more I thinkabout it, I think Hook 2’s daughter was conceived through a magical version ofIVF involving blood magic and knocking out the baby daddy. Mainly becauseA&E haven’t gone as far as they could on the creepy methods of babyconception yet. And two because I think they’re going to go out of theirway to avoid showing any version of Hook in a position with a woman that couldbe deemed sexual in nature, whether consensual or not.

I would not be surprised at all if Hook 2 finds out abouthis daughter because the baby is left on his doorstep (gangplank?), or he getssome mysterious message about an infant daughter that he goes out to seek. He,of course, falls in love with her immediately because one thing we know aboutHook is his capacity to love and to love deeply. So the daughter is his TL,doesn’t matter where she came from, who the mother is, she’s the TL that mayhave inspired him to start changing his ways but then she was kidnapped by thewitch. Why? No idea, I assume we’ll find out and it will be a silly reason. Butit leads to Hook 2’s heart being poisoned/cursed, and he and his daughter eachbeing driven close to madness trying to find each other?

[monsterboysrp]

magical-boy-toys​:

Apprentice Witch ~ Closed

(Only if you still want to do tbis) @monsterboysrp

Robin had been nervous about the trade with the other coven. But it was tradition and tradition had to be upheld. So he had to through with it. He was the one chosen from his coven to go to the other coven and train under them. He had potential, sure. But he also had a habit of messing up the simplest of spells. His only redeeming part of his magic was the fact he was a seer, something rare in his coven. It was for this reason that Robin was determined to prove himself. Espeically to the witch who’d been put in charge of him. He’d spent every waking hour trying to perfect his magic, all in hopes that he might please her.

That day Robin was sat on the floor, spell boom in his lap while he desparetly tried to practice the spell. He was determined to prove to her that he could do something right. But just like most of his attempts at this particular spell, it had gone wrong. This time resulting in a small fire on the floor. Robin was quick to put it out but that did nothing to hide the burn mark he’d made. There was no hiding it and he didn’t have it in him to lie. So relucantly he got up and knocked on the door to where Holly was. “Umm…Miss Holly.” He said timidly as he opened the door. “I umm…might have burnt your floor again…I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what went wrong this time and I was trying really hard. And I’m sorry miss Holly. How can I fix it?”

When her grandmother had informed her that she would be taking on an apprentice from another coven, Holly had been aghast, for a variety of reasons. First, most of the other covens wanted nothing to do with the le Turneaus, casting them as ‘bog witches’ and heathens, so it was shocking they would send one of their youths to learn from them. Holly also had a reputation of her own -- her strongest spellwork came in the form of potions and poultices to improve the romantic lives of those who sought her out. Not so much ‘love potions’, but if someone wanted a little something to improve their potency, or ensure a pregnancy, or just make the pleasure that much more powerful, Holly was your woman. Cedar had been the one with the more esoteric magical talent, and he had distanced himself from the family years ago.

But her main concern, the one that kept sticking in her craw, was that the apprentice they sent her was male. Now, Holly wasn’t against men -- there was some odd belief that witches were all violently misandrist sapphics dancing nude in the forest and never allowing men to touch them. But it begged the question: how does one get more witches? Holly herself rather liked men, mostly because when she let them screw her, she absorbed all that virile male energy, and could use it for her magic. But men, for the most part, weren’t born with magical talent. It tended to skip over and choose women, so a young man with talent was a rare thing indeed. And it annoyed Holly to no end -- mostly because her twin, who was now living a wonderful and fulfilling life as a man, had been ostracized from the family because of it, yet now they called on Holly to train one.

But she had to admit, now that he’d lived under her roof for the better part of a month, he was growing on her. And he was kind of adorable, in an awkward, submissive way. When the knock came at the workroom door she brushed her hands off on her skirt and followed him out to look at the scorch on the hardwood. It honestly brought a smile to her face, and she moved to shove a chair to one side, revealing a similar, but much older one. “You wouldn’t be the first to mar this floor with your spells. No worries. Just try to scrub out as much as you can and we can sand and finish it. Another tale this house can tell.” She turned to head back to the workroom, but paused in the doorway. “But you’re making dinner. And don’t forget to put out the food for the cats.” A colony of ferals lived in the small back garden, often carrying her spells to their buyers who wanted discretion.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “Underneath the Magic” (Rated PG13)

Kurt, a tree demon, runs a magical, supernatural circus that, unfortunately, is in the red. Trying to come up with a way to keep them afloat, his right hand man ... uh, goblin ... convinces Kurt to hire some new acts. Kurt reluctantly agrees, as long as that new act isn't human.

Enter Blaine - the human conman who's about to try and change Kurt's mind. (10511 words)

So, this started life in a number of different ways. I wanted to write some stuff for @sunshineoptimismandangels, for her birthday, and at the time, I had started writing this as an original piece, inspired by @vampireisabitstrong's "Graveyard Book au" which I was also writing at the time. But after a while, I had to come to grips with the fact that I was writing Glee characters. The character of Puck, in particular, was inspired in part by sunshine's character of Felix from her amazing story Heartstone (whom she's reluctant to admit is a goblin, but I know better xD) Also, Kurt is a Spriggan, but I added hints of Kapre as a nod to Darren's Filipino heritage. I hope you all enjoy. Please let me know. And no, if you're curious, I wasn't smoking anything when I wrote this xD

For @sunshineoptimismandangels . I know I’m writing a ton of stuff for you but look! Something shiny!! <3

Read on AO3.

On the farthest outskirts of town.

Past the dead end streets and the no trespassing signs.

In a place with no light, artificial or otherwise. Where the full moon fails to penetrate.

In the center of a deep, dark forest.

In a clearing where no grass grows, no animals graze, no water flows.

Where the still air settles dry and musty, like the breath of death, and even the spirits of the wicked dare not tread.

The perfect place for a satanic ritual, to cast a spell …

… or perform a sacrifice.

Or hold a circus.

But not just any circus. Here there be no clowns, no acrobats, no elephants, no loud emcee dressed in a sparkly red coat and tall top hat.

Spriggan and Company’s Supernatural Circus - where the freaks control the show and the straights wind up in cages.

It is a commonly accepted belief in the earthen realm that the modern circus originated in the late 18th century, but Spriggan’s circus (and this particular Spriggan preferred to be called “Kurt”, derived from the Old High German Kuonrat and meaning wise counsel) has been around for far longer. For those few who know of Kurt and his past, it is rumored that he and his circus have performed for every type of creature that has ever walked the planet Earth – human, vampire, werewolf, cryptid, in every station imaginable from Neanderthal to Czar.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean that his circus is easy to come by.

One can find it only if they truly believe, if they possess a heart of darkness (of their own or in a box - either way works as long as it doesn’t leak), or if they can stare into the abyss and fear not what they may see. But if none of that applies to you personally, there are gigantic possessed road signs set up every few miles to help guide you on your journey. They flash in a dazzling array of colors, sing opera, and even dance the polka. They might scream at you if you ignore them for too long before you reach the turnpike, helpfully directing you back to the exit you accidentally missed because every person, demon, beast, warlock, and road sign in those parts knows that if you have gone this way, Kurt’s circus is the only place you intend on ending up.

Come one, come all! Don’t delay! Come now! the signs cry, luring pedestrians and motorists alike to behold the most spectacular feats of magic and wonderment ever known to man or Gorgon. (The older signs scream obscenities in cryptic forgotten languages, but you have to forgive them. After several centuries, there’s no changing their ways.)

And like all respectable circuses, this one takes place beneath a “Big Top”. The tent they use, however, is actually a bigger than big top, made of thick, heavy canvas woven by the gnarled hands of Stygian witches, with long, vertical stripes running from peak to the hem. The stripes are pink and white if you’re a Virgo, black and purple if you’re a Scorpio, green and gold if you’re a Taurus, and just plain red if you’re an Aries. If you happen to be a Capricorn, it’s something else entirely, like an antique greenhouse with fogged glass panes or an old abandoned inn whose lavish furnishings have faded with age.

Aquarians, however, don’t come here. It’s nothing personal (cough-cough). It just kind of is.

But regardless of its dreary and gothic portend, none of it is meant to hurt, frighten, or offend. It is all the work of a master trickster who has spent the long millennia offering unique entertainment open and accessible to beings of all ages, races, genders, sexual orientations, religions, political affiliations, etc. (except for Aquarians - refer back to the above), and promises to be vegan friendly, as well as gluten- and cruelty-free.

Behind the main tent, cloaked to mortal eyes, lies the encampment where the performers live during their time in the human realm, each tent enchanted to match the personality of its inhabitant – moss covered tombs for the vampires, veiled by an eternal darkness; bogs for the swamp monsters, shrouded with twisted, overgrown vines, their tepid waters slick with a layer of putrid algae; a stable for the unicorns, where inside an illusion of the forests of their world stretches, blue shimmering skies and silver lined clouds above, rolling green hills and fragrant wild flowers below, and filled with rabbits, eagles, deer, and all of the other animals they have sworn to protect (which unfortunately escape every so often and run amok, as evidenced by the Australian rabbit pandemic of the past 150 years).

Beyond those tents grows a thicket of trees not native to these woods – stunning mangoes, thorny acacias, dense bamboo, and brooding banyans. Travel through their maze and you might stumble across the ruins of an old plantation house, it’s once proud, whitewashed walls slowly being reclaimed by Mother Earth, devoured by the softly swelling ground beneath it. Follow the branches that break through its foundation, compelled to grow by the power within, and you will find him. Here, apart from the others, dwells the founder of this folly, the creator of this circus, the manager of this mélange.

In short, the guy in charge.

In the midst of this ruin, hidden by scores of overhanging branches, Kurt sits, red eyes glowing in the descending mists of twilight, fingers drumming his knees, deeply troubled as he counts and re-counts his take. A rap on the door doesn’t distract nor disturb him. He knew what was coming. He smelled him on the evening breeze, sensed his arrival in his bones. He felt his footsteps disturb the ground, and the trees surrounding him warned of his approach. In his heart, though he hopes for good news, Kurt already knows this intruder doesn’t bode well.

The door swings open, hinges creaking like the tortured gasps of a hanging man, and the foul thing walks in – long, hooked nose preceding him by about half a foot; hunched over as if pressed down upon by an invisible burden; favoring one leg while the other hits the boards beneath him with a resounding clunk, his slow march tapping out the foreboding cadence of a funeral dirge. His skin glows slightly in this absence of light, lending an eerie cast of unnatural grey to the room. Cracked, thin lips outline a mouth of yellowing, rectangular teeth, gapped in the center while the rest hang askew like dominoes forever falling. The creature smiles. It splits his face almost entirely in two. He’s dressed in the humblest of clothes – a shirt made of burlap that continuously irritates his skin, which sloughs from his shoulders and back in sheets and leaves a ghastly trail behind; and pants fashioned by the very same witches whose arthritic fingers stitched together the tents. His pants in particular are two sizes too loose at the waist, tied around his torso with a piece of rough twine; and three sizes too long at the legs so that the bulk of their length drags behind him, his feet sticking out of two ragged holes where everyday use has worn them through.

“My Lord,” the detestable creature rasps, hobbling toward the tree demon, who towers the approaching goblin even while reclining, “I bring to you the book of holding, ripe for your approval. Snoooort!” He sucks in through his nose what sounds like a century’s worth of phlegm, then bows his head in reverence as he offers Kurt the book.

Kurt stares at the ancient, leathery object, held aloft by an even more ancient, leathery creature. He sits up in his chair created by the twining tree roots of two mighty banyans, straightens to an even loftier height, and with a disapproval wrought by hundreds of years of monotony, rolls his flaming red eyes, and says, “Can’t you just call it a ledger, Puck? For crying out loud! You do this every … single … night!”

The goblin huffs and stands upright. He glares indignantly at his friend and Master, but to Kurt, it looks more like he’s pouting. “Where’s your flair for the dramatic, old man? Or your sense of humor?”

“It’s gone on vacation with the petty cash.” Kurt sighs, rubbing his pinched brow with woody fingers. “It’ll return when we clear a profit. So, how did we do?” Kurt extends sharp nails to take the smallish ledger from his goblin companion. “My cash box here’s a little light.”

“Not as good as you had hoped, I’m afraid.”

Kurt flips through the pages carefully to keep from slicing them to bits, mulling over the less-than-impressive numbers. “Hmm. How many performances do we have left in this realm?”

“Only three,” the goblin says regretfully. “Then we move on.”

“Ugh!” Kurt slams the book shut in his hand, squeezing so hard he nearly drives his fingers straight through it. “If we could only sneak five more in before the next full moon!”

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Not with the portal to our next destination opening soon. And it’s a good thing, too. The glamour shielding the meadow is already starting to peel … and it’s gettin’ kinda gross,” Puck remarks, recalling the trail of mushy magic he’d had to sidestep just to get to Kurt’s sanctuary. He’s pretty certain that, despite his best efforts, he still managed to drag the hems of his pants through it. There’s a stain that’s impossible to get out, and it’ll smell like raw eggs and rotting swordfish given enough time. He grimaces just thinking about it.

Kurt grimaces, too. Not at Puck’s mention of “peeling glamour”, but at the avalanche of skin flakes that tumble from the goblin’s body when he shivers. Kurt would never outright tell his friend this, but he’d much prefer stepping in a pool of mushy, decaying magic than another pile of desiccated goblin skin.

But back to the real issue …

They’d discussed this before. There’s no use repeating and rehashing it, and yet, every time they start this discussion, they both hope for a better outcome.

The definition of insanity, Einstein would say, which is exactly why Kurt doesn’t speak to him anymore, the insufferable old fool.

“I don’t see how, either,” Kurt admits. “I’d like to leave this plane without any red marks in our ledger, but it seems to be nothing but red lately.” Kurt peeks through the pages of the book one last time, looking for something that will prove him wrong, a page full of pluses instead of minuses that he had read incorrectly. When he doesn’t come across one, he raises a hopeful eyebrow at his shifty friend. “No chance you were balancing the books while eating your lunch again, and that’s blood on these pages in place of ink?”

“I wish,” Puck snorts. “But no. I’m using a ballpoint pen nowadays. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Kurt grumbles.

“We have to face facts. The crowds have been thinner lately,” Puck points out as if Kurt didn’t already know – as if the whole company, stressed out over incidentals day after day, hasn’t realized it. “Believe it or don’t, many humans are choosing to go see Cirque du Soleil over our vastly more phenomenal circus. Human acrobats are a bigger draw than supernatural ones, ironically.”

Kurt stands and paces the room. He’d noticed that also, how those human equivalents of tree frogs outperform his circus almost ten to one. Meanwhile, they have a pair of Siamese twins who can switch heads, but meh. That’s old hat compared to a woman who can spin inside a metal ring.

“There’s also the matter of us being stuck in this dreary ass meadow in the middle of nowhere,” Puck continues. “You might consider springing for a few weeks at the convention center - center of town, free advertising, lots of parking and bus access, a handicap ramp …” Kurt nods as Puck counts off the pros on his fingers, giving this option more thought than he had in decades. Kurt can be stubborn, set in his ways. He’s very much an “if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it” kind of demon. His decision to set up camp in meadows like this one wasn’t simply a matter of personal preference, or even safety for his performers. They could always camp in a remote location and teleport to their performance venue – that wasn’t the issue. It was about ambiance, the air of authenticity that holding their circus out in a spooky forest lent to their shtick. Kurt thought that that was one of the things that set them apart from other circuses. It made them special.

But apparently the definition of special had changed over the past three hundred years.

“Also … uh … you could start letting Aquarians in again,” Puck adds under his breath. “I hear they make up a good portion of the population.”

“You know how I feel about that, Puck,” Kurt grumps. “Inconsiderate little dung beetles, the lot of them.”

“Their money spends just like everyone else’s!”

“No Aquarians! That’s not negotiable!” Kurt declares, dropping a period on the end of the discussion.

“Anyway …” Puck sighs. Demons and their egos. There was no way around them. They were the experts at holding a grudge. And once they found one, they latched onto it tight and never let go. Puck knows he’s not going to win. He might as well let that one lie. Besides, he has other suggestions, ones that Kurt might object to more than the inclusion of Aquarians.

“You could always start smoking your magical pipe again. The one that attracts the humans’ attention? You can lure them here that way.”

Kurt curls his lip and pulls a face, one that would be more effective if, at the moment, he weren’t a giant tree. “You know the stigma that surrounds smoking in this century. These mortals are headstrong, more so than their 12th century ancestors, especially when it comes to their health. This mindset of “drugs evil, weed bad” kind of counteracts the effect of the smoke. And not just smoking either. Alcohol, gambling, it’s apparently all a no-no to them. These 21st century humans,” Kurt huffs, as if the mention of them put a bad taste in his mouth. “All they want to do is sip wheat grass, do yoga, and have heated arguments with strangers about something called smashing the patriarchy.” He digs the toe of his trunk-like foot into the dirt, mourning the end of an era. “They don’t know how to have fun anymore.”

Kurt actually used to enjoy coming to Earth a decade or so ago. It was one of the few places where he could indulge in a good, old-fashioned, PG13-rated vice without accidentally declaring war on an indigenous culture.

Not anymore.

“Well, you could at least try it with the pipe for our last three shows, couldn’t you?” Puck suggests, exasperation draining his crooked body. “Or maybe just closing night.”

Kurt shifts from foot to foot, negotiating with himself. He tries his best not to interfere with the humans anymore, not the way the Spriggan used to, which included putting them “under the influence”, causing them to do things against their will. Though, to be fair, refraining from using his pipe goes against his nature, bred from a morality that he’s acquired, not one he’s been taught.

Among Spriggan, Kurt’s the exception, not the rule.

It’s more of a guideline. He doesn’t have to break it. He could just bend it a little, for the holiday crowd, who will more than likely be drinking their heads off anyway. If he lures them to his circus, they’ll all be in one place, bound by protection spells. They won’t be driving while intoxicated. They’ll be safe. Kurt would be doing a public service.

And there he had it! Loopholes! They were amazing things!

“I guess I could do that,” he decides, feeling good about this decision. “I’ll break out the old pipe, smoke some green, and we’ll have a packed house once again.”

“Yeah,” Puck says, a bit uneasy with the direction he was about to take their conversation. Maybe he shouldn’t mention it. He should just let it drop. Kurt finally looked relaxed after the long, hard weeks of constant worry. The problem was that Kurt’s pipe only worked on humans. They were having similar difficulties gathering crowds in other realms they went to, and for a number of reasons. They didn’t just need Band-Aid solutions.

Something else needed to change.

Puck shifts his gaze to the ground, scratches his abnormally large ears with his abnormally longer fingers. “And … maybe … we might consider … um … hiring some new acts?”

Kurt turns on Puck so quickly, the goblin hears the demon’s torso crack, splintered bark breaking from his body and dropping to the earth.

“Puck!” Kurt roars. “We’ve discussed this! There’s nothing wrong with the acts! Bringing new ones on board isn’t the answer!”

“Kurt! We can’t keep slogging along with the old acts if they’re not bringing anybody in! I know you’ve gotten used to our little troupe the way it is. So have I! You know I have trust issues! It took about seven centuries before I could relate to any of them! What does a Pukwudgie have in common with a half-angel, half-dragonfly nomad princess? I’ll tell you what, Kurt! A big fat nothing, that’s what!”

“And yet you still managed to get her pregnant,” Kurt grumbles bitterly recalling the talented, silvery-voiced, platinum-haired enchantress they’d had to send back to her home realm because Puck couldn’t keep his fetid dick in his drooping trousers. Though, on the other hand, Princess Quinn slept with him, so Kurt had to question her life choices.

“But you have to think of the good of the show! You’re working our old acts to death! All of those performers out there that bust their butts every night? You owe them, Kurt! They don’t have to stick it out with us for another millennia. They could transport back to their own dimensions, every last one of them, and then where would we be?”

“I know, I know, you’re right,” Kurt agrees, knocking on his wooden head with wooden fists.

This was another argument they’d been having for longer than Puck could remember. The difference was that on this subject, they strenuously disagreed, to the point of a deadlock, and Kurt didn’t foresee things changing in this instance. Puck argued that they wouldn’t be getting rid of any of their old acts, so there was no reason to be so pigheaded about finding new blood. Kurt countered that their group worked best with the acts already in it. Getting more would be adding unnecessary stress and strain on their already thinly-stretched resources. As far as Kurt was concerned, his circus ran like a well-oiled machine. Adding new acts meant advertising, interviews, auditions, negotiations - things that Kurt couldn’t stand but which would fall on him since he was the owner and all.

On the other hand, it might be nice gong out of his way to meet new beings, for pleasure as well as for work. Bouncing back and forth for centuries has been the death of Kurt’s social life. He’s not looking to settle down or get married. He never wanted to have spawn. He doesn’t even want to date really. He just wants someone nice to go to dinner with every once in a while, tell Dark Age jokes to, share an offering with once in a while.

Not a human. Kurt has been very careful not to become attached to humans. Spriggan as a species can develop a sentimental skin where it comes to humans. If they find one that they consider an equitable match, either as a friend or more, Spriggan will follow that human for the rest of their days.

Ha! Kurt thinks. No, thank you.

But as for everything else, was that too much to ask?

He’s spent his entire existence making others happy – humans, deities, sirens, and banshees galore. Doesn’t he deserve a little happiness, too?

“Okay,” Kurt says, a crumb of reluctance clinging stubbornly to his acquiescence. “We’ll find some new blood. One act, but that’s all.”

It’d better be one hell of an act, he thinks. Kurt hadn’t come across anything in all the infinite realms of the universe that tickled his fancy, nothing that even came close to fitting the bill.

Who was he going to find that would make any sort of a difference in their lives?

“Great!” a cheerful, new voice intervenes. “That’s excellent news! I’d hoped you were hiring.”

Both demon and goblin fall gravely silent.

Kurt looks at Puck.

Puck looks at Kurt.

They turn a full circle, unable to see, at first, the man dressed in head to toe black, standing in the center of their meeting room. But when Kurt sets his red eyes on him, his surprise, which makes his eyes glow like hot coals, pins the man to his spot.

“What the …?” Kurt growls. “Who are you!? How did you get in here!?”

“It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that! I had to sneak past your guard at the front door,” the man admits proudly, as if he thinks thwarting their security would win him points.

Of course, considering the fact that their guard is a giant, two-headed, man-eating, spectral spider, it might …

Kurt appraises the man with an unimpressed demeanor. He knows enough about human aesthetic preferences to know that this man – with his tan, unblemished skin; his clean-shaven face; dark hair slicked back; and golden hazel eyes – is handsome by their standards. By demon standards, he would be considered more appetizing than most, and that’s a compliment. And yet, if Kurt had to choose between devouring this human and his usual offering of mangoes and papayas, he’d pick the fruit.

It’s at that moment that Kurt remembers he hasn’t had a decent offering in weeks.

Great. Now his stomach’s growling.

Kurt takes a subconscious breath in and catches a whiff of the man’s cologne – an appetizing blend of cinnamon, cardamom, black pepper, and hibiscus. Those happen to be four of Kurt’s favorite scents in the universe. They remind him of his childhood, of family and friends he knew growing up that have come and gone.

They remind him of his home, a place he hasn’t been to in forever no matter how many times he visits Earth. He can’t. It holds too many memories, and has too much narrow-minded prejudice to make setting up their circus there worth their time.

Damn. Now his stomach’s not only growling, it’s churning like a church fire.

When Kurt snuffs that fire out and shoves the ashes of that nostalgic b.s. aside, he smells power - low levels of it, not nearly enough that it should interest him.

But for some reason, it does interest him.

“Maybe.” Kurt puts his hands on his hips. “And you are …?”

“The name’s Kevin,” the man says, thrusting out an arm, hand open, ready to shake. “Kevin Fitzpatrick at your service, kind sir.”

Kurt looks at the hand presented to him, a blank expression on his face. Kurt doesn’t shake hands. He doesn’t touch other beings if he can help it. He has a thing about germs, especially human ones. It’s not a speciesism issue. It’s a preservation issue. Humans are notorious for their tendency towards self-destruction. Everything that they need to live a long and healthy life, they destroy – their air, their water, their animals, their planet, themselves.

Kurt tilts his head and quirks a brow. “That’s not your real name,” he says, ignoring the man’s hand altogether. For the moment, he’s guessing. It’s part of his mantra. He tries not to invade human minds when he doesn’t have to. They tend to be chaotic, cluttered, unnecessarily confusing, even among the exceptional ones. Humans as a whole don’t know how to think straight. They can’t seem to set their minds on one road and follow it, finish a single task before launching into the next. From all outward appearances – this man’s skin, hair, and eye color, his bushy eyebrows, his stature, average for adult males – he doesn’t seem like he should own such a name. But it’s the way his eyes dart left and right, imperceptible to humans but obvious to a demon, that truly gives him away.

The man’s smile loses some of its strength but none of its luster. He drops his hand to his side, feeling foolish for keeping it extended after several long seconds of Kurt refusing to shake it.

“No, it isn’t,” he admits, sounding like he genuinely wishes it were. “But I thought a traditional Irish name might go over better with you traveling folk.”

Kurt and Puck exchange a pointed look.

“That’s racist,” Kurt says.

“Says the demon. One who looks like a giant tree, I might add.” The man gestures down Kurt’s body with inexplicable confusion.

“Still racist,” Kurt insists.

“By the way, how do you do that?” the man asks. It’s not an offhanded question, which makes it a difficult one for Kurt to comprehend. This man is standing in the middle of a circus made up entirely of supernatural creatures and beings from other worlds. Why should what Kurt looks like be a concern to him?

And yet, it’s significant because it has always been a concern to Kurt. Spriggan traditionally are stocky, big-headed, and short – the ghosts of giants, but really only a shadow. Kurt, on the other hand, is lithe, fair, and tall (by comparison) – traits that set him apart from other Spriggan by a mile.

He’s his father’s son, but in looks, he belongs solely to his mother.

“How do I do what?” Kurt asks.

“Look like a tree. I thought Spriggan were supposed to look similar to men. Or like … woody Big Foot.”

“He compared you to a Sasquatch,” Puck sniggers. “What a noob.”

But Kurt lets the insult go.

He debates how much he wants to tell this human. Why Kurt looks the way he does isn’t exactly a secret, but it would still be sharing something that’s part of him, and to a human.

“I’m only half Spriggan,” he confesses, figuring there’s no real harm in letting that tidbit out. The man would probably learn it eventually. There isn’t a single monster in Kurt’s employ that can keep their mouth shut. “I’m High Faye on my mother’s side.”

“You don’t say?”

“A-ha. That’s where I get my magical abilities, my shapeshifting powers … and my short temper.”

The man smiles, pleased with this new information. “Coolness.”

“How do you know what Spriggan look like anyway?”

“I read,” the man says. “I use Google. Which leads me to my next question …”

“If you’re the one applying for a job, how come you’re asking all the questions?”

The man shrugs. “You don’t learn anything by not asking questions. Besides, you don’t have to answer.”

“Fair enough.”

“Why the disguise? I mean, why turn yourself into a tree?”

“Because without it, I’m invisible to the humans,” Kurt says. “And if humans can’t see me, that’s kind of bad for business. Besides, it’s part of the draw. We live in a time where the only way people would believe in a living, breathing tree demon is if they saw something that looked like … well this.” Kurt copies the man’s gesture, sweeping a hand down his body.

The man’s smile dips. “That sucks.”

“Yeah. It does.”

“And there aren’t any other Spriggan in your circus?”

“Nope,” Kurt says. “I’m the only one. To be honest, I haven’t seen one in ages.”

“Must be lonely,” the man decides.

It is, Kurt thinks. It’s not some huge revelation, just an acknowledgment of fact. But what he says is, “Meh. I’m never really alone, so, not so much.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between being lonely and being alone.”

That comment silences Kurt. He agrees entirely, even though he’d never thought of it that way. He often felt lonely, even in the center of a crowd. He thought he was weird that way.

He never thought anyone else felt the same.

“Hey! I've seen you!” Puck jumps back into the conversation, pointing at the man with a twisted, accusing finger. “You hang around the crowds. You loiter on our property and swindle for spare change outside our tents!”

“I like to think of it as co-op’ing.”

“And I think of it as dipping in to our profits!” the goblin hisses.

Kurt scowls. He didn’t know this about this man. How come he didn’t know? As a demon who tricks travelers, and who has been known to indulge in a game of poker now and again, Kurt can appreciate a good hustle … but not when it lightens his pockets! And just when he was beginning to not despise this guy.

Thank goodness for Puck. Admiring a human in any small measurement isn’t the kind of complication Kurt needs right now.

The goblin bares his teeth, Kurt grows another foot taller, and suddenly the man feels outnumbered.

“Okay, okay, I see your point,” he says, putting his hands up in defense of his life. He’s not sure how that would help him, exactly, but it’s worth a shot. “B-but, now I'm looking to give back. To help you guys out.”

“Looking to escape, more like it.” Kurt tuts. “Who did you piss off here, human? Hmmm? A local gang? Loan sharks? The police? I know your type. Do you have mafia after you? Because I don’t need that kind of trouble hanging around my circus. I’m not looking to defend anyone.”

“No! I’m not---wait …” The man stops when an absurd thought pops into his brain. “Aren’t Spriggan bodyguards? Fairy bodyguards? I mean, I assume that’s how your dad met your mom, isn’t it?”

“Assume nothing!” Kurt says, appalled at the man’s gall. “You’re not a fairy, and I’m not my father! Plus, that’s beside the point. I like to choose who I call enemy, thank you. I don’t need people I’ve never met mounting a vendetta against me. I don’t want that kind of heat on my tail. The mob has some pretty powerful demons working on their side ... and lawyers.”

The man looks at Kurt and Puck, wide-eyed. Something like a smile tickles the corners of his mouth, something he’s trying hard to suppress. He doesn’t end up smiling, but he does chuckle. “So, lawyers are worse than demons?”

“Yes!” Kurt and Puck answer together.

“Everybody knows that!” Puck says, aghast at the human’s ignorance. “How you can live among them and not know of their treachery is beyond me.”

The man continues to laugh, and Kurt shakes his head.

“This back and forth with you is exhausting me, human. I feel like there’s something you’re not telling us. You’re beating around the bush. Speak plainly!”

“But beating around the bush is something I happen to do exceptionally well,” the man says with a wink. Kurt detects the innuendo and rolls his eyes.

“It’s time to find out who you really are … and what you want.” Kurt strikes quickly, reaching for the man and wrapping slender fingers around his throat. Kurt squeezes slowly, till his twig-like appendages settle into the soft, delicate flesh around the man’s windpipe.

“Uh … wh-what … what are you doing?” the man squeaks, keeping his words to a minimum when it becomes harder for him to breath.

“I’m reading your mind, Kevin,” Kurt says, closing his red eyes.

“D-do you … have to … hold my neck … quite so tightly while you read my mind?” He grabs a hold of Kurt’s arm, but it might as well be made of stone, so rough and so thick, there’s no way to remove it.

“It keeps me calm,” Kurt says, grinding the words out one by one through locked lips. “Be grateful I’m not peeling the skin from you bones.”

“Oh,” the man says. Kurt feels him gulp nervously beneath his palm. “I see. Yes. Thank you for not doing … that.”

“Shh. I need to concentrate.” Kurt takes a deep, cleansing breath, and enters the man’s mind. It’s easier than Kurt remembers, but then again, the man’s not resisting. And that’s a good sign. People often resist when they’re trying to pull something over on you. Kurt sifts through the man’s thoughts to find his more recent memories – name, occupation, address, the basics - trying his best to ignore the ones that go out of their way to reach out to him, the sympathetic ones that long to be revisited, like memories of this man as a child, on vacation with his parents, throwing a ball to his brother, learning how to ride a bike with two wheels, learning how to cook with his great-aunt Teresa, playing video games with a friend that he seemed to hold dear, a friend that Kurt sees no more of after the man reaches thirteen. He stumbles across memories of a terrible fire, of their house burning down … of him burying his mother and his father … of his brother running away and never contacting him again … “Uh … y-your name is Blaine, but your parents called you Coqui?” Kurt asks. He releases his grip, his mighty wooden arm - a thick, unyielding branch - trembling as it returns to his side.

“That’s right,” the man says. His eyes leave Kurt’s face and follows his arm for a second before the conversation continues.

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re nicknamed after the sound a frog makes when it wants to have sex?” Kurt crosses his arms, hiding his trembling in the wrap of his limb around his body, and using that remark to will away the image of this man as a teenager, crying on his knees over a freshly covered grave, negotiating with whatever God he believes in for his parents to return.

“Why in the world would that bother me?” Blaine chuckles. “If you knew me better, that would actually explain a lot.”

“Do I want to know you better?” It seems like a ridiculous question seeing how much Kurt already knows about him. Stupid, unpredictable mindreading. He never could get it quite right. Of course, the fact of the matter is that Kurt, being even half High Faye, wasn’t a thing like his mother in anything other than looks.

Which is why his father raised him.

“You’re the mind reader. You tell me.”

“And you’re the human, so if you want me to let you join our group, you’re going to have to make a more compelling case for me hiring you.”

It shocks Kurt when he hears those words come out of his mouth. He was determined that, no matter what, no human would have a place here. But now here he was, considering this no talent human into inclusion in their troupe, and he had no idea why.

And still, the low level power simmers, humming in Kurt’s ears.

That has to be it. Wherever it’s coming from, that’s the thing that’s causing all of this.

He would ask Puck if he hears it, too, except Puck’s looking at him with the gaping maw of a dying salmon, equally as astonished at what Kurt proposed.

“Certainly,” Blaine says, elated. “Watch carefully.” He puts his hands up, holding them open so Kurt can see that there’s nothing in them. He flips his hands quickly, exposing them front and back. Kurt’s eyes bounce from his right hand to his left. When Kurt sees the right hand again, it’s holding a deck of cards. Blaine fans the cards with one hand. “Pick a card, any card.”

Kurt’s jaw drops.

“What?” Kurt can usually see things before they happen, but he didn’t see that coming. “No! Why?”

“I’m making my case. I’m proving to you that I can be a contributing member of your group. Consider it my audition.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Kurt mutters. He takes Blaine’s empty hand and holds it by the wrist, letting the man’s beating pulse speak to him. It was easier reading his mind at arm’s distance from his brain. That, and Kurt wasn’t convinced he could restrain himself from throttling this man. But Kurt can see from the smile on the man’s face that he’s getting the wrong idea. That wrong idea starts to blossom in Kurt’s mind the longer he holds his hand, and it makes him feel warm inside.

Oh, please, Kurt pleads. This can’t be happening.

Kurt immediately drops the man’s hand.

“Your father was a sorcerer?”

“Yup.” Blaine puffs up his chest as if he had taught the man everything he knew. “One of the finest.”

“And your mother, too.”

“Yes, sir. She was the more powerful of the two by a long shot.”

“Well, do you have any of their skills?” Kurt tries not to get ahead of himself, but he can’t quell his excitement, finally seeing a silver lining to this obnoxious human’s intrusion into his life.

“Oh, no!” Blaine laughs to Kurt’s dismay. “Good God, no! Not an inch! It’d be amazing if I did though! Think of it!”

Kurt had thought of it, for just a brief, glimmering second. But the more he thinks he knows what’s going on with this man, the more questions he has.

The easiest way to sort them out would be to go back into his mind for an extended stay.

But Kurt doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to see the things his mind wants him to see.

“Okay,” Kurt begins again, feeling like pulling the man’s molars out of his skull would be easier than this. He asks his next question slowly, like he’s addressing a child. “What else do you do?”

“Just this.” Blaine folds up his fan of cards and shuffles them dramatically from hand to hand. “Sleight of hand.”

“You do card tricks,” Kurt mutters like a curse at a power higher than he. “Just card tricks,” he repeats, pulling a card from the pile. This couldn’t be it. With the lineage he’s boasting, this can’t be Blaine’s only talent. What did he do that he missed out on the magic lottery? Did he step on a brownie? Run over a druid with his car? Did he make-out with the wrong virgin sacrifice and get cursed?

Card tricks. That and his charm will maybe get him a cup of coffee.

Maybe.

“Hey. Why you hatin’ on card tricks? They put me through college.” His hands don’t stop moving as he speaks, shuffling his deck, the cards flying from his fingertips faster than Kurt can keep track of. That alone is impressive, but still …

Card tricks?

There has to be something Kurt’s missing.

“Here. Let me show you something.” Kurt takes Blaine by the shoulders and turns him around. With a blink of his red eyes, they’re out of the ruins and standing in the center of the big top, watching as performers bustle around, putting away props and striking equipment. They’ve teleported. They could have just walked. It wasn’t that far, not even as the human walks, but Kurt did it on purpose. The jump through time and space, even though no more than a skip compared to what they’ll be doing when they leave the realm of Earth, was supposed to give Blaine a taste of what dimensional travel would feel like. Most humans puke their guts out immediately after.

Blaine barely seems fazed.

Damn.

And to top it off, his hands have found their way up to Kurt’s, resting over his and holding on gently.

Kurt clears his throat. He removes one of his hands.

Only now that he has, he kind of wants to put it back.

Kurt points past Blaine to a man with radiant wings stretching out in both directions, measuring from tip to tip about the length of a Cessna. He stands ramrod straight and over seven feet, dismantling a large, titanium octagonal cage with a wave of his hands. “Do you see him?” Kurt asks. “He’s a descendent of the god Loki.”

“Ooo,” Blaine marvels, watching as he folds the cage into a small box that he puts in his pocket.

“Ooo is right. He can fracture sunlight and turn its rays into golden snakes. With a single blink of his eyes, he can make you believe that you’re your own mother and compel you to give yourself a spanking.”

Blaine chuckles, picturing himself wearing his mother’s thick, tiger eye framed glasses, her faded yellow housedress, her matching house slippers, and the pink foam curlers she rolled in her hair every night covered by a white hair net, bending himself over a chair and slapping his own bare ass while angrily yelling at himself in his mother’s tongue. It’s an image Kurt glimpses in Blaine’s eyes as the man laughs sadly to himself, and Kurt finds himself wanting to join him. He feels drawn to this man’s easygoing nature. Blaine seems slow to anger, difficult to offend … and impossible to frighten. His sticktoitiveness is admirable, if not misguided. Once he has his mind set on something, he’s not easy to discourage. Kurt will give him that. And Kurt has always found those traits attractive in most beings. A soul that can laugh at itself can weather most storms.

But again – human, and Kurt can’t get attached to a human. Not even one who’s proving to be as … well … what would the word for him be? Bearable as this one. Maybe Kurt could see himself sharing a veggie burger with him while they binge watched Netflix (once they find themselves in a dimension where they can pick up a signal) but that’s as far as he’d take it.

But wasn’t that what Kurt wanted in the first place?

No matter. This is neither the time nor the place for this dilemma. Kurt squares his knotty shoulders and continues.

“And the young lady in that tank?” Kurt takes Blaine by the shoulders and turns him again slightly. Only by, like, seventeen degrees. He won’t admit to himself that it’s an excuse to touch Blaine. No. He’s just trying to be clear with him. Get his point across. “She calls herself Brittany. She’s a river mermaid. I found her sunning herself on the banks of the Mississippi. She’s over three hundred years old.”

“Amazing,” Blaine breathes with the genuine awe of a child seeing a rainbow in the sky for the first time. “She doesn’t look a day over eighteen.”

“She can make rocks and boulders sing,” Kurt explains, trying to come up with anything else she can do that might impress him. “Rumor has it she used to whisper in the ear of Mark Twain as he traveled the river boats so, in essence, she’s the author of most of his more memorable stories.”

“Awesome.”

“Quite.”

Another blink and they return to the ruin of Kurt’s makeshift forest. As soon as the black night surrounds them, Kurt feels cold. There was so much under the big top for Blaine to see.

He teleported them back too soon.

And Blaine, not in the least bit affected by zipping through the fabric of reality, returns to his chipper self.

“Nevertheless,” Blaine says, turning to meet Kurt’s eyes, “can any of them do this?” Blaine tosses his deck in the air and starts juggling individual cards, catching them with his knuckles and then flipping them in the air again until they create a perfect arch. It’s rather intricate, and Kurt questions how a mortal who boasts no particular supernatural powers can accomplish it … but by his circus’s standards, it’s just cute.

“Probably. But here’s what you’re missing – they have power. You have none. And a lot of them aren’t as patient or as congenial as I am. If they get angry with you, or if you get in their way, they will kill you, or worse. They may imprison your soul, shrink your head while it’s still on your body, remove your brain and keep it in a jar.”

“Aww,” Blaine coos. “Are you worried about me?”

Kurt scoffs. “Not in the slightest.”

“Well, don’t be,” Blaine says, ignoring the demon’s last remark. “I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t see how. Tell me, human, what have you been doing with all of your 35 years on earth?”

“This!” Blaine holds up his deck and gives it a shake. “I’m an entertainer! A jester! A magician!” Kurt stares, waiting for the shoe to drop. He knows it’s coming. This man’s whole presentation has been nothing but dropping shoes.

And yet, it’s probably the most fun that Kurt’s known in years.

“But I work the register at a dry cleaners to pay the bills.”

“And there it is,” Kurt says, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “I’m surprised that I’m even surprised. So you have no circus or performance experience of any kind?”

“Yes, I have! I was an ale wench for six months at Medieval Times.”

“An ale … wench?” Puck chortles, wheezing when he pictures Blaine in a corset and a dress. Though, oddly enough, he has to admit, it’s not a bad look for him.

“Oh, and in high school, I was in The Wizard of Oz.”

“As what? A Flying Monkey?”

“No.” Blaine smirks. Then he snickers. “As one of the angry trees.”

Kurt feels his cheeks flush red but not out of anger, and that’s the part that makes him the most livid. “You’re ridiculous! Do you know that?”

“Well, you must like ridiculous.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“It’s been over an hour, and you’re still talking to me.”

“You’d never survive traveling with us,” Kurt says, stomping his feet and raising his voice, furious because, for a second, half a second, less than half so he won’t have to loathe himself for thinking of it, he began to ask himself - could it be that this time around, Kurt doesn’t follow his human love interest for the rest of his days on Earth?

Maybe he takes the love interest with him?

He hears the low hum of power again, tickling in his brain; he sees the barrage of memories that aren’t his; feels the warmth throughout his body that gathers in his stomach, trying to tell him something that he refuses, under pain of dismemberment or death, to supply any credence to.

There is absolutely no way, here or in hell, that he wants to have any attachment to this human! The man’s a hack! A con! A dime-a-dozen trickster out to make a quick buck at Kurt’s expense, and that’s all.

And Kurt’s first priority has to be to make him leave. He’s done entertaining these thoughts any longer. He was right to begin with. They don’t need to add new blood to the mix. New people only cause trouble. This proves it! They’ll figure something out. They’ll find another way. It’s a good plan. A sound plan.

So why does it make him feel emptier inside?

“We cross dimensional portals,” Kurt says in a stern voice. “Humans are soft. If it doesn’t make your blood boil, and if you don’t get torn limb from limb, it’ll turn your stomach inside out.”

Kurt stares at Blaine with an intensity that will turn the man into a candle if Kurt’s not careful. But somewhere in the man’s golden eyes, Kurt sees something click. He’s getting it. He’s finally getting it. He understands. This isn’t the place for him. He doesn’t belong there with him. With them.

With him.

Blaine lifts one shoulder. “That’s okay. I don’t get travel sick.”

Kurt slaps himself in the forehead with his palm.

“He has power,” Puck hisses in a whisper, having warmed to the idea of Blaine’s joining them over the course of the conversation.

Anyone who can get on Kurt’s nerves this badly might be worth keeping around.

“I can smell it. And I know you can smell it, Kurt. He has it in his background. Even if he can’t use it, it’s most likely in his blood. It might be enough to protect him.”

“What are you doing!? I don’t need you taking his side!”

“I’ll bring Dramamine,” Blaine adds. “Just in case. It’ll be good.”

Kurt laughs in vexation, knowing he’s losing this battle. Fine! Whatever! So what if the human comes with? It’s no skin off Kurt’s nose. He’ll just leave the dirty work to Puck, have him clean up the man’s guts when he implodes! Or mop him up when Loki’s great-great-great-great-grandnephew turns him into an oil slick. Or chase him down with a glass jar when Brittany transforms him into notes of music!

Or, Kurt could fit him with a protection spell. Something mild that might boost his power. Kurt hates to admit it, but this is workable.

The only problem is what it might do to him personally if the human stays.

“We pay minimum wage,” Kurt says, his methods of dissuading Blaine getting weaker and weaker.

“I’m fine with that. I was planning on cashing in my 401K anyway.”

“Wait, wait, wait … you work at a dry cleaners as a cashier and you have a 401K?” Puck gasps. “How in the world did you manage that?”

“I was a business minor in college.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yup. I set up a portfolio using eTrade online, diversified early, made a good call on some high risk investments …”

“Guys! We’re getting a little off topic, don’t you think?”

Blaine turns to Kurt. He stares deep into the demon’s eyes, as if he’s about to relate something profound, and says, “Ace of spades.”

Kurt jerks back. “What?”

“Your card.” Blaine points to the card skewered to the palm of Kurt’s hand. “It’s the ace of spades, am I right?”

Kurt looks at the card he’d forgotten he’d been holding, the one he’s been strangling this whole time. “How did you know that?”

“Your eyes give you away,” Blaine says with another of his infuriating winks. Kurt doesn’t like Blaine’s winks. They’re sly and disarming … and they make his stomach wriggle like a mass of earthworms struggling to rise through a thick puddle of mud. But Kurt finds himself grinning over the comment about his eyes until he remembers one thing.

His red eyes are reflective.

Which means Blaine’s just a con-man. A charming, handsome con-man.

But he’s a good one, there’s no denying that. He’s pretty much conned his way into Kurt’s circus, whether Kurt likes it or not. He’s conned Puck into taking his side, though that’s probably not as difficult a feat as Kurt is giving him credit for.

Conning his way into Kurt’s life - that Kurt doesn’t like. But Kurt will find a way around that. If Kurt could tame him up a little, Blaine might be of use to them.

If anything, he might be more qualified to balance their books than Puck, the neutered Pukwudgie.

“Look.” Blaine closes his eyes and exhales, rubbing a hand over his face as if he knows he’s running out of options. And on his face, Kurt catches a look that he’s seen on other humans a thousand times.

He’s even seen it on himself.

I just don’t want to be here. I just don’t want to be alone anymore.

That speaks to Kurt. Here it was, the truth behind the con.

I can’t stay here. There are too many memories here. I’m trying to live, I’m doing the best I can, but there’s nothing for me here anymore. If I have to stay here another week, another month, I won’t be able to take it. I’ll do something rash. Please. You have to take me with you. You have to let me in. I’m so lonely, and I just want a little bit of happiness. It’s been over twenty years. Don’t I deserve that?

Kurt nods at Blaine’s sentiment, the one in Blaine’s head, but that’s not what Blaine says.

What he says is this:

“You guys used to do well here on Earth because witches and warlocks and mermaids and unicorns and …” Blaine looks between Kurt and Puck. He makes a quick decision and points to Puck “… him … were the stuff of fantasies and legends. But now they’re the stuff of movies. Summer blockbusters by the dozens, coming out year after year like clockwork. With modern technology, computers and CGI, humans can create fantasy. Anything they want, even in their own homes. Kids more than half my age are becoming Internet famous with sci-fi movies they film in their basements and upload on YouTube. And that’s bad for you guys. Really bad for you. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. But where you guys are headed, won’t I be the thing of fantasy? The oddity? Won’t I be what draws a crowd, even if all I do are card tricks?” Kurt’s eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s hands, but miraculously, his ever-present deck of cards seems to have disappeared. In fact, dressed in a pocket-less black button down over a black tank top, skin tight jeans, and boat shoes on his feet with no socks, Kurt has no idea where that deck of cards even came from to begin with. The man shouldn’t even be able to wear underwear in those jeans. Where the hell is he hiding a deck of cards? “Maybe you guys can’t break even here, but why not get a head start wherever it is you’re going, and come back here with a better game plan?”

“And I assume that you are going to want to help us with that game plan?”

“It’d make sense, wouldn’t it? I mean, I know what the people here want. I have the inside scoop.”

“I also assume you’ll be expecting a cut,” Puck grouses.

“Not a cut,” Blaine says, that exhausted look evaporating with the arrival of a single, effervescent smile. “An opportunity.”

Kurt’s eyelids narrow. “What opportunity?”

Blaine turns his attention Kurt’s way, and Kurt notices the way Blaine’s eyes light up when he looks at him, the way his face seems to shine when he aims his smile at him.

“Well, now, that remains to be seen.”

Kurt sighs. He doesn’t know what to make of that comment, how to feel about it, but he moves on nonetheless. “Listen,” he says, already regretting what he’s about to say. But Blaine has a point. In other dimensions, he would be the oddity. That might be worth something. “I don’t know that you’ll fit in here, but you can come with. I’ll give you a trial run, so you can figure out if this is really the future you want. And if it’s not, we’ll drop you back off the next time we’re nearby.”

“You have the power to see the future, don’t you?” Blaine says.

“Sometimes,” Kurt replies, though seeing as he hasn’t been able to predict anything that’s happened so far, he might have to scratch that one off of his list of abilities.

“Well, what do you see in mine?”

“Me changing my mind if you don’t get your ass out of here.”

Blaine smiles his megawatt smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a golden retriever puppy. “You mean it?”

Kurt’s head tells him to say no. Regardless of if this is a workable idea, it’s still not an advisable one. Bringing a human through time and space may have consequences. But it’s not Blaine’s brilliant con that made Kurt’s mind up for him. It’s not even the warmth that’s been bubbling in Kurt’s heart since Blaine arrived.

It’s that one sentence Blaine uttered without saying a word.

I just want a little bit of happiness.

Kurt has dedicated his life to bringing happiness to others. That’s what his circus has been about. He didn’t create it for wealth or fame. He’s been sidetracked a little bit lately trying to keep their heads afloat, but not out of greed. Out of responsibility. But if he overlooks this man and his gifts simply because he’s human, Kurt will be a hypocrite to the ninth degree.

Besides, maybe helping this man find his happiness will help every one of them in the long run.

Even Kurt.

He’ll have to set the wheels in motion and see how this plays out.

“Yeah, I mean it.” Kurt shrinks a few feet to meet the man’s height. “Go home and pack up your things. Get your affairs in order and say your goodbyes. In a couple of days, we’ll be leaving this dimension, and I don’t know for sure when we’ll be back. Does that sound okay with you? Does it sound like something you can do?”

Kurt holds his breath while he waits for Blaine to answer, not because he’s afraid that Blaine will say yes, but because he’s suddenly afraid that Blaine might say no.

“Yes!” Blaine claps his hands. “Yes! I can! That’s no problem! Absolutely no problem, I …” Blaine rambles as he backs out of the room, planning out loud “I’ll pack up my things, I’ll say my goodbyes, I’ll cash in my accounts, I’ll … thank you!” He rushes over to Puck. He takes the goblin’s sticky hand and pumps it hard. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank me, young man,” Puck says, extricating his hand from Blaine’s grasp as if he were shedding himself of a slimier than normal banana slug. “Thank the demon. He’s the one who’ll be vouching for you from now on, so I suggest you don’t mess up.”

“Of course not! Of course I won’t!” Blaine launches himself at Kurt. Kurt reaches for his hand, but Blaine throws his arms around his waist instead, hugging him with all his might. “Thank you,” Blaine says, softer than a whisper. “You won’t regret this.”

“Make sure that I don’t.” Kurt can’t bring himself to hug the man. Not just yet. Not with those painful memories laying siege to Blaine’s mind. So Kurt pats him on the back instead. “Remember that if you piss me off in any way, peeling the skin from your bones is still an option.”

“I’ll remember.” Blaine detaches himself quickly and, with a wave at Kurt and Puck, races from the ruin, presumably heading home to collect his things and bid a fond adieu to his life.

He’ll be back. Kurt knows.

He doesn’t need to be psychic to see it.

“You like him,” Puck sneers, following Kurt’s eyes as the demon watches the human go.

Kurt clicks his tongue with disgust. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Don’t be ri---” He’s about to say ridiculous, but he remembers what Blaine said about liking ridiculous. He won’t prove him right. He refuses to use that word “… stupid.”

“A-ha,” Puck says, insulted. He takes one look at Kurt and his eyes grow wide, becoming the size of saucers, outdoing his nose for the most outlandish feature on his face. “Kurt! You---you’re budding!”

Kurt’s face scrunches. “What?”

“Look for yourself! You’re actually growing leaves! And flowers! Gah!” The goblin exclaims in disgust. “Is that … an apple?”

Kurt twists his torso in an attempt to get a better look. He spots his reflection in the filth-covered windows a short distance away and sneers. “It happens,” he says, trying to bat it off his body with his fingers. “It’s almost spring.”

“Don’t give me that!” Puck groans, swiping away Kurt’s excuses with his hand. “You’re wearing a disguise! One that you control! That apple is all you, buddy!”

“Well, what was that with you talking shop with him? About his portfolio?” Kurt counters. “You were practically drooling! It was pathetic!”

“Don’t talk pathetic with me. I’m not the one sprouting fruit. And I’m not fanboying! I’m trying to keep us in the black, Kurt! Remember? I’m not too proud to admit that that young man might know a little more than me in that regard.”

“Stop trying to be hip, Puck. It doesn’t suit you,” Kurt sniffs. “Having a blog on Tumblr doesn’t make you relevant.” Kurt plants his hands on his hips and goes back to pacing, trying to come to grips with these changes, what he did - inviting a human to travel with them, making him part of the troupe.

Possibly flirting with him, and how that made him feel.

How it felt to give in to his nature after so long.

He taps his fingers on his hip as he marks off the many, many mistakes he made in the past two hours. When his finger hits something – or more to the point, the absence of something - he can’t help the grin blossoming on his face among a small patch of moss and a cluster of bluebells. And if a small robin’s nest sprouts somewhere in the vicinity of the new growth behind his left ear, complete with momma bird and a clutch of pale blue eggs, well, he won’t be the one to point it out.

He doesn’t have to. Puck sees it and shakes his head. “So, tell me this, Kurt - if you don’t like him, then why are you blooming? What’s with the smiling? I haven’t seen you this giddy since The Great Emu War.”

Kurt chuckles before he answers, patting down his body once to be doubly sure. He’s been using magic to change his appearance, giving himself a façade that aligns with what the humans believe a “tree demon” should look like. It covers up his vaguely human form, including the clothes he wears (which is a shame because he happens to have amazing fashion sense). It had to have been when Blaine hugged him. Kurt had been caught off his guard. It had happened so quickly, he didn’t even notice.

The sly bastard.

Blaine must have been looking for Kurt’s stone. Of course, he was. Blaine, with even a Google knowledge of Spriggan would know that Kurt might have one. Many a Spriggan does - a beautiful, snow white keepsake - and the Spriggan who loses his is required to grant wishes to the person who finds it. Blaine must have felt it. It’s difficult to miss once you put your hand on it.

Kurt can imagine what Blaine would have wished for if he’d taken it.

But for some reason, he didn’t. The most precious of Kurt’s possessions, and Blaine left it behind.

There is obviously more to this man than meets the eyes.

But that doesn’t mean he left empty handed.

In that same pocket was something else, which has now gone missing, and Kurt smirks thinking about it.

“He stole my wallet.”

[wiccawisdom]

Creating Your Altar - Make it Personal

A lot of people just starting out on the Wiccan path (or other spiritual path that uses altars or shrines) get this book or that one and start obsessing over following the directions in it exactly - finding the perfect items for rituals and their altar. But what they often fail to realize is that the most powerful altar is one the means the most to you - altars are very personal objects so don't worry if you can't or don't want to follow directions in some book. Do what feels right to you. 

What is an Altar?

An altar is really just a working space set with objects that reflect you, the purpose of the altar, or the ritual or season you are celebrating at it. There are many types of altars - an ancestral altar, meditation altar, or moon phase altar are all great supplements to your main, working, ritual altar. Perhaps you will want to create your ritual altar fresh every time you need it (practical if you don't want everyone in your house to know what you are practicing) instead of being set up permanently. Decide what the main focus of your altar will be (and don't be afraid to change it as your practice evolves). 

Before you go hunting for all those items you want to buy for your altar, relax! First decide the best location for your altar. It should be one that is relatively "safe" - meaning a place that isn't in the main traffic zone of your home where it might be bumped or disturbed (or become a place to dump mail or keys) or where your children or pets will think its the perfect spot to play. If you have a spare bedroom or unused space you can use, awesome but even a small closet or a corner of a room can work well. Need to keep it away from children or pets? A wall shelf can work wonderfully! And remember, you can have more than one altar depending on your path and what you want to use them for.

How to Create an Altar 

Once you find a place and decide the purpose of your altar, start with a simple altar cloth - measure the flat surface you are planning to use and take a trip to the fabric store. You can often find remnants of very beautiful fabrics for just a dollar or two. Get some fabric paints, beads, feathers - whatever you like and decorate it if you want. Get several fabrics of different colors if you want to set up a seasonal altar. Let your intuition guide you and have some fun with it - your altar doesn't have to be serious!

Now that you have a cloth, most altars have one item for each of the elements of the Craft - Earth, Fire, Air, Water and Spirit and is usually referred to as an Elemental or Basic Altar.

Look around for things you already have that mean something special to you - they will already have great energy. Traditionally a chalice or cup is used for water, but perhaps your grandmother's candy bowl is perfect or that beautiful sea shell you found on your trip last summer could represent water. Small fountains are also perfect adding the beautiful sound of water to your rituals. Candles are wonderful, but not always practical depending on where you set up your altar or if you have cats that can knock them over (one of my cats set herself on fire by brushing against my candle at the wrong time - I freaked more than she did and she only singed a few hairs thankfully). Perhaps a night light or electric Christmas candle would be a better fit for fire for you or the more traditional witches dagger known as an Athame - or even a photo or painting of flames. Air is usually represented by incense or a wand, but a feather found on a spring walk would do as well, especially if you cannot have the smoke incense create. A pretty potted plant or found rock or pine cone works as well for Earth as the traditional pentacle. Spirit could be represented by a candle, a pentacle (how about one made from twigs from the nearby park!), or any image of a God or Goddess that you like. Don't feel like you have to stay traditional or use tools that may not feel comfortable to you. The more personal the items you use, the more personal the energy of your altar.

Altars also often contain a sacred statue representing your patron diety or statues of both your favorite God and Goddess. Don't stress out though if you haven't decided on the form of God/dess you prefer yet - just go with a more generic symbol of spirit such as a pentacle or one black stone for God Energy, one white stone for Goddess Energy. Add flowers or other seasonal touches as offerings if you'd like.

The altar in my office (right) has changed many times over the years, but is always a point of peace and calm to me. Turning on the fountain and lighting the candle every morning centers me and lets me focus better. It is filled with things I love.

Beyond the basics, add special objects depending on the purpose of your altar.

Ancestral altars are great to make and pretty easy - photos or mementos of members of your family in pretty frames with a candle or offering dish is all you need. I have a lovely wooden box on mine (which sits on a table that once belonged to a great Aunt) that I use as a memory box. On the birthday or another special date of the person that has crossed over, I sit down and write out one of my favorite memories of them or find a photo or make something that reminds me of them adding it to the box. On Samhain, I read thru those I've written in the past year remembering each person in turn. 

Moon altars can have any shiny, round object to represent the moon such as a silver tray. For years I have used a silver blown glass Christmas ornament with the hook and cap removed sitting in a tapered crystal vase - I cover it with a black cloth completely during the dark of the moon, partially for other phases and let it shine uncovered during full moons. It currently sits on the window sill of my temple room absorbing the energies of the moon.

Meditation altars can have anything that helps you focus - a statue, incense, candle or mirror are some ideas. A metronome that musicians use to keep the beat, a fountain, or small mp3 player could all be used to help you get into the meditative state. These altars can also do double duty for divination being the place you spread your runes or tarot cards for a reading or the place you journal after meditation and rituals. 

Creating an Altar for Spells and Rituals

If setting an altar for a specific ritual or spell, again take a look around and figure out what represents the purpose of the ritual best to you - it will automatically be more powerful and just the process of considering objects and designing your altar can be magical. If you are not going to let the altar set up permanently, find a pretty box to store everything in when not in use. Craft stores have inexpensive plain wood boxes of all sizes you can get and paint or decorate as you'd like. Perhaps you'll want to get several and store seasonal altars in their own boxes for when you need them. This would also make them portable if you want to practice while on a trip or in a local park instead of at home.

Spell altars should focus entirely on the purpose of the spell so take the time to consider correspondences of color, candles, oils, herbs and anything else you want to use. Set up the basic Elemental altar first to balance the energies of it and then add whatever you will need for your spell or items you want to charge or cleanse. 

Keeping A Secret Altar

Do you want to set up an altar where others don't appreciate or don't follow your beliefs? Keep it simple and secret. For years I kept a potted plant in a large dish on my desk at work to represent Earth and a small fountain to represent Water. Around the base of the plant I had stones for each of the other elements and tiny statues (fantasy gaming type) from a hobby store I painted by hand to represent the God and Goddess. No one but me knew what it truly meant, but I found it very centering and calming even during the most stressful days. I know someone that has created an altar charm bracelet with charms and stones on it that represent the elements and God/dess to her. She wears it every day and always has her altar with her! Prayer beads or malas can serve a similar function bringing your focus back to your spirituality whenever you need it. 

Books are wonderful, especially when just starting out, but don't get too bogged down in what they say you "should" do - treat them as guidelines and let your own intuition be your true guide. Don't be afraid to mix things up and change them from time to time either. Enjoy the process and your magic will be that much more special.

from All Wicca Store Magickal Supplies http://www.allwicca.com/index.php?route=news/article&news_id=61

[jeremiahdowney]

My Hotel Still Has a Thirteenth Floor

On the edge of the town of Greenwood sits a hotel. Newly rebuilt and re-branded after sitting for months as a pile of ashes. The official cause of the fire remains unknown…but the truth is that it was arson.

Taylor explained as much to me in her suicide note. Due to the intimate, “for-your-eyes-only” nature of the note, I wont be sharing it here. Suffice to say that she told me she couldn’t continue with the nightmares, and that Teegs was only the tip of the iceberg. She planned to take the whole place down with her, thirteenth floor and all. By the time I found her confession, it was too late for me to do anything about it. I’d sped through town toward the hotel I’d walked out of for the last time months earlier, only to arrive at a towering inferno. Bright orange and yellow flames were bursting from the windows, reaching upward toward the sky. Guest vehicles were ablaze, no doubt due to their proximity to the burning building. I don’t think Taylor would have purposely set fire to them, no matter what she was suffering at the time.

The firefighters seemed to have given up from what I could see, albeit my vantage was limited to my driver side window as I drove past, and my attention was primarily drawn to the nondescript black SUVs that were blocking the driveway entrances. Police officers, the public would think, no doubt…but their black suits…

I’d continued my drive out of Greenwood, stopping in our neighboring town. The city that Taylor had worked in before I contacted her, roped her back into all of this. I pulled into the parking lot of a gas station and let the emotions come. I read, and reread her note through my tears. The nature of our relationship was a unique one. We’d been friends, and lovers after the events of the thirteenth floor, sharing a bond that I assume only two people who have encountered the supernatural can even fathom. Now she was gone. I read her note one last time before pressing my car lighter into the bottom right corner of the torn notebook page. I’d dragged her into this, pulled her back into the world she’d managed to escape before. I could at least protect her legacy. I’d make sure there was no proof that could link her to the crime. As I sat there, wiping the tears from my eyes, watching the note burn in my vehicle’s pull out ash tray, I mentally prepared myself.

In the weeks that followed, I took to drinking. I’m not proud of that, but its the truth. Instead of reaching out about my loss, seeing a therapist…I turned inward, and to the bottle. My apartment felt so big, and empty without her. I’d drink often, but especially when following the story of the hotel. The Greenwood news covered it extensively. The police report, along with saying the cause was unknown, claimed there had been no casualties. Who knows if that was true, or just more bullshit. Those men in black no doubt spun a narrative, and the droves would just believe whatever the authorities told them. I knew for a fact that there was at least one dead. A redhead that was mentioned a total of zero times.

It was a few months before word of construction would hit the news. A new hotel to be erected in place of the old one, renamed “The Greenwood Hotel” after the town, of course. No franchise this time, apparently. “The Greenwood on the bay!” The news anchor had joked, with a plastic smile and big, white teeth flashing. She was referring to the swampy bog that sat in the forest behind the land. I remember thinking she was quite tacky for making the joke, but then again, I supposed I was the only one left who knew the history of the hotel which once sat there. Within a month the doors were opened.

My drinking came to a head about six months after Taylor had done what she did. Half a year of living on the stuff, lines begin to blur and limits become nonexistent. I showed up to work shitfaced, and even though the factory I’d been working for ever since the thirteenth floor turned a blind eye to numerous safety violations, and sexual harassment was a daily thing, I guess showing up drunk was where they put their foot down. I wouldn’t call it serendipitous by any stretch, but that very day was when I saw the ad. It shouldn’t have shocked me the way it did, I was searching the help wanted section of the newspaper after all, but I did feel my heart drop when I read it.

“GREENWOOD HOTEL-NIGHT AUDITOR WANTED”. I had flashes of it all when I read those words…night auditor wanted…I saw Taylor, The Bunnyman…memories of the puppet, and the way the wind whipped at me as I eagerly pounded on the elevator button the first time I’d stumbled onto that floor. Something clicked inside of me, and I don’t know if it was the alcohol’s affect on my brain, or maybe I was just drifting closer to madness due to my depression over losing my friend, but the one thing in my mind that I could not shake was the thought…maybe…maybe shes still there…Teegs managed to stick around, so why not? It was a crazy thought, but this whole place, these events, they were all crazy. So why not, right? It was with a shaking hand that I dialed the number listed.

There was no application process. I was called for an interview the very next day after the manager had heard my qualifications. Arriving was surreal enough, but nothing compared to hearing those automatic doors sliding open and setting foot inside once again. The wallpaper was different, as were some fixtures, but essentially the layout was the same. Desk to the left as you walk in, breakfast on the right. Beyond the desk sits the elevator, and hallway, expanding in both directions, ending in a stairwell. I wondered to myself about those stairwells.

The General Manager was the one manning the desk when I walked in. A woman who looked to be in her forties, who was trying desperately to hide any gray hairs with an unnatural, jet black dye job. She was enthused to meet me once I introduced myself. She gave me her name, Jeanie, and asked me if I’d step into her office. Why not, as it sat in the same place that Roger’s office had been. It was bizarre, yet so familiar. The interview was by the numbers, and at the end of it I was unsurprised when Jeanie, in a sweet voice, told me they’d love to have me on board, and asked when I could start.

“Immediately.” I replied, before adding “May I ask what happened to the last night auditor?”

Jeanie’s smile never faltered.

“She said she wasn’t comfortable working alone, something about getting a weird phone call. You know how that is, don’t you, Justin.” She said, as if the two of us were sharing an inside hotel joke, and she winked. I smiled back at her and nodded.

I started the next night. My trainer knew less than I did, so it was merely a single night that I wasn’t alone. My second night was when I began to look for any signs of the strange. I paced the halls, watched the cameras, but nothing happened. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. With this hotel, or at least the one that used to sit in this location, that was weirder than anything. Nothing. I spent four hours walking up one flight of stairs, and down the other…no thirteenth floor…nothing. Just the same three floors, over, and over, and over.

I wasn’t surprised, as the thirteenth floor had been quite elusive before…but a nagging at the back of my mind was arguing that maybe it was gone. Maybe Taylor HAD killed it, maybe this new hotel was just that.

Months went by like this. I’d check the stairwells, and the laundry chute…nothing. Hell, I’d even check the audit boxes to make sure they were normal, which they always were. To tell you the truth, it was quite a boring place. Until tonight.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first. I was just sitting here at my desk, catching up on a movie, when the phone rang. We are entering the off season for the hotel business in my area, and I’d dealt with a guy who was trying to get a room for he and his “wife” to “celebrate” in for only a few hours, therefore he felt he should only pay for said few hours. I’d explained to him that that is most definitely not how the Greenwood Hotel worked, to which he demanded I call my manager and call him back right away.

“Sir, it’s the middle of the night, my manager doesn’t want to be bothered and I can tell you that shes going to say the same thing I’m telling you.” I said, trying not to sound like an asshole, but not trying that hard.

“I’ll have your job!” he screamed back at me.

“You don’t want it, sir.” I finished before hitting the end call button.

I fully expected it to be him again, to give me what for, when I picked the phone up this time.

“Greenwood Hot-” I started, but was cut off.

“Set a man to watch all night, watch all night, watch all night, set a man to watch all night, fix my TV!” a shrill feminine voice shrieked at me to the tune of “London Bridge” through the receiver. Following the words came a horrible, witch-like cackle.

The line went dead, but not before I caught a glimpse of the phone console, which assured that the call was coming from room 604. A room that does not exist at The Greenwood Hotel. Immediately after the realization struck me, I heard the metallic “clang” from the laundry room, and the same witchy cackling, but much clearer than from the phone…much closer. I turned toward the noise, and my suspicion was confirmed, that it was coming from the laundry chute. The clanging was the chute door, opening and closing, like a mouth. This gave the appearance that the fucking chute itself was mocking me with that wild cackling.

I didn’t hesitate, and charged toward it. I violently grasped the handle, forcing the chute open, and through the manic laughter, I heard myself yell up the chute…

“Taylor!? Taylor, are you there?!” I managed, before starting to get choked up.

The chute stopped its laughing, but I kept my grip on its handle. I stood that way for what felt like minutes, but realistically had to be only seconds. Then the lights all around me flickered out, and the only illumination was what emanated from the opening of the laundry chute. A sickly crimson.

“You couldn’t take the fucking hint, could you?” My own voice spoke to me from inside the chute. It was unsettling to say the least, hearing oneself like that.

It startled me enough to make me jump, and caused my grip to loosen enough for the chute door to tear itself free and return to its natural closed position. I fell backwards onto the hard tile as I watched the chute slowly open again, eerie red light filled the room again as it did so. I saw something slowly descending in it. It looked like the chute was giving birth, pushing whatever it was down, with some effort. The scarlet glow didn’t help with recognizing it at first, as it simply looked like a shadowy blob.

“You know that I never loved you, right?” I heard the voice say. It was raspy, and gruff, but unmistakably Taylor. I was unable to move, as I sat there awash with horror.

The blob began to move, and it became clear once I saw the head rotate to face me. It was Taylor. She was upside down, shoulders, neck and head sticking out of the chute. It was a terrifying sight, seeing her badly disfigured. The burns on her face, scalp, and neck made me want to look away, I TRIED to look away, but I couldn’t. Her eyes, they were…they were melting, rolling down, or up her cheeks…her lips were black and split open, revealing tender pink meat. No hint of the beautiful orange hair existed anymore, it was replaced by the same horrific scarring that covered her face.

“Taylor…” I managed to whisper.

“Come to get me, Justin?” She wailed, and laughed simultaneously. It was as if pain and humor had met. It made my skin crawl and my hair stand up.

She chattered her teeth at me, and began to squirm. I saw on arm slide free, down the chute, followed by the other…she was going to work her way out, and she was going to get me…and I was going to let her.

“Fix. My. TV!” She howled, in that same pained laugh, as she grasped the edges of the chute, pulling herself closer to the actual opening.

“Ding, ding!” came the sound from the front desk. The unmistakable sound of my bell. I don’t know why it snapped me out of it, but I turned my head in that direction. This somehow broke me from the trance, and when I turned back toward the chute I saw it slam closed, followed by a banging on the metal door, which quickly faded. I was able to stand, and did so. I tried to process what I had seen, but the rapid dinging of the bell came again.

I composed myself and headed back around the wall to the front desk, where I was greeted by a sight just as unreal as the one I’d been confronted with moments earlier. There, staring at me from across the desk, stood a skeleton. It leaned on the desk, tapping its bony fingers on the plastic. I stopped in my tracks, and just looked. The thing looked back at me with its eyeless sockets for a few seconds. I don’t know how I knew it, but it could see me perfectly fine. This was confirmed when it spoke to me.

“Hi.” it said, despite having no neck to contain any vocal chords. Its skull pivoted back and forth on its spinal column. As it did this, dust fell from its bones onto a brightly colored, yet dirty, neon jogging suit. I also noted a huge crack along the left side of the skull.

“Hi.” I uttered back, still trying to understand what I was seeing. This was most definitely not the thirteenth floor. This was my brightly lit, clean, normal hotel.

“So, uh…” The skeleton spoke again. “Got any rooms?”

I nodded

“Can I have one?” he asked, a bit sarcastically, as if my standoffishness were unjustified.

I approached my computer, very unsure of how to proceed.

“How many nights are we looking at?” I asked, my tone unsettled.

“Indefinitely.” The skeleton responded, reaching into a pocket with his skinless hand. It produced two gold coins, that for lack of a better term looked like pirate treasure. It dropped them noisily onto the counter it was still leaning against.

I looked down at the spinning gold coins, and then back to the skeleton. I silently pointed to the sign next to him, which read “No Cash or Checks”. It sighed, scooping up the coins and jingling them in its fist.

“Amex okay?” it asked.

“You, uh, got a valid ID?”

It laughed, a sincere laugh, and put the coins back into its pocket, and pulled out an old, weathered wallet. From the billfold it pulled a brand new credit card, and to my shock, a drivers license. The most baffling look must have come over my face when I peered at the license, because the skeleton spoke again.

“Take all the time you need, chum.” It said, closing its teeth in a sort of awkward smile.

I looked the license over. It was local, because of course it was. Why wouldn’t Greenwood have a skeleton with a drivers license. And it definitely was the thing standing before me, as the description matched. “Hair:NA, Eyes:NA, Class:D” oh, and the picture in the corner was a fucking skull. Dead giveaway. The thing wasn’t even expired.

“Bruce Gumps.” I read aloud.

“In the…well, I would say flesh, but ya know.” Bruce said back to me, humor in his tone.  

I shrugged. Valid ID, valid credit card. I set the skeleton up with a room.

“Do you have a floor preference, Mr. Gumps?” I asked, in full on professional mode.

“Bruce, please. ‘Mr. Gumps’…yuck. And, Justin, I think you know what floor I want.” Bruce said slyly.

“How did you know my name?!’ I said, taken aback. The skeleton slowly raised his right hand and outstretched his index finger. He slowly began moving it toward me.

I panicked internally,images of the grim reaper doing the touch of death danced across my mind. I held my breath, bracing myself.

The bony finger struck my nametag with a soft “clack”.

“Oh…well, how about the third floor?” I said, feeling like a dumbass.

Bruce pivoted his head in a “no” motion. A weird “squeal” noise came from the bones rubbing together. I leaned in close.

“Thirteenth floor?” I whispered.

“Justin, I was just outside…there is No way this building has thirteen floors. No, I want you to type this into the room slot…and don’t you worry, I’ve still got my key from last time I stayed here. I know this building is ‘new’…” he raised his hands to do the rabbit ears gesture, “…but I think my key will still work.” He finished by showing me a skeleton key hanging around his neck.

“I see.” I said, not seeing at all.

“Punch in the room number B06.” He said, showing me his strange smile again.

To my surprise, it worked totally fine. I explained to him that he was all set, and pointed out the elevator.

“Elevator doesn’t go to my floor, Justin.” He said as he walked down the hallway. He disappeared into the stairwell, and I heard thunder clap outside.

So on the edge of the town of Greenwood, there sits a hotel. Inside of this hotel, sits a night auditor, smiling as he types up the events of the night. They may have been horrible, or surreal, but the night auditor smiles anyway, because he knows he will have new stories to tell.

[willow-salix]

Perfect Punctuation : Sentence Endings.

Perfect Punctuation: the full stop, the question mark and the exclamation mark.

Hi, and welcome back to my channel. If you don’t know me or haven’t watched any of my videos before, my name is Willow and I am a pagan witch, medium and paranormal romance author. And I started this channel as a way of helping people as much as I can, both on a creative level with instructional videos for writing but also on spiritual matters.

I decided to make this series of videos on punctuation as a way of helping others who may not understand how to use these tricky little buggers, or may find the explanations available out there are too complicated to understand. Now I’m not going to go into massive details or teach you enough to get a degree in English, but I am going to teach you all the punctuation you are likely to need if you wish to become a writer. Everything here is with writing fiction books, short stories or general creative writing in mind. I’m aiming to keep this as simple and easy to understand as possible and will be including lots of examples to show how to use the symbols correctly, but I’m always willing to answer questions if you are unsure.

Proper punctuation is very important for your writing, it will help the flow of your sentences and will make sure that your meaning is perfectly clear. That’s their job, to make sure that your writing is clear and concise, to make sure that your meaning is never misunderstood.

So, I’m starting off this new series of videos with the simplest of punctuation symbols, and the ones that we use to finish off a sentence. Now, obviously I’m English, so we say it’s a full stop, not a period. This makes perfect sense to me as it is the stopping point of a sentence once its done, although other people may call it the period. For the purpose of this video I’m going to stick with what is natural for me and call it the full stop.

This little guy is placed at the end of a sentence to indicate that it has come to an end. When reading him aloud there should be a very firm feeling to it. Every sentence must end with either the full stop, a question mark or an exclamation mark. There is no other option.

For example: When he died it was the end of an era. Everyone would remember him.

A sentence must always have an ending to it, and the full stop is the most common one to use. If your sentence is not a question or is not expressing a very heightened emotion, then use a full stop. There is no need to try to get over creative with this or to find complicated ways of finishing off a sentence, nothing else works or is correct in regards to punctuation, you’ll just end up looking silly, and believe me, punctuation and grammar are one of the first things you will be judged on when someone is reading your writing. It’s very important to get it as right as you possibly can.

The question mark:

The clue is in the name and it’s pretty self-explanatory, the question mark is used in place of a full stop when the sentence takes the form of a question. This is for both narration and dialogue in fiction writing.

Here’s an example of a question that is written wrong, using a full stop instead of the needed question mark.

Example: “How do you work this toaster.”

See, it makes no sense. You can tell that is probably supposed to be a question, but there is nothing to indicate that. Therefore, for a reader, it is rather confusing. One simple change can make your meaning so clear.

Example: “How do you work this toaster?”

There, perfect. Now you can tell exactly what the sentence is. Obviously in this example I used a piece of dialogue. The principle is exactly the same for narration.

Example: She didn’t know where she was going, where was the bloody house.

Now, as you can see, just like before, this sentence feels like a question. It feels like the narrator is talking for the character, which is what narrators do, but it isn’t clear what is going on.

Again, the simple change makes all the difference.

Example: She didn’t know where she was going, where was the bloody house?

This makes the narration much clearer. You can tell that she is searching for a house, but can’t find it. As anyone would do, she is asking an internal question, which is shown with the use of a question mark. When writing we don’t want to bog our readers down with endless dialogue and have to write internal monologues or thoughts. Writing rules with regards to punctuation and grammar are exactly the same for all types of writing unless clearly stated otherwise.

Now, on to our last little symbol, the exclamation point.

Now this one is seen as a little trickier than our first two, but really that is just a case of writers and people in general over complicating things and overusing the symbol.

If you look anywhere online or on social media you will see people that over use the question mark and the exclamation mark, they will sometime use it three or four times in one go. Like this:

“ OMG I can’t believe it !!!!”

Or “What did you do????”

This is unneeded and completely wrong from a punctuation point of view, although I do understand why some people do it, and I myself have been guilty of this. But what people need to remember is that social media posts are not real writing, they are not something that you are putting out in the world and most likely, at some point, charging people to read if you are writing a book. Please, please, please, I can not beg you enough, do not look to social media as a way of discovering how to write or how to punctuate your work. It is almost always wrong.

When I said the exclamation mark is overused, I didn’t mean just in the number of times it appears at the end of a sentence, I meant in general. Especially in writing done by a novice writer. It is the most commonly abused punctuation mark, apart from maybe the comma, in almost every book I read.

An exclamation mark should be used sparingly, and only when it will have maximum impact. I edited a story for a friend, the story was just under 30,000 words, and when I searched out how many times she had used the exclamation mark I found it over 400 times. That is literally crazy for a piece that in fiction terms is relatively short. She also used it incorrectly, using it when it made little literary sense. in short it was a mess.

An exclamation mark is used to pack a punch to your narration or dialogue. That’s why they are best used sparingly. Think of a friend that is constantly excited, or constantly dramatic, it gets old very fast and you begin to dread hearing that person talk. Do you want that for your writing? The answer should be no.

They are most often used in fiction to show emotions.

Such as surprise: “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Anger: “I hate you!” “How dare you?”

Joy: “Oh wow, I love it!”

Excitement: “I did it!”

Or to ask for help, get attention, to issue a command or convey a sense of urgency. “Stop!” “Please, someone help me!”

If you overuse this little guy, you will take away the impact that he has. So, before you think about using him, ask yourself the following questions.

Is it hugely important?

Is it super exciting?

Is it an actual emergency?

If you said this out loud would you shout it?

If you were in this situation would you be very angry, excited, scared or happy?

All of these will help you learn to use your exclamation mark as sparingly as possible and when it will have the most impact.

As with the question mark, an exclamation mark takes the place of a full stop.

Now I will be going into this next point in more detail in another video, but I’ll just touch on it now. With any punctuation like this, it must always be within your speech or quotation marks. The punctuation must never be outside of them. There also must never be a gap or a blank space between the last letter of the sentence and the punctuation, be it a full stop, question mark or explanation mark.

That’s all for today, keep popping back to watch the rest of this series. Thanks for watching, as always, blessed be and happy writing.

[hawksquill]

Excerpt from Luna Lovegood and the Forgotten Circle, chapter 3

“Cornwall smells different,” Luna declared dreamily as the girls burst out of the dim, cramped witch’s cottage and into the fresh air, which smelled so salty that there was almost a tangible grit as it caressed their faces and tousled their hair.

“We’re not all that far from home, you know,” Ginny said sensibly, but Luna silenced her with a wave of her hand.

“There’s magic here, is what I mean. Let’s go find it,” and she began leading them towards the craggy cliffs.

“I think we’re only supposed to go outside for a bit of fresh air. We have to go back in and finish reading all those papers Professor McGonnagall gave us,” Caroline Figg said, twisting the tail of her braid round and round her fingers.

“Bah, papers! Don’t you want to see the sea?” Ginny yelled, already running towards the waves crashing on the beach, which they could hear but not yet see.

The other four girls crept behind like ducklings following their mother into the unknown, while Luna and Ginny led the way. Their silhouettes cut a striking figure against the stark scenery, one dark head and one red head walking towards the gray horizon of the ocean.

“What did Professor McGonagall give you all to do? I got something about cauldrons,” Parvati began tentatively, but Luna ignored her.

“Mine was about cursing people using bog water,” Padma offered.

“None of that matters, anyway,” Luna said, her eyes scanning the horizon. The seven girls were nearing the edge of the headland, and could see now that it dropped off in a sheer cliff, with no discernible path to the beach below.

“Best turn back, I reckon,” Caroline said, linking arms with Sylvia Fawcett and tugging her friend back towards the cottage.

“No.”

“What do you mean no, Luna?” Caroline’s voice grew high and scratchy as it often did, and Luna and Ginny exchanged a smirk. They were taking bets on whether Caroline would ever attract a confused screech owl who mistook her voice for a mating call.

“I mean that I don’t want to go back inside. None of that stuff is useful to me, anyway,” Luna said absently, without any barb in her voice. She wasn’t even looking at the others, who were all clustered far from the edge of the cliff apart from Ginny, who had one leg slung over the edge and a furrowed brow as she considered a scramble down the rocks.

“But it’s more useful to you than it is to us!” Sylvia said, her arm still linked through Caroline’s, “Don’t you get it, Luna? You’re going to be the one in charge of all this… Whatever it turns out to be. You need to learn it all!”

“Well if I’ll be in charge, I’ll get to decide what we do. And I don’t like reading old handwriting, so we won’t do that. You’re all welcome to go back, if you want to,” she said, still not looking at them, eyes running along the edge of the cliff face, as if looking for something the others couldn’t see.

“Nah, I’m going to try to get onto the beach,” Ginny said, fitting her foot into a convenient groove and hoisting herself down and out of sight. Caroline let out a yelp and tugged at the end of her braid until it nearly came loose.

“I’d like a look, if we can find a way,” Lavender Brown piped up, “My dad was from Cornwall and he always loved these beaches.”

The rare contribution from Lavender silenced the others, apart from a whoop of appreciation from Ginny, who sounded rather far away.

“We won’t have to climb down too far, I expect,” Luna said, lowering herself and following the trail blazed by her friend.

“No, Gin, this way,” she said, veering off course to move laterally towards the left.

“What?” Ginny called, already more than halfway to the shore.

But Luna had disappeared.

Padma and Parvati cried out from their rocks near the top of the cliff, and Caroline and Sylvia backed away from where they had been considering the climb, turning back as if to make for the cottage.

But Lavender had been close behind, and she saw where Luna had gone.

“S’alright!” she called, “She’s just found some sort of cave or something!”

That tempted even Caroline and Sylvia to make the trek, and all the girls were soon gathered in the cave. It was small and crudely hewn out of the cliff face, the edges still rough and craggy, as if fighting back against the beating waves of the sea that tried to tame it. And it had exactly the same smell as the old chest in the cottage, but more potent. It smelled of magic.

“What is this place?” Padma breathed, stooping next to a small pile of ashes and animal bones, remnants of some ancient fire.

“This is where the real witches worked their magic, while their apprentices scribbled down that nonsense up in the cottage,” Luna declared, examining a series of strange carvings and dark stains on the walls at the very back of the cave.

“Should…should we fetch the grown-ups?” asked Caroline, who was standing near the entrance to the cave.

“Course not! Come on, Caro, don’t spoil the fun,” said Ginny, digging a series of shallow holes near the edge of the cave with the firepit, in search of buried witch’s treasure.

Lavender was the first to notice Luna holding the broomstick.

“Where’d you find that?” But Luna didn’t answer. It was an ancient, battered thing that looked as if it had been whittled painstakingly by hand and carried more generations of women than even Cressida could imagine. It smelled as if it had been submerged in the ocean for a century.

“Woah!” Ginny exclaimed, grabbing the broomstick from Luna and straddling it. But when she tried to kick off the ground, nothing happened. She jumped, clutching the broomstick hopefully between her strong thighs, but promptly fell over.

“Let Parvati try it, she’s the best flyer,” Lavender suggested. But it wouldn’t fly for any of them, not even the future raven queen.

“The thing is ancient, must just be busted,” Ginny finally concluded before returning to her excavations. The others also soon lost interest and continued their exploration, but Luna remained staring at the dark tracings on the wall of the cave, then at the discolored, splotched handle of the broom.

She removed one of her earrings, hand-beaded into the shape of a raven by her mother, untwisted the metal hook, and dug deep into the soft pad of skin beneath one of her fingernails until she drew blood. She dribbled a few drops over the handle of the broomstick before mounting it and flying through the mouth of the cave and out into the stinging, salty Cornish air over the ocean.

Read more on AO3 here and FFN here! 

[wiccawisdom]

Creating Your Altar - Make it Personal

A lot of people just starting out on the Wiccan path (or other spiritual path that uses altars or shrines) get this book or that one and start obsessing over following the directions in it exactly - finding the perfect items for rituals and their altar. But what they often fail to realize is that the most powerful altar is one the means the most to you - altars are very personal objects so don't worry if you can't or don't want to follow directions in some book. Do what feels right to you. 

What is an Altar?

An altar is really just a working space set with objects that reflect you, the purpose of the altar, or the ritual or season you are celebrating at it. There are many types of altars - an ancestral altar, meditation altar, or moon phase altar are all great supplements to your main, working, ritual altar. Perhaps you will want to create your ritual altar fresh every time you need it (practical if you don't want everyone in your house to know what you are practicing) instead of being set up permanently. Decide what the main focus of your altar will be (and don't be afraid to change it as your practice evolves). 

Before you go hunting for all those items you want to buy for your altar, relax! First decide the best location for your altar. It should be one that is relatively "safe" - meaning a place that isn't in the main traffic zone of your home where it might be bumped or disturbed (or become a place to dump mail or keys) or where your children or pets will think its the perfect spot to play. If you have a spare bedroom or unused space you can use, awesome but even a small closet or a corner of a room can work well. Need to keep it away from children or pets? A wall shelf can work wonderfully! And remember, you can have more than one altar depending on your path and what you want to use them for.

How to Create an Altar 

Once you find a place and decide the purpose of your altar, start with a simple altar cloth - measure the flat surface you are planning to use and take a trip to the fabric store. You can often find remnants of very beautiful fabrics for just a dollar or two. Get some fabric paints, beads, feathers - whatever you like and decorate it if you want. Get several fabrics of different colors if you want to set up a seasonal altar. Let your intuition guide you and have some fun with it - your altar doesn't have to be serious!

Now that you have a cloth, most altars have one item for each of the elements of the Craft - Earth, Fire, Air, Water and Spirit and is usually referred to as an Elemental or Basic Altar.

Look around for things you already have that mean something special to you - they will already have great energy. Traditionally a chalice or cup is used for water, but perhaps your grandmother's candy bowl is perfect or that beautiful sea shell you found on your trip last summer could represent water. Small fountains are also perfect adding the beautiful sound of water to your rituals. Candles are wonderful, but not always practical depending on where you set up your altar or if you have cats that can knock them over (one of my cats set herself on fire by brushing against my candle at the wrong time - I freaked more than she did and she only singed a few hairs thankfully). Perhaps a night light or electric Christmas candle would be a better fit for fire for you or the more traditional witches dagger known as an Athame - or even a photo or painting of flames. Air is usually represented by incense or a wand, but a feather found on a spring walk would do as well, especially if you cannot have the smoke incense create. A pretty potted plant or found rock or pine cone works as well for Earth as the traditional pentacle. Spirit could be represented by a candle, a pentacle (how about one made from twigs from the nearby park!), or any image of a God or Goddess that you like. Don't feel like you have to stay traditional or use tools that may not feel comfortable to you. The more personal the items you use, the more personal the energy of your altar.

Altars also often contain a sacred statue representing your patron diety or statues of both your favorite God and Goddess. Don't stress out though if you haven't decided on the form of God/dess you prefer yet - just go with a more generic symbol of spirit such as a pentacle or one black stone for God Energy, one white stone for Goddess Energy. Add flowers or other seasonal touches as offerings if you'd like.

The altar in my office (right) has changed many times over the years, but is always a point of peace and calm to me. Turning on the fountain and lighting the candle every morning centers me and lets me focus better. It is filled with things I love.

Beyond the basics, add special objects depending on the purpose of your altar.

Ancestral altars are great to make and pretty easy - photos or mementos of members of your family in pretty frames with a candle or offering dish is all you need. I have a lovely wooden box on mine (which sits on a table that once belonged to a great Aunt) that I use as a memory box. On the birthday or another special date of the person that has crossed over, I sit down and write out one of my favorite memories of them or find a photo or make something that reminds me of them adding it to the box. On Samhain, I read thru those I've written in the past year remembering each person in turn. 

Moon altars can have any shiny, round object to represent the moon such as a silver tray. For years I have used a silver blown glass Christmas ornament with the hook and cap removed sitting in a tapered crystal vase - I cover it with a black cloth completely during the dark of the moon, partially for other phases and let it shine uncovered during full moons. It currently sits on the window sill of my temple room absorbing the energies of the moon.

Meditation altars can have anything that helps you focus - a statue, incense, candle or mirror are some ideas. A metronome that musicians use to keep the beat, a fountain, or small mp3 player could all be used to help you get into the meditative state. These altars can also do double duty for divination being the place you spread your runes or tarot cards for a reading or the place you journal after meditation and rituals. 

Creating an Altar for Spells and Rituals

If setting an altar for a specific ritual or spell, again take a look around and figure out what represents the purpose of the ritual best to you - it will automatically be more powerful and just the process of considering objects and designing your altar can be magical. If you are not going to let the altar set up permanently, find a pretty box to store everything in when not in use. Craft stores have inexpensive plain wood boxes of all sizes you can get and paint or decorate as you'd like. Perhaps you'll want to get several and store seasonal altars in their own boxes for when you need them. This would also make them portable if you want to practice while on a trip or in a local park instead of at home.

Spell altars should focus entirely on the purpose of the spell so take the time to consider correspondences of color, candles, oils, herbs and anything else you want to use. Set up the basic Elemental altar first to balance the energies of it and then add whatever you will need for your spell or items you want to charge or cleanse. 

Keeping A Secret Altar

Do you want to set up an altar where others don't appreciate or don't follow your beliefs? Keep it simple and secret. For years I kept a potted plant in a large dish on my desk at work to represent Earth and a small fountain to represent Water. Around the base of the plant I had stones for each of the other elements and tiny statues (fantasy gaming type) from a hobby store I painted by hand to represent the God and Goddess. No one but me knew what it truly meant, but I found it very centering and calming even during the most stressful days. I know someone that has created an altar charm bracelet with charms and stones on it that represent the elements and God/dess to her. She wears it every day and always has her altar with her! Prayer beads or malas can serve a similar function bringing your focus back to your spirituality whenever you need it. 

Books are wonderful, especially when just starting out, but don't get too bogged down in what they say you "should" do - treat them as guidelines and let your own intuition be your true guide. Don't be afraid to mix things up and change them from time to time either. Enjoy the process and your magic will be that much more special.

from All Wicca Store Magickal Supplies https://www.allwicca.com/blog/creating-your-wicca-altar

[wiccawisdom]

Creating Your Altar - Make it Personal

A lot of people just starting out on the Wiccan path (or other spiritual path that uses altars or shrines) get this book or that one and start obsessing over following the directions in it exactly - finding the perfect items for rituals and their altar. But what they often fail to realize is that the most powerful altar is one the means the most to you - altars are very personal objects so don't worry if you can't or don't want to follow directions in some book. Do what feels right to you. 

What is an Altar?

An altar is really just a working space set with objects that reflect you, the purpose of the altar, or the ritual or season you are celebrating at it. There are many types of altars - an ancestral altar, meditation altar, or moon phase altar are all great supplements to your main, working, ritual altar. Perhaps you will want to create your ritual altar fresh every time you need it (practical if you don't want everyone in your house to know what you are practicing) instead of being set up permanently. Decide what the main focus of your altar will be (and don't be afraid to change it as your practice evolves). 

Before you go hunting for all those items you want to buy for your altar, relax! First decide the best location for your altar. It should be one that is relatively "safe" - meaning a place that isn't in the main traffic zone of your home where it might be bumped or disturbed (or become a place to dump mail or keys) or where your children or pets will think its the perfect spot to play. If you have a spare bedroom or unused space you can use, awesome but even a small closet or a corner of a room can work well. Need to keep it away from children or pets? A wall shelf can work wonderfully! And remember, you can have more than one altar depending on your path and what you want to use them for.

How to Create an Altar 

Once you find a place and decide the purpose of your altar, start with a simple altar cloth - measure the flat surface you are planning to use and take a trip to the fabric store. You can often find remnants of very beautiful fabrics for just a dollar or two. Get some fabric paints, beads, feathers - whatever you like and decorate it if you want. Get several fabrics of different colors if you want to set up a seasonal altar. Let your intuition guide you and have some fun with it - your altar doesn't have to be serious!

Now that you have a cloth, most altars have one item for each of the elements of the Craft - Earth, Fire, Air, Water and Spirit and is usually referred to as an Elemental or Basic Altar.

Look around for things you already have that mean something special to you - they will already have great energy. Traditionally a chalice or cup is used for water, but perhaps your grandmother's candy bowl is perfect or that beautiful sea shell you found on your trip last summer could represent water. Small fountains are also perfect adding the beautiful sound of water to your rituals. Candles are wonderful, but not always practical depending on where you set up your altar or if you have cats that can knock them over (one of my cats set herself on fire by brushing against my candle at the wrong time - I freaked more than she did and she only singed a few hairs thankfully). Perhaps a night light or electric Christmas candle would be a better fit for fire for you or the more traditional witches dagger known as an Athame - or even a photo or painting of flames. Air is usually represented by incense or a wand, but a feather found on a spring walk would do as well, especially if you cannot have the smoke incense create. A pretty potted plant or found rock or pine cone works as well for Earth as the traditional pentacle. Spirit could be represented by a candle, a pentacle (how about one made from twigs from the nearby park!), or any image of a God or Goddess that you like. Don't feel like you have to stay traditional or use tools that may not feel comfortable to you. The more personal the items you use, the more personal the energy of your altar.

Altars also often contain a sacred statue representing your patron diety or statues of both your favorite God and Goddess. Don't stress out though if you haven't decided on the form of God/dess you prefer yet - just go with a more generic symbol of spirit such as a pentacle or one black stone for God Energy, one white stone for Goddess Energy. Add flowers or other seasonal touches as offerings if you'd like.

The altar in my office (right) has changed many times over the years, but is always a point of peace and calm to me. Turning on the fountain and lighting the candle every morning centers me and lets me focus better. It is filled with things I love.

Beyond the basics, add special objects depending on the purpose of your altar.

Ancestral altars are great to make and pretty easy - photos or mementos of members of your family in pretty frames with a candle or offering dish is all you need. I have a lovely wooden box on mine (which sits on a table that once belonged to a great Aunt) that I use as a memory box. On the birthday or another special date of the person that has crossed over, I sit down and write out one of my favorite memories of them or find a photo or make something that reminds me of them adding it to the box. On Samhain, I read thru those I've written in the past year remembering each person in turn. 

Moon altars can have any shiny, round object to represent the moon such as a silver tray. For years I have used a silver blown glass Christmas ornament with the hook and cap removed sitting in a tapered crystal vase - I cover it with a black cloth completely during the dark of the moon, partially for other phases and let it shine uncovered during full moons. It currently sits on the window sill of my temple room absorbing the energies of the moon.

Meditation altars can have anything that helps you focus - a statue, incense, candle or mirror are some ideas. A metronome that musicians use to keep the beat, a fountain, or small mp3 player could all be used to help you get into the meditative state. These altars can also do double duty for divination being the place you spread your runes or tarot cards for a reading or the place you journal after meditation and rituals. 

Creating an Altar for Spells and Rituals

If setting an altar for a specific ritual or spell, again take a look around and figure out what represents the purpose of the ritual best to you - it will automatically be more powerful and just the process of considering objects and designing your altar can be magical. If you are not going to let the altar set up permanently, find a pretty box to store everything in when not in use. Craft stores have inexpensive plain wood boxes of all sizes you can get and paint or decorate as you'd like. Perhaps you'll want to get several and store seasonal altars in their own boxes for when you need them. This would also make them portable if you want to practice while on a trip or in a local park instead of at home.

Spell altars should focus entirely on the purpose of the spell so take the time to consider correspondences of color, candles, oils, herbs and anything else you want to use. Set up the basic Elemental altar first to balance the energies of it and then add whatever you will need for your spell or items you want to charge or cleanse. 

Keeping A Secret Altar

Do you want to set up an altar where others don't appreciate or don't follow your beliefs? Keep it simple and secret. For years I kept a potted plant in a large dish on my desk at work to represent Earth and a small fountain to represent Water. Around the base of the plant I had stones for each of the other elements and tiny statues (fantasy gaming type) from a hobby store I painted by hand to represent the God and Goddess. No one but me knew what it truly meant, but I found it very centering and calming even during the most stressful days. I know someone that has created an altar charm bracelet with charms and stones on it that represent the elements and God/dess to her. She wears it every day and always has her altar with her! Prayer beads or malas can serve a similar function bringing your focus back to your spirituality whenever you need it. 

Books are wonderful, especially when just starting out, but don't get too bogged down in what they say you "should" do - treat them as guidelines and let your own intuition be your true guide. Don't be afraid to mix things up and change them from time to time either. Enjoy the process and your magic will be that much more special.

from All Wicca Store Magickal Supplies http://www.allwicca.com/blog/creating-your-wicca-altar

[wiccawisdom]

Creating Your Altar - Make it Personal

A lot of people just starting out on the Wiccan path (or other spiritual path that uses altars or shrines) get this book or that one and start obsessing over following the directions in it exactly - finding the perfect items for rituals and their altar. But what they often fail to realize is that the most powerful altar is one the means the most to you - altars are very personal objects so don't worry if you can't or don't want to follow directions in some book. Do what feels right to you. 

What is an Altar?

An altar is really just a working space set with objects that reflect you, the purpose of the altar, or the ritual or season you are celebrating at it. There are many types of altars - an ancestral altar, meditation altar, or moon phase altar are all great supplements to your main, working, ritual altar. Perhaps you will want to create your ritual altar fresh every time you need it (practical if you don't want everyone in your house to know what you are practicing) instead of being set up permanently. Decide what the main focus of your altar will be (and don't be afraid to change it as your practice evolves). 

Before you go hunting for all those items you want to buy for your altar, relax! First decide the best location for your altar. It should be one that is relatively "safe" - meaning a place that isn't in the main traffic zone of your home where it might be bumped or disturbed (or become a place to dump mail or keys) or where your children or pets will think its the perfect spot to play. If you have a spare bedroom or unused space you can use, awesome but even a small closet or a corner of a room can work well. Need to keep it away from children or pets? A wall shelf can work wonderfully! And remember, you can have more than one altar depending on your path and what you want to use them for.

How to Create an Altar 

Once you find a place and decide the purpose of your altar, start with a simple altar cloth - measure the flat surface you are planning to use and take a trip to the fabric store. You can often find remnants of very beautiful fabrics for just a dollar or two. Get some fabric paints, beads, feathers - whatever you like and decorate it if you want. Get several fabrics of different colors if you want to set up a seasonal altar. Let your intuition guide you and have some fun with it - your altar doesn't have to be serious!

Now that you have a cloth, most altars have one item for each of the elements of the Craft - Earth, Fire, Air, Water and Spirit and is usually referred to as an Elemental or Basic Altar.

Look around for things you already have that mean something special to you - they will already have great energy. Traditionally a chalice or cup is used for water, but perhaps your grandmother's candy bowl is perfect or that beautiful sea shell you found on your trip last summer could represent water. Small fountains are also perfect adding the beautiful sound of water to your rituals. Candles are wonderful, but not always practical depending on where you set up your altar or if you have cats that can knock them over (one of my cats set herself on fire by brushing against my candle at the wrong time - I freaked more than she did and she only singed a few hairs thankfully). Perhaps a night light or electric Christmas candle would be a better fit for fire for you or the more traditional witches dagger known as an Athame - or even a photo or painting of flames. Air is usually represented by incense or a wand, but a feather found on a spring walk would do as well, especially if you cannot have the smoke incense create. A pretty potted plant or found rock or pine cone works as well for Earth as the traditional pentacle. Spirit could be represented by a candle, a pentacle (how about one made from twigs from the nearby park!), or any image of a God or Goddess that you like. Don't feel like you have to stay traditional or use tools that may not feel comfortable to you. The more personal the items you use, the more personal the energy of your altar.

Altars also often contain a sacred statue representing your patron diety or statues of both your favorite God and Goddess. Don't stress out though if you haven't decided on the form of God/dess you prefer yet - just go with a more generic symbol of spirit such as a pentacle or one black stone for God Energy, one white stone for Goddess Energy. Add flowers or other seasonal touches as offerings if you'd like.

The altar in my office (right) has changed many times over the years, but is always a point of peace and calm to me. Turning on the fountain and lighting the candle every morning centers me and lets me focus better. It is filled with things I love.

Beyond the basics, add special objects depending on the purpose of your altar.

Ancestral altars are great to make and pretty easy - photos or mementos of members of your family in pretty frames with a candle or offering dish is all you need. I have a lovely wooden box on mine (which sits on a table that once belonged to a great Aunt) that I use as a memory box. On the birthday or another special date of the person that has crossed over, I sit down and write out one of my favorite memories of them or find a photo or make something that reminds me of them adding it to the box. On Samhain, I read thru those I've written in the past year remembering each person in turn. 

Moon altars can have any shiny, round object to represent the moon such as a silver tray. For years I have used a silver blown glass Christmas ornament with the hook and cap removed sitting in a tapered crystal vase - I cover it with a black cloth completely during the dark of the moon, partially for other phases and let it shine uncovered during full moons. It currently sits on the window sill of my temple room absorbing the energies of the moon.

Meditation altars can have anything that helps you focus - a statue, incense, candle or mirror are some ideas. A metronome that musicians use to keep the beat, a fountain, or small mp3 player could all be used to help you get into the meditative state. These altars can also do double duty for divination being the place you spread your runes or tarot cards for a reading or the place you journal after meditation and rituals. 

Creating an Altar for Spells and Rituals

If setting an altar for a specific ritual or spell, again take a look around and figure out what represents the purpose of the ritual best to you - it will automatically be more powerful and just the process of considering objects and designing your altar can be magical. If you are not going to let the altar set up permanently, find a pretty box to store everything in when not in use. Craft stores have inexpensive plain wood boxes of all sizes you can get and paint or decorate as you'd like. Perhaps you'll want to get several and store seasonal altars in their own boxes for when you need them. This would also make them portable if you want to practice while on a trip or in a local park instead of at home.

Spell altars should focus entirely on the purpose of the spell so take the time to consider correspondences of color, candles, oils, herbs and anything else you want to use. Set up the basic Elemental altar first to balance the energies of it and then add whatever you will need for your spell or items you want to charge or cleanse. 

Keeping A Secret Altar

Do you want to set up an altar where others don't appreciate or don't follow your beliefs? Keep it simple and secret. For years I kept a potted plant in a large dish on my desk at work to represent Earth and a small fountain to represent Water. Around the base of the plant I had stones for each of the other elements and tiny statues (fantasy gaming type) from a hobby store I painted by hand to represent the God and Goddess. No one but me knew what it truly meant, but I found it very centering and calming even during the most stressful days. I know someone that has created an altar charm bracelet with charms and stones on it that represent the elements and God/dess to her. She wears it every day and always has her altar with her! Prayer beads or malas can serve a similar function bringing your focus back to your spirituality whenever you need it. 

Books are wonderful, especially when just starting out, but don't get too bogged down in what they say you "should" do - treat them as guidelines and let your own intuition be your true guide. Don't be afraid to mix things up and change them from time to time either. Enjoy the process and your magic will be that much more special.

from All Wicca https://www.allwicca.com/blog/creating-your-wicca-altar

[wiccawisdom]

Creating Your Altar - Make it Personal

A lot of people just starting out on the Wiccan path (or other spiritual path that uses altars or shrines) get this book or that one and start obsessing over following the directions in it exactly - finding the perfect items for rituals and their altar. But what they often fail to realize is that the most powerful altar is one the means the most to you - altars are very personal objects so don't worry if you can't or don't want to follow directions in some book. Do what feels right to you. 

What is an Altar?

An altar is really just a working space set with objects that reflect you, the purpose of the altar, or the ritual or season you are celebrating at it. There are many types of altars - an ancestral altar, meditation altar, or moon phase altar are all great supplements to your main, working, ritual altar. Perhaps you will want to create your ritual altar fresh every time you need it (practical if you don't want everyone in your house to know what you are practicing) instead of being set up permanently. Decide what the main focus of your altar will be (and don't be afraid to change it as your practice evolves). 

Before you go hunting for all those items you want to buy for your altar, relax! First decide the best location for your altar. It should be one that is relatively "safe" - meaning a place that isn't in the main traffic zone of your home where it might be bumped or disturbed (or become a place to dump mail or keys) or where your children or pets will think its the perfect spot to play. If you have a spare bedroom or unused space you can use, awesome but even a small closet or a corner of a room can work well. Need to keep it away from children or pets? A wall shelf can work wonderfully! And remember, you can have more than one altar depending on your path and what you want to use them for.

How to Create an Altar 

Once you find a place and decide the purpose of your altar, start with a simple altar cloth - measure the flat surface you are planning to use and take a trip to the fabric store. You can often find remnants of very beautiful fabrics for just a dollar or two. Get some fabric paints, beads, feathers - whatever you like and decorate it if you want. Get several fabrics of different colors if you want to set up a seasonal altar. Let your intuition guide you and have some fun with it - your altar doesn't have to be serious!

Now that you have a cloth, most altars have one item for each of the elements of the Craft - Earth, Fire, Air, Water and Spirit and is usually referred to as an Elemental or Basic Altar.

Look around for things you already have that mean something special to you - they will already have great energy. Traditionally a chalice or cup is used for water, but perhaps your grandmother's candy bowl is perfect or that beautiful sea shell you found on your trip last summer could represent water. Small fountains are also perfect adding the beautiful sound of water to your rituals. Candles are wonderful, but not always practical depending on where you set up your altar or if you have cats that can knock them over (one of my cats set herself on fire by brushing against my candle at the wrong time - I freaked more than she did and she only singed a few hairs thankfully). Perhaps a night light or electric Christmas candle would be a better fit for fire for you or the more traditional witches dagger known as an Athame - or even a photo or painting of flames. Air is usually represented by incense or a wand, but a feather found on a spring walk would do as well, especially if you cannot have the smoke incense create. A pretty potted plant or found rock or pine cone works as well for Earth as the traditional pentacle. Spirit could be represented by a candle, a pentacle (how about one made from twigs from the nearby park!), or any image of a God or Goddess that you like. Don't feel like you have to stay traditional or use tools that may not feel comfortable to you. The more personal the items you use, the more personal the energy of your altar.

Altars also often contain a sacred statue representing your patron diety or statues of both your favorite God and Goddess. Don't stress out though if you haven't decided on the form of God/dess you prefer yet - just go with a more generic symbol of spirit such as a pentacle or one black stone for God Energy, one white stone for Goddess Energy. Add flowers or other seasonal touches as offerings if you'd like.

The altar in my office (right) has changed many times over the years, but is always a point of peace and calm to me. Turning on the fountain and lighting the candle every morning centers me and lets me focus better. It is filled with things I love.

Beyond the basics, add special objects depending on the purpose of your altar.

Ancestral altars are great to make and pretty easy - photos or mementos of members of your family in pretty frames with a candle or offering dish is all you need. I have a lovely wooden box on mine (which sits on a table that once belonged to a great Aunt) that I use as a memory box. On the birthday or another special date of the person that has crossed over, I sit down and write out one of my favorite memories of them or find a photo or make something that reminds me of them adding it to the box. On Samhain, I read thru those I've written in the past year remembering each person in turn. 

Moon altars can have any shiny, round object to represent the moon such as a silver tray. For years I have used a silver blown glass Christmas ornament with the hook and cap removed sitting in a tapered crystal vase - I cover it with a black cloth completely during the dark of the moon, partially for other phases and let it shine uncovered during full moons. It currently sits on the window sill of my temple room absorbing the energies of the moon.

Meditation altars can have anything that helps you focus - a statue, incense, candle or mirror are some ideas. A metronome that musicians use to keep the beat, a fountain, or small mp3 player could all be used to help you get into the meditative state. These altars can also do double duty for divination being the place you spread your runes or tarot cards for a reading or the place you journal after meditation and rituals. 

Creating an Altar for Spells and Rituals

If setting an altar for a specific ritual or spell, again take a look around and figure out what represents the purpose of the ritual best to you - it will automatically be more powerful and just the process of considering objects and designing your altar can be magical. If you are not going to let the altar set up permanently, find a pretty box to store everything in when not in use. Craft stores have inexpensive plain wood boxes of all sizes you can get and paint or decorate as you'd like. Perhaps you'll want to get several and store seasonal altars in their own boxes for when you need them. This would also make them portable if you want to practice while on a trip or in a local park instead of at home.

Spell altars should focus entirely on the purpose of the spell so take the time to consider correspondences of color, candles, oils, herbs and anything else you want to use. Set up the basic Elemental altar first to balance the energies of it and then add whatever you will need for your spell or items you want to charge or cleanse. 

Keeping A Secret Altar

Do you want to set up an altar where others don't appreciate or don't follow your beliefs? Keep it simple and secret. For years I kept a potted plant in a large dish on my desk at work to represent Earth and a small fountain to represent Water. Around the base of the plant I had stones for each of the other elements and tiny statues (fantasy gaming type) from a hobby store I painted by hand to represent the God and Goddess. No one but me knew what it truly meant, but I found it very centering and calming even during the most stressful days. I know someone that has created an altar charm bracelet with charms and stones on it that represent the elements and God/dess to her. She wears it every day and always has her altar with her! Prayer beads or malas can serve a similar function bringing your focus back to your spirituality whenever you need it. 

Books are wonderful, especially when just starting out, but don't get too bogged down in what they say you "should" do - treat them as guidelines and let your own intuition be your true guide. Don't be afraid to mix things up and change them from time to time either. Enjoy the process and your magic will be that much more special.

from All Wicca https://www.allwicca.com/index.php?route=news/article&news_id=61