#how to use stones and crystals for healing

[jupiterntaurus]

Natural Stones and Crystals: Discover Their Purpose and Meaning

Natural stones and crystals have been used for centuries for their healing properties. They are believed to contain energy that can be harnessed to bring about positive change in our lives. These stones and crystals have been revered by many cultures throughout history. They have been used in rituals, ceremonies, and healing practices since ancient times, and their symbolism and meaning have been…

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 24: 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍

title: milk me synopsis: usually demons' poisons just kill whoever was affected by them. this time, it served for something else. something way better. [2.1K] cw: established relationship, eye patch!kyojuro, crystal hashira!reader, sex pollen, public sex, pussy drunk, forced orgasms, overstimulation, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, dacryphilia, spit, nipple stimulation, accidental voyeurism (we'll say: sorry miss shinobu).

PREV POST ✰ NEXT POST

Monsters, echoed in the demon’s head as he ran deeper into the forest. His arm reattached to his body, fully healed but burning still. With human blood dripping from his mouth, he cursed the slayers after him. Monsters. All of them.

The bastard decided where his body would rot. He was the one to decide over his path. Lurking among the branches, you waited. Concealed by the night, Kyojuro chased. And as the demon laughed, believing to have outwitted the slayers, fire and crystal cut through his neck in union.

Blood burned into ashes on your nichirin sword. As the head rolled, you gazed at the starless sky. Using the moon as a reference, you knew this hunt was too easy. “It’s not even midnight yet”, you frowned. “Sanemi spoke the truth on our last meeting. Those slayers begged for our help to end this weak thing?”

Hypnotized by your presence, Kyojuro cupped your cheek. The head between you two screamed and cursed, but his voice meant nothing for Kyojuro. Talking is a privilege for the living, and he won’t allow a beast to stop him from admiring you.

“Only because of your flawless strategy, flame of my heart!” Kyojuro laughed, thumb caressing your lower lip. He blatantly ignored your last statement, determined to not let worries take you away from him. “How glad I am to fight beside you!”

To feel his hand full of scars, hear his voice full of love, made you come back to the present. Kyojuro knows how easy it’s for you to get lost inside of your own head. Soothing you back into reality, you were the flying pipe and Kyojuro the stone.

How could you care about any other thing when Kyojuro burns this bright? All concerns about the level of those new slayers were quickly forgotten. Moving your face, you kissed his open palm. He was so warm. Welcoming.

“You flatter me.”

“I only speak the truth”, Kyojuro pulled you closer. “As you deserve.”

Peace was disturbed as bones cracked. You looked down to find the demon’s jaw wide open, tongue contorting as he choked on it. You assumed it was agony, but Kyojuro recognized it as a last act of violence. From stroking your face, Kyojuro spared no strength to shove you as far away as he could.

You were about to do the same to him.

As you rose from the ground a heavy, yellow mist came out from the demon’s mouth. Covering your face with your emerald haori, to hear his coughs made your heart stir. The more desperate Kyojuro becomes, the more this pollen will infiltrate his nostrils. The more this wretched demon would hurt your dear Kyo.

In an act of pure logic, you kicked the head away. In an act of pure hatred, you did so with so much strength the head exploded in pieces against a tree trunk.

You turned around in time to see Kyojuro’s nose scrunching.

The pollen was already gone, scattered in the wind. You let go of your haori and held his chin, looking for blisters or burns were the mist touched. As you moved him closer to you, Kyojuro sighed.

More carefully now, you tilted his head. Moonlight revealed his flushed cheeks, forehead already soaked with sweat. His owl eye, always brimming with excitement and joy, never looked so dark. You found nothing. Not a wound, not a scratch.

“Focus”, you demanded, voice stern. Now you weren’t his wife, only a hashira telling a hurt person what to do. “Slow down your heartbeat. Fight the fever. Kyojuro, I need you to breath.”

That damned thing. You doubt that demon could create anything stronger than a common poison. After a whistle, your crow landed on your shoulder. Looking into its purple eyes, you gave the instructions to warn Shinobu of your position.

“Kyo!” You almost lost balance when he collapsed against you. “Listen to me! You need to keep on breathing.”

His arms intertwined around your waist, his hold so tight you could feel his chest moving up and down with every shaky breath. Kyojuro’s knees failed, his weight making you stumble back.

Your mind was a torturous place right now.

Usually, he would fight back. If only his body was threatened, Kyojuro would have stopped that poison by now, but it clearly affected his mind too. You can’t count on Kyojuro tonight. He needs you now.

The best thing is for Kyojuro to get healed immediately, and the only one that can assure that is Shinobu. You want to take him in your arms and run. The sudden movement, the change in temperature, his aching lungs. You want to run, but maybe that would only work to weaken Kyojuro even more. But to stay here, holding a suffering Kyojuro in the hopes of being found? That would make you insane!

And again, you were the pipe flying away, lost in the winds of your head. You need your stone. You need Kyojuro to be fine again.

Kyojuro inhaled deeply your scent, and for a moment you thought he learned how to deal with the poison. Him shamelessly ravishing on your skin made you second thought that.

“Dear”, you whimpered. Trying to move Kyojuro away, you stumbled back once more. This time, Kyojuro stepped forward, putting more of his weight on top of you. “Kyo… What are you doing?”

His warm tongue licked the crook of your neck, tasting your sweat. His nose brushed against you, drowning in your perfume.

“I am hungry”, Kyojuro whimpered, mouth closing around the sensitive skin where your shoulder and neck meet. His lips, soft and plump, stole a little whimper from you. “I burn for you.”

At that, your eyes widened. Aphrodisiacs! That explains why those slayers were so quick to avert his curious gaze and your careful touch. Why they cried as they moved, although they carried no wound. Why you feel something poking at your belly.

His teeth sank on your neck, expelling every thought from your mind. It was strong enough to bring you to tears. A deep moan echoed through the night; a sound so primal a part of you mistook it from an animal’s doing.

Your heartbeat increased, and you knew Kyojuro heard it too.

“Kyojuro Rengoku,” you hissed. It made him froze. “You need to stop.”

Taken back from your harsh tone, Kyojuro tilted his head towards yours. You were mad at him. No, no, no, no! That… That can’t be. He can’t make you suffer. He promised to never make you suffer.

“Forgive me,” he begged. Kyojuro sounded more like himself. Still clouded, flying like a pipe, but real. Caring.

In a merciful act, the moon shone over you two. And in its glow, you saw Kyojuro crying. Heavy tears rolled down his face, sobs forcing out of him.

The great flame hashira reduced to such a beautiful mess.

“I need you”, Kyojuro whimpered. He closed his eyes, all the voices in his head bringing him step by step closer to the abyss. “I feel as if… As if I will go insane if I don’t have you. I am… sorry.” You saw fire inside his eye, heard certainty on his voice. “I just need to… Yes, my flame, I just need to…”

His warmth turned into heat, and Kyojuro moved before you could decide over your next action. Not a second later your back was on the ground, eyes wide as you stared at the predator lurking above you.

Kyojuro kneeled down, thighs closed between your legs. His rough hands tugged at your haori, trembling as he pulled it apart. Like a beast, Kyojuro cut through all the fabrics between you two. He stopped when your breasts spilled out, nipples hard as the wind touched them.

His deep breath made you pay more attention to Kyojuro’s details. Fingers hesitant to touch your skin. Tears staining his face. Lips open, drool falling over you. The sound of his pitiful cries pierced your skull.

Without any words, Kyojuro begged. He begged for your forgiveness. For your help. For you. And how could you deny Kyojuro of what he wants so badly?

“Do it”, you said. You allowed. Supporting your weight on your elbows, back leaving the ground, you bit your tongue. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you, my flame”, Kyojuro cried. So beautiful. “Thank you, thank you.”

His warm mouth closed around your nipple, eyes widening as he sucked on it. His fingers yanked the other, rolling it between his fingertips with just the right pressure.

Kyojuro bit your shoulder, this time less feral. It wasn’t possessive, only a need to have you between his teeth. Marking your bust, leaving not a single inch untouched and unmarked, he covered you on his spit.

He is a selfless lover in a way the most selfish one could appreciate. There isn’t a single moment Kyojuro doesn’t think about your pleasure. He is always seeking for it, drowning himself on you and only coming back to surface when you beg for rest. It’s nothing but a mere coincidence that Kyojuro takes his own pleasure from yours.

The more you whined, hips twitching beneath his broad body, the more Kyojuro gave to you. You hissed when his teeth closed around your wet nipples, and Kyojuro saw that as a sign he needed to keep going.

Even in this condition, your man really can’t bear having an empty mouth.

Kyojuro bended your legs, feet high on the air, laying down on the ground. He forced your thighs to close around his head, fingers drawing circles on your hips. You felt his shaky breath against your ignored cunt.

“Itadakimasu,” Kyojuro whispered. Not for you, but for your pussy.

And so, he dived into you. There was no technique, no method on the way his tongue moved. And that’s why you always loved to have his head between your legs. With Kyojuro, you never felt as if your time was running out. As if you had to be quick, so he would finally feel pleasure too. Eating you out, Kyojuro never thought about the quickest way to get you to cum.

He does that for himself. Tongue deep into your walls, Kyojuro rejoices. Teeth pulling at your clit, Kyojuro salivates. Every noise that you make, from sheepish whimpers to weary cries, is a full meal for this hungry man.

You’re in for a long night.

Kyojuro licked your slit restlessly. In his place, your jaw would stumble. His big tongue slipped inside of it, back to his home. The soft and trained muscle, curling at the perfect spot inside of you.

But he never stayed inside of you for long enough, as another part of your glistening cut looked deserving of his attention too. Torturing you, all you did was pull his golden hair and take it.

After the fourth orgasm, his fingers filling you up without mercy, your mouth hanged open. You couldn’t close it. You couldn’t remember to close it. All you wanted, all you could think about, was for Kyojuro to have his fill. To get better. To just drown already and let you rest.

“Inside of me”, your voice echoed, but you had no time to be embarrassed about your screams. Pushing his head away, you tried to bargain with his desire. “Just get inside of me already, Kyojuro!”

But he refused you. Nodding, Kyojuro nuzzled at your core. Impatient, you groaned and pulled his hair harshly.

Kyojuro saw you. All of you. The redness of your tearful eyes. The bite marks around your collarbone. Those half-closed eyes, tired but energized still. Those breasts moving up and down, up and down.

“Now”, you ordered, clenching your teeth.

As if he would be punished by disobeying you, Kyojuro freed his leaking cock and pulled you closer. Rigid for you, sensitive because of all the pleasure he gave you, ready for you.

Your flame hashira, more than ready to burn you alive.

His body was on top of yours, involving you completely, as he thrusted into your walls. He licked your lips, eye as heavy as yours. “You taste so good”, he said against your mouth. “The best meal I ever had.”

Looking into his eyes, you melted. Your legs shaken around his hips; eyes rolled back as Kyojuro used you to get off. Watching Kyojuro finally fell apart, head finding solace in the crook of your neck, you smiled. “Better?”

A husky laugh vibrated through you. “Better.”

Shinobu thanked darkness for hiding her burning cheeks.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi @miyanosm @idonthaveanameforthisacc

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[tiamathh]

What to look for when it comes to your next partner?

Note: Hi!! Sorry I've been away for so long!! Please Like, Reblog and comment, if you like it/if it resonates. HAVE FUN AND DO NOT REWORD, STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST MY WORK!!

Piles 1 -> 3

Masterlist • Tip Jar • Paid Readings

Pile 1

Hi Pile 1! Okay so this may feel a little shallow but here me out, for you a big point is going to be physical and sexual attraction. Your next relationship is supposed to teach you how to be more in touch with your sexual self, and that's why you need to look for someone who ignites that fire within your core. You should also look for someone who's actually in for the commitment because you may have a habit of going for people who are non committal because you may feel like if you keep it casual you'll seem cool to your partner and they may like you more, no, stop it, look for people who value you the way you value them.

Next, you need to look for someone who has a lot of experience with relationships, not a player per day but just someone who knows what they want and when they want it and operate in that way. Even when people know what they want, they can change partners and don't let that deter you from people with a lot of exes, it doesn't mean that they have commitment issues it just means that they may want different things at different times and may have had the guts to cut it off with people.

Lastly you need to look for someone who's not going to be wishy washy with you and will meet you at the same level of headstrong you are, because your stubbornness may not be cute but when paired with your next partners stubbornness it will end up leading to a perfect balance of two headstrong people who can fight all day but actually come to a conclusion or find a middle ground the both of you respect.

Pile 2

Hi Pile 2! This might sound Counterintuitive but you need to find someone for your next relationship who may feel open enough to disagree with you. You may be used to being around people who often share the same opinion with you, which is good, but someone who challenges your views will make for not only a more fun opponent but also someone whose views you can change or vice versa. I'm also getting that one quality that you should look for is that they share the same love for music or dance as you, basically the same love of the performing arts, this includes theatre/acting as well. I'm getting that your next partner may be someone who's very interested in this, especially into cinema.

They could be a film bro (gender neutral) and may love yapping for hours about their favourite film and the compositions, colours, lighting, music etc used in the film and how those aspects enhance the overall viewing experience of the film, they could be very active on letterbox lol. I'm also getting that one aspect you should look for in your next partner is transparency, it may sound like honesty but it is different because transparency signifies that this person will not only be honest but also take accountability if they ever go wrong somewhere and this level of accountability will build up a stronger bond and start healing the trust issues you may have from your past friendships and your relationships with your parents, because someone close to you will finally not only accept they did something wrong but also apologise and accept that.

Lastly! Look for someone who doesn't put you down, like even subtly. You may have had friends or partners in the past who may have been like "omg fr? that's so weird haha" even as a joke when it comes to your interests, but look for someone who will not put you down regardless of differing interests please I Beg.

Pile 3

Hellooo pile 3! Hyperspecific point from the very start, look for someone who knows the value of spirituality and crystals and stones that you may carry or wear on you at all times. If they even try to question your beliefs about spirituality that is not your next partner trust me. Your next partner is going to be someone who will share your interests and be on the same wavelength as you when it comes to spirituality, tarot and more.

One thing you need to look for in your next partner is that they may have a bit of an isolated or loner vibe, like they may not be big on huge gatherings and could be more introverted, they'll really appreciate their alone time and could be someone who does not divulge in PDA a lot, not only because they're shy but also because they'll believe that your business is just your business (in the rs I mean). Regardless of this they'll be someone who's very focused and goal oriented, your next partner is someone who's ready to sacrifice their comfort in the present to focus on their goals and work towards them relentlessly, they'll also be the kind of people who will let go of any comfort just to make you feel more comfortable, the kind to give you the bed and take the floor instead if there's only one bed and you don't wanna sleep together, very gentle and caring.

They'll just have this aura which screams "I welcome you and I understand" and that is exactly the kind of energy you need in your life right now. Lastly, I heard "duniya dedi" which translates to "gives you the world" so all I have to say is y'all better raise your standards and KEEP THEM RAISED!! YOU DESERVE THE BEST AND THAT'S WHAT YOU'LL GET KISSI <33

All Rights Reserved tiamathh©® DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REWORD, STEAL!

[moonstruckme]

Can I request whimsical!reader and Sirius Black?? Or maybe poly!marauders but I just feel like Sirius would be so whipped for his quirky girl and join in on whatever shenanigans she starts 🫶

Sooo right babe, thanks for requesting :)

poly!marauders x whimsical!reader ♡ 878 words

“Darling,” Sirius keeps his voice quiet as he slinks down into the armchair. “What are you doing?” 

You look up from where you’re knelt beside the couch, bent ominously over James’ sleeping form. He’s out cold, his glasses discarded and placed carefully on the coffee table by Remus. James is a hard sleeper on a good day, but when he’s sick even the apocalypse couldn’t wake him. His breath wheezes noisily in and out through clogged nostrils. 

“I’m cleansing him,” you whisper. 

“With rocks.” 

You send your boyfriend a smile, well used to his ragging. “With crystals,” you correct him softly, placing another on James’ sternum. 

Sirius sits forward curiously. “What do they do?” he asks.

“Different things.” 

When you don’t seem inclined to go on, he reaches forward to poke at your shoulder. You sway placidly like a ship on calm waters. “Like?” he prompts. 

You hum, taking a smooth, green rock from your pouch. “Well,” you say, “this one is jade. It helps with headaches.” You place it gingerly on James’ forehead. 

“I see.” Sirius nods thoughtfully. “And what’s that blue one?” 

“It’s to help support his immune system.” 

“Uh huh. So you’re trying to heal him, is that it?” 

You consider this for a moment. “Sort of,” you say. “More like help his body heal itself.” 

Sirius grins at your breezy kindheartedness and slides down onto his knees beside you. “That’s sweet, baby.” He kisses your cheek, delighting when it dimples. “Can I help?” 

“Sure,” you say, looking pleased, “if you want to.” 

You move your little pouch so it sits between the two of you. Sirius brushes a piece of hair behind his ear, considering the stones inside. He picks up a cool-looking black and red one. 

“What’s this?” 

You glance over from where you’re setting another crystal on James’ chest. “Garnet,” you tell him. 

“And what’s it help with?” 

“Calcium deficiency.” 

Sirius guffaws. He covers his mouth with his hand when Remus pokes his head out of the kitchen, looking suspicious. 

“You think our boy’s fallen ill because he’s low in calcium?” he whispers. 

You shrug, scrunching your nose in that silly way you do when you don’t get why he’s laughing. “I guess I thought it couldn’t hurt.” 

“What are you two doing?” Remus asks, coming over with his arms crossed to lean against the wall. His voice is cautiously quiet. 

Sirius leaves you in charge of fielding questions while he dedicates himself to carefully balancing the garnet crystal on the point of James’ nose. His knuckles brush his boyfriend’s overwarm cheek as he retracts his hand, grinning at his work. He wonders if he can get one in his mouth without waking him. 

“We’re using crystals to help Jamie get better,” you explain, voice light as thistledown. “Siri, love, you can’t put it there. It’ll fall.” 

To his disappointment, you take the stone from James’ nose and place it between his collarbones. When Sirius pouts, you dig in the pouch to hand him another. 

“Here, try again.” 

“No.” Remus recognizes the glint in Sirius’ eyes and steps forward to snatch the stone from him. “Don’t enable him, sweetheart,” he tells you. “He’s just playing around.” 

You seem unconcerned, leaving Remus to deal with Sirius as he sees fit while you continue your healing rituals. 

“Excuse me for trying to help our sick boyfriend,” Sirius protests. 

“She’s trying to help,” Remus says sternly. “You’re just going to wake him.” 

“He could sleep through a tornado.” 

“He’s ill, Pads. Leave him be.” 

“Sorry, Jamie,” your voice comes, soft and sympathetic. Remus and Sirius both turn. “How are you feeling?” 

“Wha…” James clears his throat, then sniffles thickly. “What’s on me?” 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you say. Your hand comes up to stroke at the damp curls lying across his forehead. “Do you feel calcium sufficient?” 

“What?” 

“The answer is yes,” Sirius helps him out. “Yes, you do feel calcium sufficient.” 

“I suppose so.” Crystals fall from James’ face as he sits up on his elbows, rubbing at his cheek. 

“I’m sorry we woke you,” Remus murmurs, crouching by James face and beginning to take crystals off his chest. You look slightly put out, but you don’t protest. Sirius kisses the side of your head consolingly. “How are you feeling, love?” 

“Properly stuffed up.” He inhales sharply through his nose, and Sirius feels his mouth twist at the ugly snuffling sound. “A bit better than when I fell asleep, though.” 

Remus and Sirius both look at you. Your smile spreads like a slow sunrise, the tops of your cheeks turning a pleased pink. Sirius’ heart does an embarrassing little dance. He takes your hand, stamping a kiss on the back of your palm. 

“Do you feel like some tea?” Remus asks James, his own lips curved slightly. 

“That sounds fantastic,” James admits. 

Remus smiles over at you. “Want to help me make it?” 

You hop up eagerly. “I can go get some thyme from the garden,” you say, headed for the back door. “It’s good for respiratory issues.” 

James makes a face and Remus takes you by the shoulders, gently redirecting you towards the kitchen. “Maybe just a regular tea for now, sweetheart,” he says. “But we can definitely try that later.”

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 1

NEXT >

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but to the chance of one last glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 14K (i am so sorry)

warnings: descriptions of war, suggestive themes, slow burn so it's only sensual for now, religious shame and guilt

disclaimer: this work contains Catholic imagery that is a part of rofan manhwa worldbuilding tropes. "the saintess" trope itself isn't a saint in accordance with Catholic traditions, it's just a character archetype that developed over time in the isekai genre and means more of a "holy maiden chosen by god" and "healer" with "divine powers" protected by the "church" of that specific fictional world. however, i did my best to do my research. this work has nothing to do with Christianity or any other religions and is totally fictional. please keep that in mind as you proceed!

author's note: mandalhoerian goes back to her reader era! please say thank you to @chesue00 for allowing me to use her artwork in this fic, I wrote a whole scene that depicts the art piece which was the whole inspiration for this 3-day frothing at the mouth frenzy!!!!

now, Sacrosanct is a blend of tropes i love in rofan manhwa/webtoon/mangas that are my favorite, so prepare for misunderstandings galore in the future 😭 but leon specifically is inspired by malthus from hilda furacao. which just means yearning and sexual repression. re2!leon to re4!leon pipeline is just the sweet commoner knight to cold duke of the north pipeline in manhwa, and if you understand what that means, im personally sending you a virtual kiss LMAO Happy reading, I hope yall like it!

don't forget this is the first part only.... heh. the template credit

🌀READ ON AO3 !

The first blush of dawn trickles through the gaps in heavy drapes, bathing your chambers in apricot hues. Crisp echoes of rustling silk resonate as you delicately lift the mask from its velvet perch. Bathed in daybreak's golden light, coloured glass chips embedded into the mask shimmer in lost constellations. The caress of velvety smooth fabric against your skin sends shivers dancing down your spine as you tie on, freshly laundered linen smell intertwining with lingering scent of last night’s incense used in nightly prayers, hints of lavender meet smoky frankincense.

Your gaze shifts to the mirror, the mask now concealing your mortal features, intricate filigree swirling across your face in an ethereal web and tiny crystals dotted along the lines sparking like stars. Taking a deep breath to stand a little taller and square your shoulders, you reach up to adjust your veil, ensuring no errant strands of hair are visible. The gauzy fabric falls in diaphanous folds around you, the whispers arising with your every movement the only sounds in the stillness of dawn.

Though the sacred mask and veil hide your earthly form, they cannot conceal the weakness of the human soul in your eyes.

The gateway to your wishes is wide open, one closer look is all one needs to see how you yearn to walk unencumbered through the gardens, to feel the caress of sunlight on your bare skin.

But the edicts are clear - when you leave these chambers, the Saintess must be fully shrouded, an exalted vessel and naught else.

You amble down to the sacred chapel for morning prayers before breaking your fast - a custom enacted in hushed reverence. As you descend stone steps weathered by time, you're swaddled in the scent of smoldering incense permeating from open timber doors, trailing invisible veins into the invigorating morning air. Inside, familiar faces of fellow sisters and brothers offer gentle nods of greeting as you find solace before the altar, sinking onto the cushioned bench tailored specifically for you, in the name of quiet contemplation and prayerful kneeling.

In honor of Ethelion, your one true Lord, silence descends���a pause amplified by its gravitas. Then with an authority that makes everything else seem trivial in comparison, there's the priest: his directing is ripples on still water reaching out towards infinity—sound molded into sacred words known only too well to heart.

The humming drone of faith-soaked chants serves as a welcome breather from the constant ponderings on war and sacrifice that’s been plaguing you for weeks. Those gnawing realities always sneak up and nibble away at your moments of peace, but here in this church, Ethelion’s mercy reigns supreme—the refuge is heard in the choruses belted out emphatically, slicing through any weighty thoughts, their lyrics loftier than any worldly worry.

As the sun stands at its zenith above and sends shards of golden light filtering through the stained glass canvases, the ceremony unwinds. It feels like saying goodbye too soon amidst vibrant echoes of hymns that grip onto ancient brick walls built upon stories spanning centuries, currents of history carrying their inevitable fade. Here, they stand still—if only for a while—pinned by lingering notes lost in air rich with incense burn and oakwood musk coupled with memories tasting of sacramental wine still clinging to tongues.

Stepping into the courtyard, you're swathed in a prism of pastel hues—blossoms unveiling their sugared whispers to the inviting warmth of a lingering breeze. You catch wind of their fragrance; it hooks you, a blend of sweet floral undertones and spring's renewed vigor carrying history within its essence, and you cannot wait to check on your lily garden.

Children dart amongst looming pews, mischief gleaming in their eyes as they engage in hushed games, shards of laughter echoing softly around the otherwise hallowed space. The sight tugs at a wisp of nostalgia, memories when life was simpler, less layered with expectations and daunting futures.

The youngest ones eyeing your departure don't miss a beat. Like mini warriors possessed by unruly spirits, they break rank from the congregation to run after you—a whirlwind of giggles and shouts lacing the air. Their excitement thrums against your skin, buzzing like electricity—an unexpected surge that leaves behind a ghostly imprint.

Yet before they can reach you or even conflict with stone-faced paladins on guard duty, an adult hand restrains them. Respectful bows font towards you as if to acknowledge an unspoken understanding—a solemn line between what is allowed and what isn't negotiated under sacred roofs and watchful gazes.

The breaking of your fast happens solely in the intimacy of your chambers, where you can abandon the weariness of your mask.

Fresh fruits and bread baked by the monks in the kitchens await you on a simple wooden table, their colors vibrant against the muted tones of your chamber. The apples gleam like polished rubies, their skins taut and inviting, while clusters of plump grapes spill over from the plate. The bread, golden and crusty, emits a warm aroma that fills the air with comfort; its texture promises a satisfying chew that will sustain you through the day’s trials.

You pour yourself a glass of tea, steam curling up like ethereal wisps as you set it beside the fruits, its sweetness rendered by generous dollops of honey that transform each sip into liquid amber. As you bite into a slice of bread, the crust crackles under your teeth, giving way to a soft and airy interior that melts on your tongue. It’s simple fare—yet it nourishes not just your body but also stirs echoes of childhood memories spent in the kitchens, where laughter mingled with the scent of baked goods.

The weight of your impending sacred duty hangs over you like storm clouds heavy with rain.

It's not just a responsibility; it's an anchor dragging you into the depths of despair, each step forward to navigate it is like wading through molten lead.

You peer through the frost-kissed window, and the courtyard below unfolds like a battlefield before a decisive clash. Figures clad in armor move with the grace of dancers and the determination of warriors bound for glory or doom. The pieces of gleaming plate mail reflects the pale light, casting fractured rainbows on the cobbled ground.

The gleam of virgin armor, polished to a high sheen, is nothing more than a facade.

It's an ornament, untouched by the brutality of combat—it’s their holy calling that these paladins embrace, not the bloody stain of war. And yet, you sit there on your throne and hesitate to send even one amongst them into the fray for your crown's sake.

How easy would it be to fool yourself into believing that time has frozen, and these young knights in training are simply rehearsing under the guise of some distant uncertainty. But your eyes have skimmed those sealed parchment letters, their inky truths seeping more dread into an already strained air; you're not as naive as all that. The chilling certainty of the Holy War lurks just on the other side of these weathered stone walls—it's only a matter of moments before a gasping messenger dispatches reality like storm clouds breaking open.

Regardless of how fervently you pray or how deep your self-sacrifice runs, it won’t alter this predetermined destiny.

Even as you grip your blessed rosary so tightly it leaves hardened impressions in your palm's soft flesh. Even when unshed tears blur your vision, scalding hot yet stubbornly refusing to fall free, and a knot of shame twists low within your stomach like vile poison—an uncomfortable squirming inside that is almost visceral. Your journey forward leaves much to be desired–mired with dark ambiguities, where faith resembles something more akin to a clumsy blind groping in the vast unknown.

Your heart twinges—a raw ache—at the sight of blond hair all too familiar.

"Leon," escapes in a murmur from between your chapped lips against the icy window pane—the cold seeping into your skin; tiny tendrils numbing any sensation away.

The young paladin has blossomed into a towering figure since his personal guard duty by your side the last month, his frame enveloped in the armor that’s bigger than his still-growing form. The sight of him clad in battle gear is a poignant one, for the metal plates seem to engulf him rather than adorn him. He looks anything but menacing, sweet consideration towards those he’s sparring with, despite clad head-to-toe in battle gear, with such carefree confidence that threatens to split your aching chest.

In a split second, on the other side of that cold glass wall; Leon’s focus latches onto your unveiled and unmasked presence like a sunflower bending towards light.

It's as if you've breathed some forbidden word into the wind - an inaudible gasp tingles the silence and ripples off his lips. He stammers mid-battle stance, frozen under some unseen celestial hammer, scorched into oblivion.

You step back hurriedly, yanking your veil down over your face once more; it's rough underneath your fingertips, but nothing compared to the turmoil swirling inside you. His own stunned gaze falters, tugs itself away as if burned - damn those beautiful eyes! But that moment costs him dearly as his rival lunges and he crumbles under the assault, and your heart won’t stop racing, undeniable fondness with a foreign heat creeping up your neck.

Leon bounces back from the blow almost instantly, staggering back to his feet like it's second nature; like he hasn't just had the wind knocked out of him and seems more rattled than before.

His opponent’s moves are unforgiving, one after another until Leon's guard slips. With a resounding thud that sends shudders up your spine, Leon gets slammed into the dirt floor.

His helmet soars through the air with an eerie ring that echoes around the courtyard, tumbling to rest at the boots of a nearby Paladin whose gaze is stuck on Leon’s prone form - filled with something close to pity but still masked by pride. A comrade extends a roughened hand, helping Leon upright, his comforting pat lingering just a moment too long on his shoulder blade as if unsure whether to leave or stay for strength. Jovially yet sternly, the older knight cuffs Leon on his arm, gauntlet striking armor with a dull clang.

As you retreat from your voyeuristic post at the window when reverberating tolls from the grand temple's bells signal practice time has run its course, there's an adrenaline rush buzzing under your skin even though you were merely watching. The upcoming blessing ceremony casts its shadow over you – all consuming and much larger than life; leaves no space for silly fancies.

Sunset paints the temple grounds in a bronzed hue as Leon treks alone back to the barracks, his mind adrift. Training bruises throb under his armor, though it's the sting of his fractured pride that truly wounds him.

None of it matters in the face of the glimpse of divinity he accidentally caught.

He nearly bends with the weight of it, an abyss of greed that he fears his brothers-in-arms can sense infecting his spirit. It maligns his growth as a paladin; he's sure Ethelion sees the invasive avarice lurking beneath skin and bone, an illicit truth residing within him nipping at him from the inside like a woodworm.

The seed of which had been planted over a decade ago, in these lily gardens, in the healing hands of a young Saintess whose presence and unmasked face lingered in his heart and grew into an infatuation with her holy touch.

He was but a boy back then, brittle and broken in body, his fragile skin stretched thin over bony limbs, rife with illness that stole the color from his cheeks and the air from his lungs. His very life seemed held together by prayers of his parents alone, fluttering like leaves in the wind. He'd stumbled into the garden by accident, chasing a stray cat with his siblings, not realizing he was lost.

Yet fate cast her sanguine smile and Ethelion himself turned an eye on him, sending the Saintess his way.

A warm glow drew him further through the bushes, and there you stood, cloaked in a robe that made your radiance seem as if it were born from moonlight. His eyes should have burned upon landing on you unmasked, youthful face that unmistakably belonged to a human girl of his age and not that of Ethelion in the flesh, but instead, his lungs expanded with an unknowable strength because of the divine power around you, an easiness that made it feel like he was breathing for the first time.

Not met with punishment for such audacity—he was instead gifted healing through your sacred touch–and got left laced with a perpetual yearning, sickness eradicated from his being and infused life onto starved limbs.

A lesson was disclosed to him later on when he’d become aware of himself, about why the Saintess had to be veiled.

His desires knew no end. It was for her spiritual purity that the Saintess could not be seen unmasked or reveal herself to mortals. Could one imagine the consequences of men akin to him lying eyes upon such magnificence, gracing skin intended only for Ethelion's touch? The impressionable child that he was had bloomed into an adult consumed by her divinity, hell-bent on basking in it all life long. Surely kingdoms would fold, as mortals were bound to disrupt natural balance attempting to seize the maiden of god.

So, when you appeared in the tower window today, he was overcome with a sensation so powerful it felt like angelic apparitions traced their wings down his back.

Divine grace embodied, shining forth in ways he couldn't articulate.

An inexplicable need arose from his bones for him to go to you, throw himself down in worship, confess sins one by one and receive penance:

In the hush of many nights when the temple halls were empty, he would wander like a ghost and always come back to kneel at the feet of Ethelion, daring to touch the cushions before the altar where you prayed, his fingers lingering where only your robes should caress. The audacity of his gaze tracing the delicate embroidery of your veil when he stood guard by your side, seeking to unveil something meant solely for Ethelion’s eyes, was but one of his many transgressions against the sanctity that cloaked you…

His form of worship seemed askew, borne more out of desire than devoutness; staining the starkly white fabric of his duty with its off-colour ardour.

He could never allow you, the revered Saintess, to know about this sinful sentiment dwelling within him; tarnishing every sweet memory associated with you.

The fantasy he harbored diminished his image, trendlessly etched as an obedient paladin's plight – but for him, you represented something significantly more profound. To even admit how dreams featuring you bewitchingly bathed in grace tainted his oath of celibacy would risk jeopardizing the hope invested in recognizing his service towards Ethelion.

The desire to earn the highest recognition, a Paladin's title and acceptance of his fealty to protect you as such – got increasingly tangled in a visceral wanting lost somewhere between sacrilege and worship that left a devout hunger echoing within him for your sake.

To satisfy this, he threw himself fiercely into arduous training channels to strengthen both his body and mind with every challenging day that went by - striving ceaselessly with dreams of deserving a place by your side.

Now, he stands precipitously on the verge; holding on desperately to this undisclosed confession – harboring a stolen glance of you from earlier as a secret talisman.

How could he go into the Holy War with his brothers now, knowing he'd seen beneath your veil and… Felt.

“You seem troubled, Sir Leon.”

Leon doesn’t dare turn; a jagged lick of dread splinters down his spine. He recognizes that voice—how could he not when it haunts his dreams night after night? Instead, he stares into nothingness, rooted to the ground, his mind unable to process that you're speaking to him.

But he does turn, finding you standing serenely beneath an archway covered with tangled fragrant vines in the Temple's back garden.

Your presence fills Leon with equal parts awe and unease, as if Ethelion himself is shaming him from above for desiring what should be beyond mortal reach.

Yet your countenance remains unchanged, unmarred by his inner turmoil. The mask stays in place, an extension of your divinity—only now, Leon swears that beneath it, your eyes are smiling at him.

Leon stands within the cool shadow of the ancient temple, its weathered stones holding an age-old embrace that wraps around him like a cloak. The air is thin with the delicate scent of lilies that’s wafting towards him from the garden—from you, and outside, where sunlight filters through the leafy canopy, you stand amidst color. Your garments catch the sunset, casting a shimmer that mirrors the beauty of your surroundings.

The difference between his shadowed presence and your radiant figure is a shaming from above, showing Leon your place in His divine light while he remains shrouded in sin.

The clinking of Leon's loose armor rings as he lowers himself to one knee before you, “Forgive me, Saintess. I did not mean to disturb your meditations.”

The rustle of silk heralded your approach, brushing against the cool stone floor like a gentle breeze stirring a field of wildflowers. He inhales sharply, his breath hitching in his throat as the fragrance of lilies envelops him.

You stop before him, your robes cascading around you like a mirage of opal waves, he is captivated by an urge so primal that it sends a flush of heat to his cheeks and makes his palms sticky; he longs to press his lips to the delicate fabric that seems to breathe with divine grace.

“Please rise, Sir Leon. I saw you training today. Your skills are formidable.”

His pride swelled silent and strong within his chest – a sudden weight that could unbalance him more than any physical blow ever could.

"Your words honor me greatly," he manages to speak to the stones at his feet, even after he is back up at his feet.

"Yet you seem to have much on your mind."

He cannot meet your eyes; it feels overwhelming to face such beauty and concern directed solely at him.

"Pardon me, that was a silly question, wasn't it? Of course you have much on your mind. You're about to ride into battle. Such thoughts are not easy to bear. Do you wish to talk about it?"

"It's not my place to trouble you with such things, Saintess. They will soon be far from here, and you will be safe in the Temple.”

He glances at you, and the look in your eyes is enough to make him forget how to breathe. It’s a blend of curiosity and tenderness; an innocence that nearly pierces through his mask and grazes the wicked depths of his heart.

You tilt your head, much like a bird contemplating a worm, and gently ask, "Would you indulge my curiosity and share one worry with me?"

It's an impossibly generous gesture, for you to extend this small piece of yourself to him in the middle of your meditations. Leon's teeth ache at the sweetness of it, at your kindness that extends even to him.

“I’m doubting my worthiness to serve,” he confesses unceremoniously. “I train relentlessly, but I lack the innate spark my brothers were born with. It's as if... as if I'm play-acting at being a Paladin.”

Those aren't the only doubts that torment him—but the ones he can actually say out loud without burning at the stake for.

"Do you remember the day we met, Sir Leon?" you begin, clasping your hands and turning around to face the gardens, the gentle breeze is making your veil flutter.

Leon nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. Even so many years later, the memory still has the power to stir his soul, churning something in his chest that makes it hard to think straight.

"It seems like it was yesterday that a young boy came stumbling into the garden, barely able to stand up, and looked me dead in the face. What do you think I saw in him?"

He always assumed the Saintess would have forgotten such a brief encounter, yet it was etched firmly into his memory and to hear it spoken aloud has his pulse miss a couple beats.

"Do you think I saw weakness as he lay gasping in the dirt? Or did I perhaps see an innocent curiosity that was easily swept up by the cruelty of this world and tamed into obedience? Or maybe I saw something else entirely.”

He shakes his head, trying to make sense of your words. It sounds like you're making a statement, but it's not clear which part you agree with.

"Tell me, Sir Leon. What is a spark? Does it come to life, or can it be nurtured from the smallest ember of resolve?" you whisper, fingers trembling as they ascend, tracing a path as delicate as a petal's fall, nearing his cheek with hesitant affection.

He’s paralyzed when your touch indeed lands instead of drifting away.

Your fingers linger, tracing the curve of his jawline with such gentleness, demure and awkward; and the pressure of it makes his skin sing, sparks dancing along every inch.

It's barely a caress, but he feels it in his bones—this ache—that swells and burns, a fire set alight inside his chest that’s on the precipice of consuming him whole.

A whole-body shiver breaks free, but you remain unfazed—your hand is still there, stroking his flesh with such tenderness; soft against the corner of his jaw.

"One is not born to greatness, one achieves it." You're calm, yet firm, a voice that commands respect. He's reminded of the many times he heard you deliver blessings on high ceremonies. There's something about the cadence of your words that pulls at the strings of his soul, drawing him in closer—deeper. "What truly matters is the conviction behind your actions. And, Sir Leon, you may not see it yet. But there's a spark inside your chest that burns brighter than any candle. Don't let anyone dampen it, for it shall shine a path forward unto others and bring glory to our land."

You pull away, leaving a void in your wake. Leon finds himself wanting to reach after you, wanting nothing more than for your skin to keep pressing against his, for your warmth to bleed through his own and ease the burden that's crushing him.

He wants to kiss those fingers that have—

Red hot shame enough to set firewoods aflame shoots straight to settle on his cheeks, flushing them as a wicked feeling sinks in his stomach, a heavy sinking pit. The meaning of your words resounds in his heart like a thunderclap after the lightning that was your touch, your holy words washing over him like a balm—or a warning.

He's brought back to reality abruptly with the harsh cackle of metal against stone as a group of paladins walk by and salute him and bow for the Saintess, pulling him out of a daze as he greets them. Their voices seem distant, faces a blur. It's a miracle Leon manages a nod at them in acknowledgment.

He finds his tongue eventually, his face still aflame with embarrassment at the realization of being in front of the Saintess, an idol of the Church, a woman he thinks of during his late-night ruminations, and still feels guilty for.

"T-thank you, Saintess,” his voice wavers, trembling even with those two simple words that leave him shaking, stirred to the core as if a sudden storm just swept him away to sea, and you are the shore he longs to return to. He fears he might drown in the depths of those beautiful eyes, pulled under by the current.

"It is I who should be thanking you, Sir Leon. You're risking everything to ensure peace for our realm."

Your words wrap around him like a hug, holding him in place while also offering a moment of comfort, like coming home from a long trip away. He treasures those precious few seconds, committing them to memory. But you are a Saintess, not a fellow knight, and there are no hugs or handshakes in his world.

"I'll see you in the ceremony," you continue, before leaving Leon with his heaving chest and a pressure knotting deep in his stomach, walking back to the serenity of the Temple, robes fluttering around your feet like snow settling over frozen earth.

Once you have disappeared into the confines of the temple, he lets out a deep breath. His heart is still beating wildly; the memory of your fingertips brushing his skin is seared into his flesh, an indelible mark that cannot be scrubbed away. He is unable to shake the feeling that he has committed some unspeakable sin; his body a living, breathing violation of his vows.

Leon washes himself in the barracks' bathing chambers, and as he stares at the naked flesh beneath steaming water, his thoughts turn to the ritual that awaits him. In the heat and sweat of it, he wonders if you can wash him clean, baptize his tainted heart.

His sweat trickles down his back, leaving shimmering beads of perspiration in its wake, he can feel each droplet sliding down like a ghostly caress overheated skin glistening under the light of flickering candles; his head is thrown back, and wet hair is slicked away from his face as he reclines in the wooden bathtub. He reaches up to trace the lines of his jaw with trembling fingers that hover just above his skin, remembering what it felt like to have your touch there. He closes his eyes and lets the steam envelop him; he feels the heaviness in his groin, thick and full between his thighs.

In this moment, he is alone with his guilt and shame; but underneath all that self-recrimination there lies a deeper emotion he dares not acknowledge: hope.

The blessing ceremony unfolds with the break of dawn the next day.

Rows of paladins stand at attention, forming a formidable barrier outside the towering chapel. You make your way up the marble steps, flanked by your retinue, and lift your veiled face to behold the regimented paladins before you. Their armor catches the sunlight in a dazzling display, swords resting peacefully in their scabbards. Every single one of them is an anonymous guardian, faces obscured by identical helmets and billowing white capes adorned with a shimmering blue starburst emblem emblazoned on their chest plates.

Upon reaching the summit of the staircase, the massive oak doors swing wide open, revealing an expanse filled with devout worshippers immersed in fervent prayer. Bathed in hues of multicolored light filtering through intricate stained-glass windows, their worshiping forms kneel upon the cool marble floor. Sunbeams caress their bowed heads like a halo, creating a mosaic of ethereal radiance that plays upon their serene features.

The hush that descends as you cross the threshold is whispered benedictions through the hall, enshrouding all present in a solemn embrace as you draw nearer to the altar at its heart.

At the altar stands the head priest, garbed in ceremonial robes—the deep hues of white and gold intertwining with ancient symbols. His palms are raised towards the statue of Ethelion, supplication etched into every line of his face. Before him sits an empty altar table covered in rich crimson velvet trimmed with gold brocade, and at its center rests a silver bowl filled with holy water, reflecting shards of light like fragments of a broken mirror.

Beside the basin stands a golden chalice and a sharp blade gleaming ominously.

You sink into a curtsy before the priest—your knees grazing the cool stone floor—as he intones your full title: "I salute the Beloved of Ethelion, Avatar of Eternity and Renewal,” before he gently beckons you to rise.

Taking your place before the altar, you feel the weight of an entire kingdom resting upon your shoulders. This ritual isn't mere superstition; it's a tangible link between mortal and divine—a celestial promise that Ethelia is indeed favored by the gods.

Yet beneath this grandeur lies urgency cloaked in ceremony: you're chosen by Ethelion to channel his blessing—a gift that comes with strings attached. It promises good health and protection from injury but depletes as quickly as candles flicker out in gusty winds.

You've done this countless times, yet it never becomes easier. You can only hope that the god residing within you answers earnestly today—gracing the paladins with divine strength and healing their wounds as you pour every ounce of yourself into them.

A hushed silence envelops the chamber as the priest lifts up the basin and blesses its water. He then raises it above your head, pouring its contents slowly over your body. The liquid cascades down your shoulders like molten gold—cool initially but warming as it mingles with your skin—and pools at your feet like melted sunlight. It seeps into the hem of your flowing robe which now shimmers like saffron touched by daylight's first rays.

The priest murmurs prayers of consecration while taking up the gleaming blade from beside chalice's stem. Gesturing for everyone gathered to join hands, he swiftly cuts into your wrist without warning—precise and unyielding. Blood oozes forth; dark as ink with whiffs reminiscent faint iron scent permeating air around tendrils curling upward almost ethereal fashion dripping fingers’ tips.

"May Ethelion guide thy swords on this path forward!" you invoke in a solemn tone. The words carry an authority that rings throughout the entire Temple, sending vibrations through the gathered crowd as they repeat your verse.

With a sharp exhale, you approach the priest and rest your open wound over the golden goblet, watching your blood drip into the vessel, drop by painstaking drop. All the while, the attendees recite their blessings in a swelling crescendo, their voices echoing back from the domed roof like an urgent prayer caught between earth and sky.

Your arm throbs incessantly—a dull ache blossoming into searing pain, but you press on, undeterred. Despite how difficult it becomes, there's solace in sharing this burden with others, knowing that they too have a part to play.

Finally, when enough blood has been collected, the priest holds the chalice high and exclaims, "For the kingdom! For Ethelion!"

On command, the paladins march forward with military precision, lining up in single file before the altar, the line extending out of the doors. With measured steps, they kneel in succession, resting their forearms atop the surface in a gesture of humility. You are handed the holy sword, its blade shimmering beneath the lights, its hilt ornately decorated with rubies and diamonds.

Placing your bleeding wrist atop the hilt's cool metal surface, you hold it above the first kneeling paladin's helmeted head. Slowly and carefully, you dip your finger into the cup of crimson liquid and anoint him with your blood by marking his crested forehead—a tangible sign of his sworn loyalty. Whispering a blessing so only he can hear it feels almost intimate—the sword becoming a conduit for divine power. The tip of the blade descends upon his crown; his shoulders instantly stiffen under this sacred touch—they tremble when it grazes one shoulder then moves to deliver an ethereal blow to the other.

The process repeats itself, endless and exhausting, as you move down the line.

Each anointment saps more of your energy reserves until you're left weak and nearly hollowed out from within. Yet pouring every bit of life force into each paladin so they may be shielded on battlefields ahead brings bittersweet satisfaction mixed with aching relief—you find strength anew just enough to persevere.

By the time you reach the end of the rows, your skin feels as paper-thin as the gauzy fabric covering your body. The edges of your vision have started to blur, and it takes considerable effort to stay upright, gripping the edge of the altar to steady yourself. Your heart is fluttering beneath your ribs like a frantic bird, wanting to burst free from its cage of bone and muscle and escape this agony. Your palms are clammy; you're sweating profusely beneath your robes, but despite this, you must see this rite through till its completion.

The ancient wooden door of the chapel creaks open, its mournful groan deafening in the silent night. A thin beam of moonlight slices through the gap, illuminating the dusty air. Inside, flickering candle flames cast warm, trembling light on Ethelion’s marble statue, which gazes down at you with unblinking, expressionless eyes.

You place your mask at the base of His effigy; unveiling yourself like this is a crucial part of the ritual—a moment of communion with the deity. You stand exposed before Him in every way—physically, spiritually, and emotionally. He serves as a mirror reflecting your deepest essence—a piece of you laid bare without fear or shame. Hiding from Him would be like refusing to acknowledge your own existence.

Summoning all your bravery, you remove the fragile veil that acts as your last shield against the world’s curious eyes, letting it rest gently next to your discarded mask. With both face and hair now revealed, you kneel before His statue. Your head bows low in penance, hands squeezed together in a gesture of deep devotion.

"Blessed Ethelion, forgive your servant," you plead with a tremor. "I have doubt in my heart. I'm afraid."

The statue remains silent; only overpowering stillness fills the air as seconds stretch into eternity. Then warmth radiates through you—starting from your chest and unfurling into your limbs—like sunshine poured into your veins, igniting every fiber with radiant energy.

"I don’t want any of them to die," you confess quietly, tears spilling free to splash against the cold flagstone floor. "They’re innocents caught in a war not their own."

There are no words in response, yet you feel an undeniable answer; Ethelion’s reassuring presence envelops you like a warm embrace. He is there to listen to you in silence.

This ritual is a moment of weakness—where fear manifests openly for release. These men are about to step into hell itself beyond the walls. Though they fight for honor and glory, deep down you know it will become a bloodbath—a massacre that will rend this kingdom apart.

"There's nothing sacred about this; yet here I stand sentencing Your children to death," you lament as tears trickle down your cheeks, mingling salty bitterness against trembling lips. No further sign comes; Ethelion appears content merely to observe from His heavenly perch—perhaps reminding you gently of your divine duty—the role He has ordained for you. "I beg forgiveness, O Lord. I could not change the minds blinded by ignorance. My heart bleeds for those suffering because of this conflict. Please protect them so they may come back to bask once more in Your radiant light."

You bow deeply before Him; rising again is a struggle as your knees quake beneath you.

"Saintess."

You jump at the familiar voice that slices through the sanctity of silence, eyes widening in recognition and trepidation.

This is the third time Leon has witnessed you this vulnerable without the holy artifacts shielding the flesh beneath, yet he remains unassuming and gentle; shock absent from his spirit this time. He stands close behind you in this hallowed space belonging solely to Ethelion's infinite wisdom, and you dare not breathe—afraid of shattering this ethereal moment.

"Avert your eyes, Sir Leon.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle, standing erect. You remain there unmoving, save for the tiny droplets of sweat gathering on your hairline as he moves with the grace of a shadow, his steps measured and deliberate, until he stands by your side, his eyes unwaveringly fixed upon the towering statue of Ethelion that looms before you both, as if seeking solace in the stone divinity rather against the evil of your human form.

He drops down onto both knees, bowing so low that his forehead nearly kisses the cold stone floor.

A subtle movement draws your attention, and you steal a glance from beneath your lashes. The moonlight caresses strands of golden hair and spins them into threads of silver. His attire deviates from the usual paladin's armor; instead, he wears a simple cotton shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, veiny forearms sculpted by hard practice. The fabric clings to his form, hinting at the sinewy strength that lies beneath. Riding breeches embrace his legs snugly, tucked into worn boots that have weathered countless journeys.

The collar of his shirt is notched open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the base of his throat and the expanse of his upper chest. Your gaze traces the contours of muscle defined beneath the sheer material, and traitorously ventures lower, lingering on the curve of his bent knees before daring to explore further down to where his knuckles rest—taut and unyielding atop thighs etched with power. It leaves your mouth dry.

The intensity with which he shuts his eyes mirrors that boy from years past—the one who clenched his fists tightly against pain, refusing to cry as he battled an illness that should have claimed his life but didn't.

You yield to an impulse, enveloping him in the ethereal embrace of your veil, a shield against the world's gaze and your own. His body tenses beneath the delicate fabric as you glide it over his features, a soft gasp escaping from deep within him. With a trembling exhale, he quivers imperceptibly, fingers pressing into the cloth with a fervor that leaves faint dents on his skin, hands strained from the intensity.

"Open your eyes," you murmur tenderly, reluctant to disrupt the fragile moment.

Gleaming blue flickers into view through the white, translucent shroud, their clarity distorted by the gossamer material. You observe his swallow, the rhythmic rise and fall of his Adam's apple as he tentatively reaches to draw it down over his face.

Through the veil's prism, you must appear as a kaleidoscope of hues and forms to him; a phantom of your true essence, an elusive apparition hovering at the edge of reality.

"The… The blessing went well today," Leon sputters, cracking at the end like glass under pressure.

"Why did you come here, Sir Leon?" you ask gently, sensing that beneath his stiff formality lies a multitude of untold emotions.

"Are you alright?" The genuine concern for your person sends shivers cascading over your skin; fine hairs on your arms lift as he touches his wrist—mirroring right where your blood had been drawn. "Does it hurt every time the blessing is performed? I've never watched it before. It's..."

He falters, mouth opening and closing, and you notice how the fractured light from the windows bathes the swell of his cheeks in a tender luminescence. His words hang between you both, delicate strands of silk trying to knit themselves into coherence.

"It's awful, Saintess. To see your suffering laid bare before everyone."

"I would drain my whole body if it meant those brave men will go out knowing they are protected," you say with resolute calmness, though deep down, you're curious about how he truly perceives you now.

A barely audible "I know," escapes him. It feels like a confession—an unpleasant truth he doesn’t like being faced with. Whatever it holds makes warmth surge through you, igniting your skin and causing another involuntary shiver as he moistens his lower lip with a slow sweep of his tongue. "I know."

"Don't worry about me, Sir Leon. Your job is out there defending these lands, while mine is to ease your burdens. Think only of protecting those who need your shield.”

“Is it wrong to care for those I serve?” His wholehearted question tightens something within you—stirs an undefined yet potent emotion ready to bloom.

"Not at all," you reply almost breathlessly as he gazes intently at the curve of your jawline—your face blurred but memorized by him with stunning accuracy. "Remember whom your sword serves; we live only to honor Ethelion."

"I wish the world were different," his words seem hollowed out, lacking meaning, and yet there's an unmistakable conviction there, a resolve that drives him.

"As do I."

You glide your fingertips over the altar's slick surface, taking in a deep breath that fills your lungs fully with the sanctity of this space.

Then he straightens up suddenly; determination shines in his posture. He doesn’t rise from his kneeling position, yet it frightens you in the same way it would if he had shot up to stand.

"If you'll allow it, Saintess," he says, venerating, and the delicate fabric of his veil brushes against the embroidered sleeve of your robe. That fleeting contact sends a jolt through you, reverberating like a soft, whispered promise. His simple gesture, his proximity—it shouldn’t mean anything. But you feel he might as well have taken your hand in his. "I would pledge an oath to you as well."

There’s a deliberate slowness in how he pulls back, the motion of a man lingering at a threshold he has no right to cross.

Your chest tightens, your breath coming slower as you try to compose yourself. “Of course, Sir Leon,” you manage, though the stillness between you is filled with your uncertainty. What if you're not worthy of his devotion? Of his sacrifice? If he saw what lay beneath the veil, beyond the role of saintess, would he still look at you this way? Or would he recoil, realizing the truth of what you are: flesh and blood, no more divine than the earth beneath your feet?

You feel his stare. It’s as though they’re tracing the length of your body, reaching you through the barrier of the veil, and somehow, that makes the sensation more intimate than if he were standing before you fully revealed.

His breath catches, just slightly. You hear it, feel it, even though the veil between you muffles the sound. "It’s not about whether you’ll accept it," he continues, and there’s a shift in his stance. You can’t see his face, but the way he holds himself, the slight movement of his shoulders beneath the fabric, tells you that he’s grounding himself. "I give this vow because it is mine to give. For you, not for recognition or reward. It’s my choice, my will. No one needs to know."

His spine is ramrod straight now, but there’s a softness in his words, a slight tilt of his head as his eyes search yours. “My loyalty belongs to you alone.”

You swallow hard, the meaning of his words sinking deep into your soul. A lowly servant of Ethelion, that’s all you are. A vessel. No name, no family, no identity beyond the veil. His words... they speak of individual loyalty, devotion to you, not to Ethelion, not to the divine purpose you embody. You are no one. You have no right to such things. How could you take from him what rightly belongs to the god you serve? Wouldn’t you be struck down for such hubris? For leading a paladin astray, pulling him from the only true master he should follow? You tremble at the thought.

"Sir Leon, I cannot accept this." Your fingers curl around the skirt of your robe, the fabric twisting beneath your grip. “It’s—”

His chin lifts, eyes steady on you. "—wrong?"

You start at his interruption. Your voice sounds so feeble as you finish the sentence with a meek, "Yes."

He stays rooted, motionless, but something in the atmosphere shifts again. His breathing, though controlled, seems deeper, and you sense the quiet resolve in the silence that stretches between you.

"Then let me be the one who wrongs Ethelion." His tone carries a weight that presses against you, not through sound but through the way his body holds firm, unwavering. His movements are subtle, restrained, yet the soft brush of his hand grazing his side signals something deeper, a release of tension. "I pledge myself to you, Saintess. To your will, your desires. You are my strength."

The air feels dense, thick with the weight of what he’s offering.

These words flow from him like water spilling over stones, filling up spaces where it couldn't previously reach. The warmth in your chest expands, spreading outward until it seeps into every fiber of your being. Your fingers twitch, the edge of your sleeve twisting between them as you try to ground yourself.

"Please grant me a token of your favor."

Your hands tremble at your sides, your pulse quickening as you fidget with the fabric between your fingers.

What can you possibly offer him?

You glance down, but everything feels out of reach, the world reduced to this one moment.

"But I..." you begin, unsure, your fingers tugging nervously at your sleeve, "I am not a Lady."

There’s a pause, the kind that stretches, and though you can’t see his expression, it feels charged. He shifts ever so slightly, enough that you catch the faint rustle of fabric as he moves.

"All the more reason," he says, a shy smile in his words. "An unworthy paladin asking for a favor from the Saintess—what could be more fitting?"

"Then you may pick whichever object from the temple you desire—"

"I want something of yours, not an icon, nor some relic," he replies immediately, cutting you short, the butteriness sending shivers running down your back. "What do I lack that you have plenty of, that you won't miss, even if it's just a small trinket?"

Your heart stumbles in your chest, the weight of his request crashing into you like a wave. Real? What could you give him? What is yours to offer?

"A lock of hair?" you whisper, feeling your pulse quicken as you say it. The words feel small, vulnerable, but they tumble out before you can stop them. "Would that… suffice?"

Silence follows, his breathing seems to stop.

A lock of hair would belong to you, not the Saintess. A proof of your worldliness, beyond the connection to Ethelion's divine essence. Something that is of the girl and not the holy maiden. Is that what he seeks?

"Your hair," he breathes out in an exhale, as if tasting the words. He appears completely entranced and you become conscious of yourself, the inappropriate nature of just what you brought up.

You draw a slow, shaky breath, the idea settling uneasily in your chest. There’s something intensely personal, too intimate about the exchange. "No, you misunderstand—"

"Your hair, Saintess," he repeats it again, this time more forceful than you've ever seen him; you'd never dare refuse this request and it steals your breath, silencing every protest rising in your throat. "I will accept no less."

Leon rises to his feet, dwarfing you with his broad frame. For the very first time, in Ethelion's presence, you feel small and helpless, like a child who's wandered into his garden. There's something overwhelmingly disarming about sharing this space with him. A foreign sensation blooms within you— a spark that threatens to ignite your world into flames—but you dare not give it voice.

Leon had once worn his armor with pride, each plate fastened like a second skin, the weight of his sword as natural as the rhythm of his heartbeat. Every step forward felt as if he marched hand in hand with something divine, a force greater than himself guiding his every move. The blessing of the saintess had lingered on his skin, a quiet touch that had etched itself into his soul, fortifying his resolve. He had believed, back then, that he was a vessel of the god’s will.

That was years ago.

Now, standing at the edge of the battlefield, the familiar weight of his armor feels heavier, pressing down like an unbearable burden. The bitter taste of dried sweat clings to his lips, and a dull ache pulses beneath his ribs where his armor had done little to stop the last blow. The sun glares down on the blood-soaked earth, the cries of the wounded melding with the clash of steel and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.

This was not what he envisioned. There was nothing divine here.

A shout rises above the noise, sharp and commanding, drawing his gaze toward the horizon. The enemy soldiers draped in black, surge over the hill like a wave of shadow. His grip tightens around his sword, the hilt slick with a mixture of blood and sweat, fingers straining against the leather-bound grip.

“Leon!” A voice, rough and worn from years of battle, cuts through the din. Leon turns, his eyes locking onto Captain Krauser, a veteran whose gaze is as sharp as a hawk’s. His expression is hard, impatient. “Orders from the Temple: we flank their left side!”

Leon’s heart clenches at the mention of the Temple.

It had been a long time since the orders felt pure, righteous. The Church’s demands had grown more questionable with each passing day. What had once been a campaign to protect the kingdom and its people now reeked of ambition—land grabs disguised as divine conquest. Territories seized, villages razed under the pretense of holy duty.

But Leon doesn’t question. He never has. He is a soldier, a paladin. A servant of Ethelion.

The memory of you—serene, always hidden beneath the mask you wore as the Saintess—surfaces in his mind, unbidden, his anchor to the divine, the blessing you placed on him sacred. You believed in him, blessed him with your blood, and for that, he would fight. For that, he would fulfill his duty.

He moves after Krauser, silent as a ghost, maneuvering through the throng of soldiers until they reach the flank. The enemy’s forces are spread thin, their attempt to push the kingdom’s army back leaving them exposed. It should be an easy victory. A victory that would tighten their grip on the region, crush the enemy’s morale.

The order comes swiftly, brutal and final: Leave no one alive.

Leon hesitates, his sword held in a grip that tightens until his knuckles ache. Leave no one alive. The same command they’d been given in the last village. And the one before that. What once felt justifiable—crushing the enemy for the kingdom’s safety—now sits like lead in his bones.

Those they slaughtered hadn’t been soldiers. They were farmers, villagers. Innocents. Women and children.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and the memory of the last village rises unbidden, a flash behind his eyelids. He can still smell the smoke, hear the anguished cries of mothers shielding their children. His punishment for hesitating, for not cutting through them as he did the soldiers, feels lighter than the weight of that memory.

“Are you deaf, shiny?” Krauser says with a low growl, dragging him back to the present. “I said move.”

Leon’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck pulling taut. His body moves automatically, his sword rising as he steps forward, following the rest of the paladins into the fray. Steel clashes with steel, bodies crash against one another, but the noise fades, swallowed by the gnawing doubt lodged deep in his chest. He strikes down another soldier, their blood splattering across his already stained armor, but the pit in his stomach only deepens.

He had been blessed to protect the kingdom, to serve the saintess. How did it come to this? When did righteousness turn into this—bloodlust veiled by holy orders?

Each swing of his sword feels heavier, as though the weight of every soul he cuts down drags him closer to the earth. He fells another enemy, watching as the light drains from their eyes, but it’s not just the life that drains from them—it’s something in him too.

This war, it’s nothing like he’d imagined. In the temple, they had spoken of glory, of righteousness, of battles fought in the name of Ethelion. His fellow soldiers had whispered about the honor of dying for the Temple, the promise of eternal life in the afterworld. They had made war sound like a divine calling, a sacred rite of passage where every death was sanctified, every act of violence blessed.

Out here, there is no glory.

Only blood.

The blood of his brothers, mingled with the enemy’s, staining the dirt beneath their feet. The screams of dying men linger in his ears long after the fighting stops. He’s seen cities burn, watched women and children scramble through the streets, faces twisted in terror, only to fall under a volley of arrows or be trampled beneath the horses of his comrades.

Leon had thought he could stomach it. He’d steeled himself for the brutal reality of war. But nothing prepared him for the guilt, the crushing weight of it, as each atrocity committed in Ethelion’s name piles higher on his soul.

At first, he’d believed the bloodshed was necessary, part of the divine plan. But with every passing day, that belief crumbles a little more, cracking like fragile glass.

Now, standing over the bodies of men who’d once fought to protect their own, Leon can barely remember why he’s here. He can’t recall the saintess’s face anymore—only a faint echo of your eyes, the memory fading like a forgotten dream.

How did the lines blur so completely?

He tightens his grip on his sword, but the weight of it feels foreign, like a weapon forged for someone else.

Facing the fire, Leon watches the flames dance, their orange glow casting restless light over the camp. The logs hiss and crackle as they blacken, edges curling inward with each passing flicker. Every so often, flares shoot out from the heart of the fire, sending sparks spiraling up into the night before falling back down into the pyre. Heat washes over his face, warm yet uncomfortable, the kind that burns if stared at for too long. Leon turns away, unable to face his own reflection in the fire’s glow.

Around him, shadows shift across the ground as torchlight flickers over tents and hastily constructed barriers. Laughter rises from nearby campfires, men gathered in groups, boasting about their conquests in battle, their stories of women left behind growing hazy with time. The smell of roasting meat mingles with the sharp bite of smoke as soldiers cheerfully drink from their ale rations. Some play cards or dice, animated, full of hope for victories yet to come. Others simply bask in the temporary lull, telling tales of their glory to fill the silence.

Leon keeps his distance, seeking refuge near a cluster of trees where the light barely reaches, and the noise fades to a murmur. His back rests against a sturdy trunk, sword and shield propped beside him, the armor around him a forgotten weight. He has no desire to join in the revelry. Solitude feels more fitting—more honest. He closes his eyes, trying to relish the brief respite, though the chance of true rest feels distant, as elusive as peace itself.

"If you don’t eat, you’ll lose your strength." A gruff scoff breaks the silence, drawing Leon from his thoughts. He glances sideways to find Captain Krauser standing above him, holding out a steaming bowl of stew. The smell of the meat, thick with gravy, rises into the cool night air, but Leon’s stomach churns at the sight of it.

"Captain Krauser," Leon mutters, accepting the bowl out of obligation more than hunger, balancing it on one knee. "Didn’t feel like celebrating with the others."

Krauser doesn’t move. He stands there, arms crossed, his bulk casting a shadow that blocks the faint moonlight. His scarred face is half-illuminated by the fire’s glow, the deep lines etched into his skin more pronounced in the flickering light.

Leon stirs the stew absently, blowing on it before taking a small bite. It’s warm, but tasteless. Each mouthful feels like ash, though he forces himself to swallow.

Krauser lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He lowers himself to the ground beside Leon with a heavy sigh, the earth shifting beneath his weight. "Is that guilt weighing you down, shiny?" His voice is rough, edged with a mockery that barely conceals his weariness. "Because that’s a damn waste of time."

Shiny. The word used to grate on Leon—an insult for paladins whose armor hasn’t yet been sullied by enough blood and battle. His once-polished metal has long since dulled, but the name lingers. Now, he doesn’t care what anyone calls him. It’s just another word.

"Just a bad feeling," Leon replies with a shrug, forcing another spoonful down. The broth is bland, lukewarm at best, but he eats slowly anyway, chewing as if it will somehow ground him in the present.

Krauser grunts, his large frame shifting uncomfortably as he leans back against the tree. "You’re learning." He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as he glances toward the distant glow of campfires. "New orders came in. We move south at first light to intercept a convoy carrying supplies."

Leon keeps eating, though his grip tightens slightly on the spoon. He waits. There’s always more.

"Intelligence says there may be hostages," Krauser adds, his voice turning grim. Leon notices how the lines around his eyes seem deeper, more etched than before. There’s exhaustion in them, though it’s well hidden behind his hardened exterior. "Our task is to eliminate the threat to the kingdom."

"Kill the hostages?" Leon’s response is flat, more a statement than a question.

A heavy silence falls between them, stretching like a weight neither of them wants to bear. The fire crackles on, sending occasional sparks into the air, while the distant hum of soldiers' voices fades into the background. The smell of burning wood fills the space between them, thick and stifling.

Krauser doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenches, the scar on his face pulling tight as he looks ahead, not meeting Leon’s gaze. "You know the orders," he says finally, the words dropping like stones into the quiet. "We do what we’re told."

Leon lowers the spoon, the taste of the stew forgotten as his stomach twists. He’s not surprised, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. He stares into the fire again, watching as the flames curl around the blackened logs, reducing them to nothing but ash.

The sword feels heavier today.

Leon rides ahead of the troops, the rhythmic clop of horseshoes striking the stone path echoing across the endless stretch of open land before him. The morning sun climbs lazily in the sky, casting pale light that stretches the shadows of soldiers and horses over fields soon to be stained with blood.

His breath puffs in the crisp air, small clouds that vanish as quickly as they form. His fingers tighten around the sword’s hilt, knuckles whitening under the strain, even though there’s no immediate need to wield it. Sweat runs in a thin line down his spine, sticking his shirt to his skin beneath the armor.

Behind him, the sounds of the army in preparation are a constant hum—swords being drawn from scabbards, armor buckled into place, horses snorting in nervous agitation. Soldiers march in disciplined ranks, though their faces carry the tension of men too aware of what’s to come. Some are barely more than boys, fresh to the battlefield, eyes wide with fear they think they can hide. The village lies beyond the next ridge, nestled in the hills. The command had been clear: leave none alive.

Leon shifts uncomfortably in the saddle. His throat tightens with the weight of it, as if each breath is a struggle to swallow the bitter taste of what they’re about to do. He glances to the soldiers beside him, seeing faces too young, too eager to kill or die, all in the name of a god who remains as distant as the stars.

There was a time when Ethelion’s will felt as close as his own heartbeat. When the saintess’s blessings had filled him with purpose, your touch a reminder of the grace he fought to protect. What would you think of him now? Would you still offer him your blessing, knowing the blood that stains his hands? The lives he’s taken, the innocents who died beneath his blade?

As they near the village, Leon pulls back on the reins, slowing his horse. The captain riding beside him narrows his gaze, a sharp glance cast his way, but Leon doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Captain,” Leon’s voice comes out rougher than intended. “What if we’re wrong?”

The captain scoffs, not even turning his head. “Wrong? These people are traitors. They must be dealt with.”

Leon’s grip tightens around the reins, the leather biting into his palms. “But we have no proof. No confirmation that they’ve—”

“There is no what if, shiny,” the captain cuts him off, his tone as cold and unyielding as iron. “Our orders are clear. Or have you forgotten your place?”

Leon swallows hard, his throat dry. His place. To serve, to obey, to carry out the will of Ethelion without question.

But his place has never felt so wrong.

They crest the final hill, the village coming into view below. Smoke rises lazily from chimneys, the scent of cooking fires carried on the wind. From a distance, it looks serene. Peaceful. The villagers go about their day, unaware of the army bearing down on them, unaware that in moments, their world will be torn apart.

Leon’s stomach churns. His horse shifts beneath him, sensing his unease, and he forces a slow breath, trying to calm the storm of doubt swirling inside him. His brothers-in-arms march forward, steady and resolute, their swords ready, their minds set on the task ahead.

But Leon’s horse won’t move. It stands rooted, mirroring the weight in his soul.

The captain urges his own horse forward, barking orders to the soldiers to fan out and surround the village. Leon watches as they obey without hesitation, without question. Their faces remain emotionless, minds focused on the task at hand.

How can they not feel it? How can they not sense the wrongness of what they’re about to do?

As the soldiers advance, the first shouts of alarm rise from the village below. Leon can hear it—the panic in their voices, see the sudden fear on their faces. Mothers pulling children close, men scrambling to gather their families. Chaos erupts as arrows fly and swords are raised, and yet, Leon remains frozen in place, his hand trembling on the reins.

The first bodies fall, the clash of steel and screams blending into a cacophony that drowns everything else. The world tilts beneath him, the ground shifting as the sickening sound of death fills his ears, louder than the wind, louder than anything.

I can’t do this.

The thought slices through the haze like a knife.

I can’t.

His grip tightens further on the reins, every muscle in his body tensing, ready to move, ready to do something. Anything.

A shout from behind jerks him from his paralysis. “Sir!”

Leon turns sharply, his pulse racing. A young messenger rides toward him, his face pale, fear etched into every line as he pulls his horse to a stop, barely managing to speak through gasps for air. “Urgent orders from the capital! Princess Ashley has been taken by the enemy. We must mobilize immediately to retrieve her.”

Leon’s heart slams against his ribs.

The princess. The heir to the throne.

For a brief, blessed moment, the chaos of the battlefield fades away, replaced by the only thing that matters. He can save her. He can stop this madness and do something that truly matters.

But the church has other orders.

The captain rides over, his brow furrowed as he tears the sealed letter from the messenger’s hand, the royal crest glinting in the sunlight. He scans it quickly, his expression hardening with each passing second before crumpling the parchment and tossing it to the ground.

“We proceed as planned,” the captain snaps, his tone cold, final.

Leon’s blood runs cold. “But the princess—”

“The orders stand,” the captain repeats, not even glancing at him. “We were sent here to purge this village of traitors, and that’s what we’ll do.”

The sound fades from Leon’s ears, replaced by a sharp ringing that drowns out the Captain ordering the messenger away and trying to direct him to the nearest base.

His pulse pounds in his temples, each beat like a hammer driving nails into his resolve. This isn’t just another village. This isn’t just another order. It’s the future of the kingdom hanging in the balance, and they’re about to throw it all away for what? For bloodshed masquerading as faith?

The bile rises in Leon’s throat, bitter and burning.

He thought he could stomach war. He thought he could follow orders, no matter how brutal. But this?

The last thread of the leash holding him snaps.

Leon’s hands shake on the reins as the captain’s sharp gaze lands on him. “Leon,” the captain growls, noticing his hesitation, “Remember yourself.”

An oath. To serve, to obey, to protect.

But as he looks out over the village, sees the smoke rising, the screams tearing through the air, Leon knows the truth.

This isn’t the will of Ethelion.

This is the will of men.

Men who’ve twisted the divine into something grotesque, something that demands blood for power. Men who’ve forgotten what they were supposed to protect.

Your face flashes before him—soft, kind, with that quiet strength. The words you once spoke come back to him, clear in the chaos.

One is not born to greatness. One achieves it.

“I can’t do this,” Leon whispers, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His voice is barely a breath, but the weight of the truth in them rings louder in his mind than any shout of command.

The captain’s gaze sharpens. “What did you say?”

Leon meets his eyes, feeling the fire build inside him. “I won’t do this,” he repeats, stronger now. “I won’t sit by and watch us slaughter innocents while the kingdom’s heir is in danger.”

“You swore an oath.”

“I swore an oath to protect,” Leon retorts, his breath catching as conviction tightens his chest. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

For a long, tense moment, silence stretches between them. The captain’s face twists in fury, his hand hovering near his sword. “You defy the Temple, and you defy Ethelion himself. You’ll be branded an oathbreaker. You’ll never be able to return.”

An oathbreaker. Cast out from the temple, from the faith, from you.

But Leon knows, deep down, that this decision was made long before he spoke the words.

“If following the Temple means abandoning the kingdom, then I’ll bear that title gladly.”

The captain’s jaw tightens, fury flashing in his eyes, but Leon doesn’t wait for the response. He turns his horse with a sharp tug, spurring it forward. The wind rushes against his face as he rides, faster and faster, leaving behind the chaos, the orders, the lies.

He knows what this means. He knows what’s waiting for him at the end of this path. There will be no place for him in the temple, no return to the saintess’s grace.

But as the wind cuts through him, sharp and freeing, he knows one thing for certain:

He’s made his choice.

And now, he’ll live with it.

The streets of the capital are thick with people, their cheers rising in waves that echoed off the towering stone walls of the city, the air alive with the sounds of celebration—laughter, music, the rhythmic beat of drums that thrummed through the cobblestone streets like a heartbeat. Banners of blue and gold flutter in the breeze, catching the midday sun and casting fractured patterns of light across the throngs of spectators who lined the streets.

And there, at the center of it all, rides Leon, astride a massive warhorse clad in gleaming black barding, the royal crest of Ethelion emblazoned on its chest. The horse’s hooves clatter against the stones, a steady, rhythmic sound that matches the beat of the drums, though Leon barely hears it. His focus is elsewhere—distant, cold, fixed on a point far beyond the horizon as the cheers of the people wash over him like distant waves.

He sits tall in the saddle, his body encased in full black armor that gleams like polished obsidian despite the streaks of dried blood splattered across the metal. His cape, once a regal white, fluttered in the breeze, its edges torn and frayed from the brutal campaign that had crowned him victor. Though battered, the helmet is tucked under his arm, leaving his face exposed to the cool autumn air.

The cheers from the crowd echo off the stone buildings, filling the air with a roar of excitement and adoration. Cries of “Long live Sir Leon!” and “Hail the hero!” ring out from every direction, the people pushing and jostling to catch sight of him as he rode by.

It all means little to him.

They shout his name, faces alight with joy, hailing him as their hero, their savior. He has returned from the war triumphant, Princess Ashley safe at his side, the enemy defeated and the kingdom secured. To them, he is a figure of legend, a warrior draped in glory and victory.

But to Leon, the glory feels hollow, like fool’s gold.

He fought for close to a decade, driven by a purpose that no longer existed. The blood on his armor, the lives lost in his name—it all seems to blur together in his mind, a swirling mass of faces and screams that he can’t escape. Even here, amidst the fanfare and celebration, the battlefield clings to him, its shadow cast long and dark over his soul.

The people can’t see it. They see only the armor, the crown of laurels resting atop his head, the bloodied sword at his side. They don’t see the burden of it, the way it presses down on him like a sin he could never lay down.

He glances to the side as the parade moved forward, the crowds pressing in closer as they strained to catch a glimpse of the soldiers coming home. Children are perched on their parents’ shoulders, waving small flags, their faces painted in the colors of the kingdom. Women throw flowers from their balconies, petals raining down like confetti, their bright colors almost a mockery to the dark steel of his armor.

And then, through the sea of faces, something catches his eye.

A small blur, darting between the legs of the adults, weaving through the crowd with surprising speed and determination. Leon’s gaze sharpens, his body tensing instinctively as he tracks the movement, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.

It’s a child.

A little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, her hair tied in messy braids, face flushed with excitement. She breaks free from the crowd, slipping past the guards who stood watch along the edges of the street, and before anyone can stop her, she runs toward Leon, her small hands clutching something tightly to her chest.

The crowd gasps, a murmur rippling through as the girl reaches Leon’s horse. The guards move forward, ready to intervene, but Leon holds up a hand, signaling for them to stop.

He looks down at the child, eyes dark and tired. The little girl stares up at him, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths, wide eyes filled with awe and something else—something Leon hasn’t seen in a long time.

Hope.

For a moment, the world slows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as Leon and the girl lock eyes. She is so small, so fragile, standing there in front of him, her little hands trembling as she holds something out to him on her tiptoes.

A flower.

A single white lily, its petals slightly crumpled from her tight grip, but still intact, still whole. She raises it up to him, her hands shaking, lips parting in a shy, nervous smile.

“For you, sir,” she yells, her voice barely audible over the distant roar of the crowd. “Thank you for saving us!”

Leon stares down at the flower, his heart constricting painfully in his chest. The blood on his armor, the dirt caked beneath his fingernails, the weight of the sword at his side—all of it feels wrong in the presence of such innocence. He’s a soldier who threw away his oath, a killer, a man forged in the fires of war, and yet here stands this child, offering him a flower as if he were something more than just the weapon the kingdom had wielded.

His hand, still encased in the cold metal of his gauntlet, moves slowly, hesitantly, as if it doesn’t belong to him. He reaches down, the armor creaking with the motion, and gently takes the flower from the girl’s outstretched hands. The petals brush against the bloodstained metal of his gloves, stark and bright against the darkness of his armor.

“Thank you,” Leon mumbles, rough and strained, the words catching in his throat. His grip tightens around the delicate stem of the flower, careful not to crush it. For a brief moment, the warmth of the child’s gesture pierces through the fog of guilt and weariness that’s permanently settled over him, a glimmer of light in the darkness.

The little girl’s face lights up with a smile, her eyes shining with pure, untainted joy. She stands there and jumps up and down with excitement, beaming up at him as if he were the sun itself, as if his presence alone could banish the shadows that lingered at the edges of her world.

But Leon knows better. He feels the lock of hair curled inside the locket above his heart burn his skin.

The grand doors of the royal palace groan open with an echoing creak, revealing the hall beyond—a glittering display of prosperity and flamboyance that seems to scorn the simple austerity of the life Leon has known. Polished marble floors gleam beneath chandeliers of wrought gold, their light refracting off mirrors that line the walls. The air here is crisp, almost sharp with nose-breaking blends of perfumes, with none of the heavy warmth of the temple's incense.

Leon’s boots click sharply against the marble as he enters, each step ringing out in the cavernous hall, a sound swallowed by the murmurs of the courtiers who line the edges of the room. The steady hum of muted conversations fills his ears, escorted by the occasional clink of glasses. They watch him with calculating eyes, the nobles dressed in silks and velvets of every hue, faces painted with smiles too precise to be genuine, as suffocating as the armor that once bore him through battle.

He feels naked without it now, standing here in formal garb, his sword sheathed and distant at his side, a mere symbol of his victory rather than a tool of survival. The dark fabric of his tunic hangs heavy on his shoulders, trimmed with the royal blue of the kingdom.

Ahead, at the far end of the hall, the king sits on his throne. The high-backed chair is a towering edifice of dark wood, inlaid with gold and precious stones that sparkle under the dazzling chandeliers. The king himself is an imposing figure, draped in royal blues and deep purples, a crown resting atop his graying hair. He watches Leon’s approach with the same detachment as the nobles—his gaze that of a man weighing the worth of a tool rather than acknowledging the triumph of a soldier.

As Leon reaches the dais, he stops, kneeling—an action that should feel natural after years of service, but here, it is different.

The king rises slowly, the robes trailing around his feet like the velvet shadows of dusk, and approaches with the same calculated precision that governs the court. A ceremonial scepter gleams in his hand, more ornament than authority, but its significance is clear.

“Sir Leon,” the king’s words cut through the room like the edge of a blade, each syllable crisp, measured. “You stand before this court as a hero of our realm. For your valor in battle, for your unwavering loyalty to the crown, and for the rescue of Princess Ashley, I bestow upon you the title of Margrave.”

The tap of the scepter on Leon’s shoulder is light, almost delicate, but it might as well have been a hammer.

The king returns to his throne, settling back with a rustle of silk, and gestures for Leon to rise. “Rise, Margrave.”

Leon pushes to his feet, the formality of the moment bearing down upon him as the court claps in practiced politeness. Their applause is soft, a murmur of sound that fades almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving the room in an expectant silence.

It is time.

A low ripple of movement stirs at the far end of the hall as the clergy step forward. Robes of pristine white trail across the floor as the procession approaches, a stark contrast to the vivid blues and purples of the nobility. At the head of the clergy is the Archbishop, his ceremonial staff clicking rhythmically against the floor with each step. And beside him—veiled, serene, and radiant in her holy robes—is the saintess. The mask is a pure white, veil milky and opaque; the contrasts of light and darkness across its fabric give the impression of a reflection on water, of a thousand shifting stars under the sun. On your head rests a delicate crown of silver thorns, interwoven with fine filigree, glimmering like fresh snow, hands folded in your lap are covered by silk gloves, so smooth they almost shine.

Leon’s heart stutters.

This is the moment he has been longing for, the only prayer that’s ever left his lips even after his faith had fallen.

He has endured the war, survived the bloodshed, all for this. For you. For the woman who has been his guiding light, the saintess who had once healed him with her touch, whose presence had filled the void within him during the long, cold nights on the battlefield.

He steps forward, his hands trembling at his sides, his breath catching in his throat as the group approaches the dais.

His knee wants to bend before he even realizes it, the instinct to kneel before you stronger than any other impulse.

But as when you take your place atop the steps of the dais, hands raised in the familiar gesture of blessing, something gnaws at him—an unease that creeps along the edges of his mind. The movement of your hands, the tilt of your head—it is all wrong. Too stiff, too formal.

He hesitates.

The room holds its breath, the nobles watching in silence as the saintess descends down towards him, the veil obscuring your features, body swathed in layers of white that flutter with each step.

Leon’s pulse quickens, and his eyes—despite his every effort not to—search for yours through the veil and the mask. He needs confirmation that it’s him who has changed. He needs to see, even if it is just the glimpse of the eyes he had held in his memory through every moment of agony, through every victory.

But as you draw closer, his stomach drops.

The eyes behind the veil—dark, unfamiliar, and cold—are not yours.

His body freezes, his muscles locking in place as the realization hits him with the force of a blow.

This isn’t you.

This woman—this stranger—isn’t the one he had fought for, the one whose face had kept him alive in the blood-soaked trenches of the war.

The saintess lowers her hands, preparing to lay her blessing upon him, but Leon jerks back, his knees refusing to bend, breath quick and sharp in his chest. The room grows still, the murmurs of the nobles faltering as the tension thickens around him like a noose.

The Archbishop’s head snaps toward him, the ceremonial calm in his expression faltering for just a moment. His fingers tighten around the staff, the knuckles turning white beneath the pressure.

“Margrave,” the Archbishop’s reprimand is sharp, cutting through the air like the crack of a whip. “You must kneel to receive the Saintess’s blessing.”

Leon’s fists clench at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain. His body is trembling, but it isn’t from fear. It is from the fear-soaked anger that is building inside him, slow and burning like a fire stoked too long. His gaze fixes on the false saintess, his heart thundering in his chest, his mind spinning with questions that have no answers.

Where are you?

The walls close in, the air thick with the silent judgment of nobles and clergy. Each breath is a growing struggle, laden with the oppressive load of their expectations. His limbs feel anchored, refusing to bow before this stranger, this imposter.

“Margrave,” the Archbishop’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding. His eyes flash a stern warning. “You will kneel.”

The pressure shatters.

Leon’s body moves before he can stop it, his hands flying out to grab the front of the Archbishop’s robes, yanking him forward with a force that sends the man stumbling, the ornate staff clattering to the floor. A collective gasp sweeps through the room, the nobles recoiling in shock as Leon’s voice, low and ragged, spills out.

“Where is she?” His hiss is a harsh rasp, breaths coming in short, jagged bursts. “Where is the real Saintess?”

The Archbishop’s face twists in fury, his hands flailing against Leon’s iron grip. “Unhand me, you fool! You stand in the presence of Ethelion’s chosen—”

“No.” The word is a snarl, the growl of an animal promising to get violent. Leon’s grip tightens, the anger boiling over, his muscles trembling with the force of it. “What have you done with her?”

The room descends into chaos. Nobles rise from their seats, the sound of their hurried footsteps mingling with the low murmur of alarmed voices. The clergy shift uneasily, their faces pale, but none of them dare to move. The paladins stationed near the walls exchange nervous glances, their hands hovering near their swords, but none step forward.

They have seen what Leon is capable of.

“Release me!” The Archbishop’s voice cracks, his pale face contorted with fear and rage. “You dare attack the church? You will be branded a heretic for this!”

Leon barely hears them, his body trembling with rage as he stares down the terrified clergyman clawing at his arm, nails digging into Leon's skin, leaving behind bloody scratches.

“I don’t care.” Leon’s voice is low, silent, the words spilling from him like venom. “Tell me where she is.”

Before the Archbishop can answer, a hand—small, yet firm—clamps down on Leon’s shoulder.

Princess Ashley doesn’t release his arm as she pulls him toward the side of the throne room, guiding him through the side doors that lead into a quieter, more secluded hallway. The heavy wooden door closes behind them with a dull thud, cutting off the noise of the throne room and leaving them in a sudden, suffocating stillness.

Leon exhales, his breath shuddering as he leans against the wall, one hand coming up to palm at his face, and between his fingers, stares down at the ground with a wild look.

[tiredwitchplant]

It's Time for Samhain! (Oct 31- Nov 1)

What is Samhain? In the Celtic calendar, Samhain marks the end of summer and the harvest season, and the beginning of the dark, cold winter months. It falls opposite Beltane on May 1, which represents the beginning of spring and the life-filled growing season.

It’s believed that the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest on Samhain. Historically, people were worried that they would encounter ornery spirits if they ventured outside on Samhain night, so they dressed as ghosts or wore masks to disguise themselves. Folks would leave treats on their front porch or place an extra setting at the table to welcome any friendly spirits who stopped by. You can see how these Samhain rituals easily morphed into our modern-day version of trick-or-treating in costume.

Nighttime bonfires were another of the long-standing Samhain rituals - this one was thought to help combat the impending darkness of winter and the fearful chill that accompanied the idea of roaming spirits. Because the veil between living and dead is believed to be the thinnest on this night, Samhain is also a powerful night for divination and spellcasting by candlelight.

Usual Symbols of Samhain:

Ale or Mead

Pumpkins

Skulls

Besom or Broom

Beans

Cauldron

Bats

Keys

Squash

Pomegranate

Nuts

Apples and Cider

Bones

Herbs and Plants for Samhain:

Rosemary – Associated with remembrance and is needed during this season in taking time to honor the memories of our ancestors and other lost loved ones. Can be used in an incense blend and at ancestor altar

Fall Flowers – Includes flowers like marigolds and chrysanthemums. Are associated with protection and chrysanthemums come in handy with connecting to the spirit world

Apples (the fruit, branches and blossoms) – Is considered sacred to a lot of gods. A good apple harvest means that the gods have shown the community their favor. You can use apples in different rituals, especially divination

Pomegranates – Is associated with the realm of the underworld and helps with communication with the dead. It is also associated with fertility of the fall.

Squashes, Pumpkins and Gourds – Is associated with abundance and provides sustenance for your family when the fields become bare and covered in snow. Is linked to psychic awareness and development and protection.

Mugwort – Is associated with divination and dreaming. Using Mugwort baths or incenses in the rituals can focus on treating depression, especially with the seasons changing

Rowan Trees – The branches and berries are a way to keep evil spirits out of your house and are associated with good health. If you plant a tree near a grave, it will prevent the dead from rising.

Sage – Is associated with cleansing and grounding. Is a great incense to cleanse your home to bring in the new and out with the old

Hawthorn – Has been associated with the gateway between humans and the spirit world. Is also rumored to an area where you can see fairies.

Crystals for Samhain:

Amethyst – Aids in opening one’s third eye and is valuable to be able to see Samhain’s spirits around

Black Obsidian – Is great for grounding and protect from evil spirits. Can be used in scrying when speaking to deities and spirits of Samhain

Citrine – Is used to honor the sun. Aids in prosperity spells and carries joy

Black Tourmaline – Wards off unwanted spirits from your property and can be buried into the ground to protect from psychic attacks and spirit intrusion

Orange Calcite – Orange is a sacred color to Samhain. This stone is associated with one’s sacral chakra and can cleanse and align reproductive organs, sexuality and get creativity flowing

Bloodstone – Known to heal cardiovascular illness and disease. Can help with ancestry links and work

Spirit Quartz – Is great in helping communicate with the spirits of Samhain and releasing old and toxic habits

Lepidolite – Used to appease the fairies that roam during Samhain

Serpentine – Is associated with snakes and aids in remembering past lives. Loki seems to like this stone and may be great to use for him if you work with him during this season

Dragonstone – Dragons are guardians of the earth, spirits of place, and connect us to Mother Nature. Helps say goodbye to the old years and our old selves

Skull shaped Stones – Since skulls are symbols of Samhain, skull shaped stone can help with symbolism during this holiday. They represent the life-death-rebirth cycle, wisdom and our ancestors

Spells and Rituals:

A Samhain Tea (Apple and Hawthorn Berry)

1 apple, sliced

2 Tablespoon dried hawthorn berries (or 4 Tablespoons fresh)

1 cinnamon stick

A pinch of cloves

4 cups water

Honey, to taste (optional)

Combine all ingredients in a small stockpot.

Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 10 minutes.

Strain the plant material from the tea, then transfer the tea into two mugs.

Enjoy one for yourself, and leave the other on your table or front porch to nourish any wandering spirits who may pass while the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest.

A Pumpkin Spell for Prosperity

A pumpkin

Some paint

Go to the pumpkin patch (or local store) and select a pumpkin. Or let the pumpkin choose you.

Bring it home and paint prosperity symbols on it – money signs, runes for prosperity or harvest glyphs (whatever means prosperity to you).

Then place by your front door to invite prosperous vibes into your home this Samhain season.

Bonfire Release Purification Spell

Paper

Pen

Source of fire (bonfire, fireplace, candle flame)

Gather your materials and sit by the fire.

Take a few minutes to just listen to the fire crackling.

Gaze into the flames and connect with this powerful element.

Next begin to think about what habit or person you are releasing this Samhain. Think about why you’re purifying your life from this thing or person.

Then write the habit or person down on the piece of paper.

Fold it away from you 3 times.

Hold it in your hands and allow all of the negative thoughts and energies inside of you to “drain” out of you and into the paper.

Then throw it in the fire and say,

“After this Samhain, never again. Never again. I release _________ from my life by the power of the Samhain fire. So, mote it be.”

How to Make a Samhain Altar

Beautiful autumn leaves or flowers that you collect on a nature walk

A candle

A mugwort bundle

A string of rowan beads

A bowl of apples or a small pumpkin

A hawthorn wand or bowl of freshly picked hawthorn berries

A picture of your ancestors

To make an altar, first find a corner of your home or a table surface where you can arrange a few treasures. You don’t need a ton of space. You could use the top of a dresser, the corner of your desk, an unused side table, etc. 

After you’ve assembled your altar, spend some time sitting quietly in the space. Light the candle and/or mugwort wand, sip on a cup of Apple & Hawthorn Berry Tea and meditate on this energetically powerful day. 

I could find specific written instructions for a crystal grid but I found a video!

Crystal Grid for Samhain

Let's get ready for Samhain and have a great and safe time!

[lilianasgrimoire]

Witches & Witchcraft: Types & Definitions

There is an abundance of types of witches, some being more common than others, for example, death witch or hedge witch. I have provided the different types of witches with a brief description/definition of what they study, believe and tools most commonly used for each.

The types of witchcraft is entirely up to the individual which they prefer to do. One person may only follow on type of magick whereas another may follow several. Listed are a handful of the many kinds, but I'm listing the most common/known types of magick/witchcraft that people fall into.

I have grouped some witches together as they fit together under the same or similar definitions.

Types of Witches

Religious witches;

Christian, Satanic (Theistic), Laveyan Satanic, Hellenic, Celtic and Wiccan, etc. are witches that follow a primary belief system and incorporate their religion into the craft.

Non-Religious witches;

Secular - doesn't work with [a] deity(ies).

Science - (also a craft type), uses metaphysical and scientific fads and theories mixed together.

Other types of witches;

Solitary - works alone and is not part of a coven. Won't typically work with other witches for spell work or any part of their practice.

Eclectic - a practice that includes multiple practises from different areas. A mixture of all practices, may practise one more than another, or all equally.

Hereditary/Generational - a witch who is born into a family whom practice the craft. The term 'Blood witch' is often a hot topic of controversy as to whether it makes one a more powerful witch.

Traditional - a type that is based on honouring the traditional ways of magick, which also ties in nicely with generational/hereditary witches.

Chaotic/Chaos - a witch who utilizes new, non-traditional and unorthodox methods. It's still relatively new and highly individualistic practice while still drawing from common forms of magick.

Types of Witchcraft/Magick

Green Witch; A witch who uses natural magick, such as creating blends of different plants, or primarily using herbs and/or crystals spells in their craft. Tools mostly consist of herbs, crystals, stones, flowers, soil or other greenery.

Hedge Witch; Also know as an astral witch, this type of magick is orientated around spiritual work such as astral projection, lucid dreaming, spirit work, healing and out-of-body magick. Tools mostly consist tarot cards, runes, pendulum, stones, crystal ball, mirrors & candles.

Dream Witch; Mindful and internal magickal practice mainly based from interpreting dreams and/or engaging in lucid dreaming. Practises used to 'de-code' symbols and messages in the dream world can be used similarly to how one would use divination techniques. Tools mostly consist of dream catchers, candles, books of glossaries of symbols.

Sea/Ocean; Derived from materials and abstract ideas involving ocean and the oceanic world. Sea or ocean magick can be worked with by using things found on or relating to a beach/lagoon. A sea witch might draw their energy from such tools. Tools commonly consist of driftwood, pebbles/stones, seashells, ocean water, bones, seaweed, candles.

Storm/Weather; magick used through combining one's energy with the weather; most commonly rain. Weather witches will collect different ingredients provided by the weather, absorb energy from storms, manipulate winnds, or perhaps predict the weather. Tools most commonly consist of rain/snow water, symbols/weather maps, crystals.

Cottage/Hearth; Magick that is weaved and worked or embedded into mundane tasks around the house or for loved ones. Cottage magick is usually worked into cleaning, hobbies or cooking. Tools commonly consist of essential oils, incense, bells, flowers, cleaning utensils, spices and herbs.

Tea Witch; Creating blends of teas for protection, remedies or even to use for tea-leaf divination. Tools commonly consist of tea, herbs, waters, spices.

Tech Witch; Use of technology in the craft, mostly based through phones or computers. Mostly used for storing of information, grimoires, spell books and Book of Shadows/diaries. Tools consist of apps on the phone, digital sigils, online blogs and pages.

Garden/Flora; Mostly (if not all) focused on herbal and botanical measures. Many garden witches have their own garden and plant flowers and herbs to draw in energy for their home and to include in rituals and spells. Tools commonly consist of flowers, soil, seeds, greenery, twigs/tree branches, leaves.

Elemental; Using all 4 (or 5) elements in an honouring or acknowledging form. A witch can choose to work with all, or singular elements. One may have a dedicated area on their alters to a particular elements. Tools consist of anything related to said element.

Faery/Fae; Magick for those who communicate with, and/or work with the Fae. Those whom work with fae may also leave offerings regularly as thanks for the assistance of a faery in their spell work. Tools commonly consist of anything sweet, sigils, offerings.

Spirit; A practice which an individual will perform spell work in conjunction with (or the help of) any manner of spirit, including Ouija, demon spirits, spiritual contact of any kind, working with ancestors. Tools commonly consist of crystals, bells, incense, Ouija boards, tarot cards, pendulums, sigils.

Draconian: The use of dragons and dragon imagery; whether it be trough astral matters or in spells and rituals. May also be connected with dragon spirits on their journey. Tools commonly consist of dragons art, statues, candles.

Seasonal; Utilizing and drawing energy from specific time periods of the year for their magick. One individual may feel more powerful at a particular time of year. It can also be spread out into the 4 seasons. Tools commonly consist of herbs related to certain seasons, stones, ruins and the weather.

Music; Can be through singing, humming, playing an instrument, creating music or having it on during spell work to add energies. Tools consist of speakers, instruments, voice, chimes, lyrics & sheet music.

Art & Craft; Anything from painting to knitting to building something. Tools consist of anything you can craft with.

Sigils; Working majorly with sigils and the intent that can be put into them to activate their power. Tools commonly used are pens, paper, makeup, candles.

Astronomy/Space/Luna; Correlates their belief in conjunction with the planets, stars and/or moon. Versed in moon phases and tend to do spell work at night rather than day time. Tools commonly used are horoscopes, calendars, charts, moonlight, moon water.

Energy; Those who prefer to do magick through energy exercises and manipulation rather than many physical tools or materials. This may also include aura work. The only tools needed for this type is yourself.

Crystal; Magick that is worked commonly with stones and crystals. The practise may include chakra balancing, crystal meditation and even spell work or rituals. Extensive knowledge of stone, including how to identify them. Tools most commonly used are crystals, books, grimoires and stones.

Literacy; Those who practise through books and literature - studying the craft after the 'beginner' phase of learning. Tools are books, poems, written work.

[qqueenofhades]

I bought your 'Empire' the other day (which I am excited about; I haven't started it yet), but somehow completely missed that you had written historical fiction, and about the Plantagenets, my favourite historical dynasty, so I'll be jumping on that.

I was wondering if you had recommendations for historical fiction set during the Plantagenet reign? I've tried Sharon Kay Penman and unfortunately didn't get on with her writing, which is a shame as I've heard good things about her series. I know Philippa Gregory has several novels set during that time period, but her books seem to be verging on bodice rippers, which isn't what I'm looking for. Was just curious if you had any suggestions for well-researched fiction set during the Plantagenet reign.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for several days (my apologies) largely because I was trying to think of a more helpful answer for you. Medieval historical fiction is VERY hit and miss for me, not least because it is often written by people who, uh, are not historians and thus have Certain Ideas (TM) about what the medieval period is like. Or they want to use various aesthetics, or they want to make some (usually questionable) point about how women were treated in the past, or they just go whole-hog on total nonsense. As an example of all of these things at once, let us all stare in horror at this recently-released book description together:

(The book is called the Stone Witch of Florence, by the way. I took one look at this and ran screaming. WHY.)

A stone witch?? So she channels the power of gemstones like a modern-day Instagram healing crystals influencer??? BUT ZOMGZ WITCHCRAFT. In the middle of the Black Death. "Unorthodox cures" you say. But they also need holy relics for protection, and I totally trust the author to understand about medieval hagiography/cult of the saints. Totally. We definitely won't get some half-baked comparison between Sekrit Women Magical Gems Which Really Work and Dark Ages Church Superstition Holy Relics Which Are A Fraud, or.... something??? And our nobly mistreated protagonist will super definitely be a real physician if she gets these and never ever accused of witchcraft (which LET US ALL SAY IT TOGETHER IS AN EARLY MODERN THING!!!!) Because medieval medicine was just a bunch of gemstone vibes anyway! Makes total sense!

...my head hurts.

Anyway, while not all examples are this egregious, the point is: I love historical fiction, but I almost always can't read it when it's set in the medieval era. I read Sharon Kay Penman a while ago and enjoyed her stuff at the time, though I have assorted gripes with it on a stylistic/historical level. While Philippa Gregory does have real academic credentials, she likewise has gone totally down the bodice-ripper alternate-history crackpot theory Secret Women Magic version of things, which is... fine if that's your jam, but just like you, it is not mine. I thus have to read fiction which is set in other periods or which I know less about or where at least I am more capable of turning off my brain and accepting things for the sake of the story. So as you see, I unfortunately don't have many useful suggestions for you in this field, since the kind of medieval historical fiction that I like to recommend is, say, The Name of the Rose. Which is terrific and written for someone of a professional medievalist's level of knowledge, but is not exactly everyone's cup of tea when they just want something fun and easy to understand.

I am, of course, happy to give other book recommendations if you'd like to broaden your request, and I'll do my best to think -- but yes! As I said, I wish I could be more helpful here. I shall persist.

(Also, of course: thanks for buying EMPIRE! I do hope you enjoy.)

[galacticnikki]

A Baby Witch's First Grimoire

Grimoire Master Post

The Basics/Fundamentals:

Basic Protection

Grounding & Centering

Cleansing

Banishing

Beginner Information:

What is a Circle of Stones?

How to set up your first altar!

15 Tools and Their Uses in Witchcraft!

Water & How it's Used in Witchcraft!

Beginner Magic:

5 Simple Daily Rituals

How to cast a Circle of Stones with no tools!

How to easily create sigils!

Color Correspondences

Herbal Magic:

Marijuana in Witchcraft

Protection Herbs

Healing Herbs

Banishing/Exorcism Herbs

Divination Herbs

Binding Herbs

Beauty Herbs

Crystal Magic:

Cleansing Crystals

Crystals For Promoting Confidence

Self-Love Crystals

Crystals to Promote Focus

Deity Information:

Persephone Correspondences

Sabbats:

Mabon Correspondences

Spellbook:

Daily Grounding Ritual

Honey Cake Offering For Apollo

Deep Sleep Essential Oil Blend

Persephone's Plunge

If you like these posts and want to join a community with other witches feel free to join our 18+ coven on Discord.

[astra-ravana]

Bones In Magick And Divination

The long-standing tradition of using skulls and bones in magick dates back ages, yet it is a topic often overlooked in modern witchcraft, leaving many unsure of how to incorporate them. There are many excellent ways to use these mystical objects and their potent energy within your craft.

Some Ethics:

• Never harm an animal simply to obtain its bones for magickal purposes.

• It's best to find bones in nature or buy them from a trustworthy supplier.

• Remember to pay respect to the animal whose bones you are using.

Archetypal Energy

Because bones contain DNA they are not only spiritually, but biologically connected to the animal they came from and all its ancestors. This makes bones powerful totems and talismans that embody the qualities of that animal. This is important to consider when wearing bones or using them as vessels and guardians.

The House Skull

Bones and skulls carry a lot of protective energy. One traditional use for a skull was that of a house guardian. These skulls are usually given a place of prominence in the home and often adorned, painted or decorated. A ritual can be performed to invite the spirit of the animal back to use the skull as a vessel. A binding sigil can be used for this as well as to tie the spirit/skull to you and your home. Skulls are commonly stained red or black to embue them with more protective power.

Crafting

Bones and skulls can be used in creating magickal tools and crafts as well. Long bones and antlers make unique and powerful wands. Skulls can be mounted or hung. Smaller bones can be used to make things like witches ladders and chimes. They make powerful jewelry pieces and charms.

Bones In Spellwork

There are many applications for bones in spellwork including spirit/deity work, necromancy, and ancestral work. They carry the general correspondences of protection, healing, strength, stability, growth, life, and death. Bones are also used in baneful workings and binding. They can be used much like crystals. Each type of bone carries its own magickal properties and can be utilized in rituals, offerings, and as a component in spell jars/bags or poppets. They can be ground into bone powder for general purposes or burnt to bone ash for darker workings.

Bone Correspondences:

• Skull- Thoughts, power, divination, spirit, truth, higher realms

• Teeth- Communication, destruction, control

• Spine- Stability, strength, confidence energy

• Rib- Agility, shielding, abundance, vitality

• Arm- Harmony, balance, duality, physical interaction

• Hand/fingers- Skill, creativity, accuracy, progress

• Wrist/ankle- Flexibility, connection, fluidity

• Leg- Edurance, momentum, travel, change

• Foot/toe- Speed, stealth, balance, luck, prosperity

• Shoulder/hip- Structure, permanence, support, rest

• Tail- Secrecy, sudden events, change in luck, accidents/mishaps

• Claws/nails- Conflict, damage, persistence, defense

• Horns/antlers- Penetration, protection, determination, destruction, harm, nature(can represent The Horned God)

Throwing The Bones

Bones have have been used as a medium for divination for centuries, by many different people and belief systems. Today, it is unfortunately a dying art. It is still practiced sporadically, however and is referred to as osteomancy or curiomancy. Some practitioners choose to use only bones, while others include a variety of things in their kit. Some suggestions include:

• Charms

• Shells

• Coins

• Keepsakes

• Stones

• Toys/figures

• Items from nature

• Found objects

Once you have your items gathered, set to the task of assigning meaning to each bone/object. What feelings does it elicit for you? What does it make you think of? Write down your meanings in a grimoire or designated book. Find a bag or pouch to hold your 'bones'.

To cast your bones simply "shuffle" them around in the bag with your fingers, similar to shuffling a deck of tarot cards. Once you or the person being read are content with their thought/question, grab whatever is within your palm and cast them in a circular motion. For smaller kits, you may cast all your objects at once and use their location to interpret the message. Some read the bones in a spiral, while others use quadrants, rings, or even complex maps/spreads. You can use a cloth with a circle drawn on it or any symbols/design you feel appropriate. Each spread, style, and kit will be unique to its creator.

[afledglings-guideto-witchcraft]

Updated Post. Imma be real for a sec, some of the new information that was brought to my attention is amazing and, in fact, very helpful, so I'm making an updated post to this one here.

A Beginners Guide to Crystals.

How to spot fakes (typically glass) and dyed crystals, Crystal Shapes, and Crystal Color Associations are the topics in this post.

How to spot glass, resin, and other types of fake crystals. (You can still 100% use them in witchcraft, but if you want genuine crystals, then this guide may help you do just that!)

If you think that your crystals are fake, here are some things you can look and do to tell.

Rubbing your crystal with a finger should reveal tiny pores on the surface of the crystal. If it does not have any pores and is instead completely smooth, then it's possible that it's glass or resin.

While some crystals can have naturally formed air bubbles in them, it is rare and may just be glass that was shaped into the crystal.

You can easily search up "fake crystal name" vs. "real crystal name" and compare the two pictures.

You can also look up "dyed crystals" vs. "undyed crystals" to see what a natural coloring of crystals should look like.

If you're worried that your turquoise is fake, then you can take the tip of a hot pin and press it into the crystal, if it burns then it's real, however if it starts to melt its a fake.

Opalite and Goldstone are glass crystals, man made.

9/10 times if your Crystal looks very brightly colored it could have been dyed.

I'll put in some pictures of glass/resin crystals next to the real crystals to show the difference.

Natural coloring of crystals occurs because of the different metals and other minerals that are absorbed during the creation of the crystal. Quartz is just silica and oxygen, so it's appears colorless, but when iron is absorbed, it creates purple or yellow, depending on how oxidized the iron was in the creation of the crystal.

Natural citrine does form, but it's not going to look burned or splochty.

Splotchy color in crystals usually means that it's been dyed, as you can see in the first two images. Dyed crystals also very obviously look dyed because of how brightly they are colored.

Even in Malachite, the green in the fake malachite is brighter than the genuine malachite. You can also look at the unnatural banding on the fake and compare it to real malachite.

Real opal is not see-through like Opalite is. Real opal is more clouded with spots of color, while opalite will have streaks of color or look like the see-through ones above.

Real turquoise is going to have brown or black webbings and cracks or chips, while dyed howlite is going to be smooth with brown or black inclusions. You can take a swab of acetone and rub it across the crystal to see if any coloring comes off. If the color does come off or the crystal looks lighter in the spot, then it's more than likely dyed howlite. You can also do that hot pin trick mentioned above.

The picture on the left is dyed howlite, while on the right is the natural turquoise. You can see that the natural crystal has deep webbing into the stone, very obvious cracks while the holite doesn't have cracks, only webbing that looks like it but it's going to be smooth along those lines.

Crystal Shapes in witchcraft

Double pointed- absorbs and emits energy.

Cluster- Radiates energy.

One point- concentrates and directs energy.

Raw- Strong open energy.

If the crystal is more round then the energy is going to be calmer

If the crystal has multiple points, then the energy is directed off of each point.

The size of the crystal doesn't dictate the amount of energy it gives off.

Different crystals have different energies that they give off. The ones most commonly used in witchcraft and their properties are listed below.

Clear quartz- Clarity

Amethyst- Grounding

Citrine- Happiness

Rose quartz- love

Black Tourmaline- Protection

Obsidian- also protection

Aventurine- luck

Tigers eye- money

Labradorite- aura healing and protection

There are many other crystals that give off similar energies that can be used. As stated, these are just some of the more commonly seen ones.

Now, different crystals can give off different energies depending on the person using them. Some people may see use amethyst as protection rather than obsidian or black tourmaline. Some may use aventurine for money spells over tigers eye. That's 100% okay.

Crystal Color Associations.

Color associations can depend on how the witch feels about a color. This is the general association plus how I use colors in my path.

Red- Anger/passion

Orange- Courage (or in my case repulsion)

Yellow- Happiness

Green- Luck and money

Blue- Calming or sadness (depending on the mood)

Purple- Spirituality

Brown- grounding

Pink- self love

Grey- solemn, seriousness.

With some crystals, the color is also associated with the things listed above. However, again, not all witches will use the color associations of crystals this way, and that's 100% okay. Each witch has a different path and different associations when it comes to the tools they use in their path.

If you're interested in learning about what energies different crystals give off, often just googling "what is crystal name used for in healing" and you will receive an answer.

Though with any type of research, please look at 3-5 other sources that say the same or similar thing. Though it may take more digging to come to a conclusion.

Thank you for reading the updated post, and let me know if I missed anything or if you'd like to add anything. A big thanks to everyone who has corrected the previous post on this subject and any posts that may have contained misinformation in them.

[thejournallo]

Explain the basic: Crystals

Check out Part 1, which explains how to use the things down below.

Agate

Color: Variety of colorful layers Element: Fire Properties: Calming anxiety, quieting your mind, grounding, connecting with nature, luck, prosperity, getting through tough times, comfort, healing from grief, strength, intelligence, communicating well, boosting confidence, protection

Amazonite

Color: Light green, bluish green Element: Earth Properties: Spirit work, intuition, necromancy, calming anxiety and grounding, quelling fear, communicating clearly, leadership, building trust, inspiring self and others, success and luck, supportive strength, creative ideas, focusing on the end goal, cultivating joy.

Amber

By scientific standards, amber is neither a stone nor a crystal, but it nevertheless has a lot of power. It is beneficial to have nearby as it has the ability to transform negative energy into positive energy. It also possesses energy, which you may observe by rubbing amber across a piece of fabric or carpet to observe the static electricity that results.

Color: Translucent gold Element: Earth Properties: Convert negative energy into positive energy, emptying mind, clarity, releasing stored emotions from your psyche, healing negative emotional wounds, protection, putting mind and spirit at peace.

Amethyst

a revered crystal for centuries, is valued for its healing and protective properties. Its vibrant purple hue signifies its abilities to cleanse spaces, protect against negativity, and promote spiritual well-being. It offers comfort and relief by calming the mind, moderating emotions, and reducing anxiety. Amethyst also aids in improving sleep, addressing subconscious issues, enhancing intuition, and fostering spiritual connections.

Color: Purple Element: Water Properties: Healing, cleansing powers, protection, healing whole self, spiritual intuition, stress relief, calming, dampen mood swings, end nightmares, help insomnia, dream work, psychic skills, spiritual awareness, sobriety, ending and healing addiction, self discipline, inner strength, peace.

Aquamarine

Color: Turquoise, teal Element: Water Properties: Determination, fearlessness, expressing yourself, cleansing and purification, tapping into your intuition and psychic abilities.

Aventurine

Color: Variety but often green Element: Air Properties: Creativity, seeing new opportunities, free the mind to accept success, wealth and prosperity, confidence and self power, decisive action.

Azurite

Color: Deep blue Element: Water Properties: Healing of all forms, divination and foresight, dreamwork, focus and concentration, personal and spiritual metamorphosis.

Beryl

Color: Often green or light blue Element: Water Properties: Protection and healing, amplify and tune into energy, and psychic intuition.

Bloodstone

Color: Spotted green and red Element: Fire Properties: Physical health and recovery, healing, confidence in one’s abilities, tenacity, toughness, triumph.

Blue Kyanite

Color: Blue with white layers Element: Water Properties: Balancing energies, new beginnings, soul searching, finding new truths, facing change boldly, guidance in new situations, course corrections.

Calcite

Color: Typically white or yellow Element: Fire Properties: Grounding and centering, cleansing, purifying, mental peace and calm, clear mind.

Carnelian

Color: Orange-red Element: Fire Properties: Manifesting thoughts and ideas into actions and reality, achieving goals, feeling in control, productivity, building self esteem, courage, and confidence, igniting and following passions, eliminating procrastination, building motivation.

Chrysocolla

Color: Turquoise, teal Element: Water Properties: Wisdom, depth of knowledge, balancing mind and emotions, calming oneself, inner peace.

Chrysoprase

Color: Green Element: Earth Properties: Effective communication, working in groups, making your ideas heard, mental influence, poise, articulation.

Citrine

Color: Yellow, orange Element: Fire Properties: Positive energies, calming environment at home, facilitating communication, general wellness and well being, joy, protective powers, provides balance.

Diamond

Color: Clear Element: Fire Properties: As the Earth’s hardest substance it gives extreme permanence and durability, diligence, resilience, purification, and personal and spiritual growth.

Emerald

Color: Green Element: Earth Properties: Material success, prosperity, career accomplishment, protection, and self awareness.

Fluorite

Color: Variety of colors Element: Earth Properties: Healing in all forms– physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, energetic.

Garnet

Color: Red, pink Element: Fire Properties: Protection, returns negative energies back to sender, builds desire and passion, creativity and imagination, positive attitude and improve outlook, prime you for success, bring love and strength to others.

Hematite

Hematite, a magnetic material found in the Earth, is prized for its protective and grounding attributes. It enhances mental clarity, memory, and focus while absorbing negativity and stress. It aids in boosting self-esteem, confidence, and breaking bad habits. Hematite's reflective nature supports divination practices like scrying and is useful in attracting positive energies in spellwork

Color: Black, grey, brown Element: Earth Properties: Protection, grounding, think clearly, memory improvement, focus, gain perspective, reduce anxiety, absorb negativity, soothe stress, build self esteem, increase confidence, boost willpower, end addictions, scrying, magnetic properties.

Jade

Color: Green Element: Earth Properties: Self improvement, self love and peace with oneself, emotional health and balance, happiness.

Jasper

Color: Yellow, brown Element: Earth Properties: Flexibility, open mind, career success, coordination, dedication, determination, relentlessness, industriousness, grounding, luck, and balance.

Jet

Color: Black Element: Water Properties: Overcoming grief, healing after death of a loved one, protection, absorbing negativity, grounding, mental and emotional well being, general healing.

Kunzite

Color: Pink, purple Element: Earth Properties: Grounding and balance, relaxation and calm, stress relief, introspection and inner growth, peace and harmony.

Lapis Lazuli

Lapis Lazuli is an ancient and sacred stone that’s been used for its healing and clarity properties for many years. It’s a powerful stone to heal emotional wounds. It’s often used in meditation to promote focus and mental purity.

Color: Blue with white or yellow stripes Element: Water Properties: Eye-opening stone, discover truth, wisdom and intuition, enlightenment and spiritual awakening, find your calling, insight, psychic intuition and prophecy, connecting with the spirit world, focus and concentration, healing emotional wounds.

Lepidolite

Color: Variety but pink is common Element: Water Properties: Emotional balance, mood regulation, calming anxiety, stress, and other negative emotions, bringing about inner peace, ending nightmares, harmonious spirituality.

Lodestone

Lodestone, a magnetic crystal with unique properties, serves as a bridge between stone and metal. Its natural magnetism provides potent healing for the body and is commonly worn for protection and luck attraction. Creating an oil from lodestone enhances its luck-attracting properties, but to maintain its energy, regular feeding, often with the oil alongside other magnetic materials, is necessary.

Color: Black, grey, brown Element: Water Properties: Healing rituals, physical health, energy and endurance, circulation and immune system, pain reduction, good luck amulet, grounding, good luck oil, protection from negativity and dark magick, dampening negative emotions, attracting wealth, prosperity, and luck.

Malachite

Color: Green Element: Earth Properties: Facilitate life changes, rebirth and new beginnings, adventure, personal success, wealth and prosperity.

Moldavite

Color: Green, blue Element: Air Properties: Intuition and psychic abilities, subconscious awareness, wisdom and insight, balance, consecration and blessings.

Moonstone

Color: Variety Element: Water Properties: Emotional connection, forming deep relationships, connection with nature and the cycle of life, listening to the heart, empathy and compassion, heal emotional trauma, kindness, protection from dark magick and negative energies, moon magick, clairvoyance, dreamwork, lucid dreaming, and mystery.

Moss Agate

Color: White, green, black Element: Earth Properties: Physical prowess, strength, victory, bravery, energy, endurance, and stamina, eliminate negative emotions, luck.

Obsidian

Color: Black Element: Fire Properties: Protection from negative energies, grounding.

Onyx

Color: Black Element: Fire Properties: Protection against dark magick, seances, contacting the spirit world and departed loved ones, guards against possessions.

Opal

Color: Variety Element: Air Properties: Can be difficult to use, each color has different properties, strong stone, intensifies emotions, increases sensitivities and consciousness, psychic awareness. 

Peridot

Color: Green, blue Element: Earth Properties: Prosperity, wealth and success, attract luck, abundance, growth and forgiveness, improving your life.

Pyrite

Color: Gold Element: Fire Properties: Luck, success, attracting prosperity and wealth, positivity and optimism, determination and strength to follow passions and achieve goals.

Quartz

Clear quartz stands out as the ideal first crystal for magical work, given its unparalleled versatility. Acting as a substitute for different crystals, it's easily accessible and affordable due to its abundance. Its amplifying, purifying, and directing abilities with positive energies make it excellent for protective spellwork and countering negative forces. Moreover, it aids in healing, clarity, focus, and spiritual development, making it a perfect starting crystal for beginners

Color: Clear Element: Air Properties: All-purpose, versatile, substitute for other crystals, energy pathways, positive energy, direct and strengthen energy, purification, protection, healing, clarification, focus, procrastination, spiritual growth.

Red Jasper

Color: Red Element: Fire Properties: Emotional protection, emotional distance, thinking rationally and logically, letting go of worries, lessen anxiety, dispel negative energies, optimism, stability and security, grounding, strength, defense against dark magick.

Rhodochrosite

Color: Pink, rose Element: Fire Properties: Sexual passions, romantic exploits, sexual power and adventure, attracting love, fertility, forming new relationships and friendships, compassion and empathy for others.

Rhodonite

Color: Pink, rose Element: Fire Properties: Healing especially emotional healing, grief, healing from loss or death, forgiveness,  reconciling old relationships, mending current relationships, attracting love, making yourself a better person for others.

Rose Quartz

Rose quartz, known for its loving energy, covers multiple facets of love—romantic, friendship, caregiving, and self-love. Its use in spells for romance, friendship mending, and healing heartbreak is notable. This crystal aids in opening the heart, fostering unconditional love, and improving self-relationship by enhancing forgiveness, trust, acceptance, and self-worth. Beyond love, it offers healing and protective properties, shielding from negativity, reducing anxiety, and providing comfort and peace.

Color: Pink, rose Element: Water Properties: Romance, friendship, unconditional love, love spells, heartbreak, open heart, cleanse spirit, forgiving and trusting yourself, healing, protection, peace.

Ruby

Color: Red Element: Fire Properties: Sexuality and desire, finding love, virility, life passion, happiness, intuition and clairvoyance, empathy and improving relationships, emotional health.

Sapphire

Color: Variety but often deep blue Element: Water Properties: Psychic abilities, foresight and visions, luck, dreamwork, spiritual connection, creativity and inspiration, subconscious awareness, monetary goals, protection and protective magick.

Selenite

Selenite, a powerful crystal, excels in providing clarity, offering insights into the bigger picture when one feels overwhelmed by details. Its link between the physical and spirit worlds makes it invaluable for meditation and spiritual work. In dream exploration, especially when combined with amethyst, it aids in preventing nightmares, improving sleep, and enhancing dream awareness for lucid dreaming and astral projection. This crystal fosters tranquility, honesty, and virtue by cleansing negativity and elevating personal vibrations, but caution is advised as it should not be exposed to water.

Color: Often milky white Element: Water Properties: Clarity, see big picture, spirit guidance, insight, awareness, spirit work, dream work, stop bad dreams, help insomnia, lucid dreaming, astral projection, peace, calm, truthfulness, virtue, cleansing negativity.

Serpentine

Color: Green, brown Element: Fire Properties: Positivity, bright spirit, generosity, creativity, peace and calm, joy and happiness, consecration and blessings.

moky Quartz

Color: Grey Element: Earth Properties: Positivity and optimism, overcoming fear, overcoming obstacles, intuition and subconscious knowledge, grounding and centering.

Sodalite

Sodalite is a companion stone to lapis lazuli. They have similar properties, and if you require lapis lazuli, you can substitute in sodalite. 

Color: Royal blue Element: Air, water Properties: Psychic intellect, insight and intuition, clairvoyance, rational and logical thought, wisdom, self awareness, clearing the mind of distractions, self control and mental discipline, working in groups, communicating your thoughts to others, two-way communication, improving communication in a relationship.

Sunstone

Color: Variety but often pink or peach Element: Fire Properties: Taking action, following passion, conviction, persistence, embracing fear, sexuality, toughness, sun magick, protection and healing.

Tiger’s Eye

Color: Brown striped Element: Fire Properties: Truth seeking, perceive reality, uncover devious or fraudulent intentions, clarity of the mind, see past illusions and deceptions, integrity and honor, loyalty and courage, and travel protection.

Topaz

Color: Variety but often blue or orange Element: Fire Properties: Avoid scarcity mindset, abundance, winning, success, desire and attractiveness, receptive to love, friendship and affection, intelligence and wisdom, flexibility, mental strength, protection and healing.

Tourmaline

Color: Variety but often pink or green Element: Earth Properties: Avoiding scarcity mindset, abundance, prosperity, believing in yourself, cleansing and protection, clearing the mind, repel negative energies, protect from harm, protect emotions, peace and calm, quell worry and self doubt, reduce stress.

Turquoise

Turquoise, known for its vibrant and protective qualities, adeptly neutralizes negativity and aligns with personal energy. It serves as a potent defense against negativity during social interactions and possesses healing attributes, radiating positivity, joy, peace, and self-love. Whether for grounding, defensive magic, or as a supportive aid in challenging circumstances, turquoise proves to be an invaluable companion.

Color: Bright blue-green Element: Water Properties: Protection, subdue negativity, works with your personal energy, positivity, joy, happiness, grounding, defensive magick, luck and prosperity, love and attraction, empathy and compassion.

Unakite

Color: Mottled green, orange, and other colors Element: Earth Properties: Connecting to nature, empathy with all living beings, animal magick, grounding, natural guidance, peace for all.

Zircon

Color: Variety Element: Fire Properties: Avoiding scarcity mindset, abundance, success, wealth, protection, cleansing and purification, balance and harmony, peace, healing and personal growth, receptive to love, joy.

As always, I will love to hear your thoughts! and if you have any questions, I will be more than happy to answer them! If you liked it, leave a comment or reblog (that is always appreciated!). if you are intrested in more method check the masterlist!

[stars-obsession-pit]

Since my brain has continued to rotate my alternate take on kryptonite being made of ectoplasm (here) I’ve decided to give the idea a name:

Souls of Kryptonite AU

I still don’t have any big or solid plans with it or whatever but. Yeah.

Anyway, I started thinking a bit about some worldbuilding possibilities around the thing. Nothing is too concrete but I wanted to write them out:

So, firstly:

Krypton’s destruction in some way involved ectoplasmic contamination of the planet (to justify why its bits got weird)

But then I had two ideas on how to take it:

1. Kryptonite flat-out is ectoplasm

When Krypton exploded, the energy output of the blast caused the souls of the dying Kryptonians to crystalize

Thus Kryptonite technically isn’t the shards of the planet - it’s the shards of the people

Because the souls crystalized in this way, they never fully formed ghosts. Instead, they’re just trapped in essentially the moment of their death

Kryptonite can hurt ghosts to touch because of the emotions contained within leaking through

I don’t have any fancy explanation for the Kryptonian power sapping part. Maybe the nature of it being their souls cause some sort of magic effect? Or maybe it’s literally just still radioactive in whatever special way. There are options.

Using it as a power source may or may not harm the souls - I’d think it probably would, but depending on how the energy effects work it might be arguable that the souls wouldn’t take much damage

Probably would require fancy ghost magic or ecto-technology to free the souls

You might be able to get a power boost by eating it but you really shouldn’t because that’d be like, soul cannibalism.

2. Kryptonite interacts with ectoplasm

Kryptonite is less “solidified ectoplasm” and more of a sponge that draws in ectoplasm from around it

Thus when any ghosts formed during the planet’s destruction, they were immediately pulled into it and trapped

And if any other ghost touches it later, it will start to drain or even capture them too

The ectoplasm stored in Kryptonite gradually leaks out as a different form of radiation - this is what allows it to interfere with Kryptonian powers

Generally, the more charged with ectoplasm a piece is, the stronger the radiation it releases is (this just feels like a logical rule)

The souls/cores/whatever-you-want-to-call-it of the trapped ghosts aren’t deconstructed (maybe because the ectoplasmic makeup of that part is different enough to hold it together)

Though maybe using it as an active power source could gradually damage them, to add extra angst to the usage of it in tech

However, any new ectoplasm the ghost forms while trying to heal gets torn away and spread throughout the rock

Thus keeping the ghosts stuck in a barely-formed state (essentially trapping them in the moment of their death)

Also this continuous drawing on the trapped ghosts’ ectoplasm allows for the Kryptonite to remain powered indefinitely

Kryptonite can’t hold an infinite amount of ectoplasm at once - it eventually becomes saturated and stops taking in any more (beyond replenishing what is loses to radiation)

At that point, it’s harmless for ghosts to touch (and can even give them a power boost if they consume it)

Yep i’m keeping the possibility of eating the rocks. Just make sure it’s filled with only non-sentient ambient ectoplasm and not souls and you’re good to dig in!

That saturated state could be used as a way to free the ghosts - continuously flood the Kryptonite with enough ectoplasm to keep it saturated, and the ghost will be able to reform without being drawn back in

Carefully breaking the stone might also work, but I’d probably add some sort of complication with that - maybe in regards to the stored ectoplasm being released suddenly or it potentially damaging the souls within

I feel like the latter option allows for some interesting concepts, but it’s a bit less faithful to the original “kryptonite is ectoplasm” idea

[bitchy-craft]

Paid Reading Services UPDATED: link

Important Note:

I reserve the right to decline a reading for any reason.

Reviews can be found on @bitchy-craft2

Rules & Guidelines:

》 Contact be directly through Tumblr messages with your choice of reading(s) and any information you can choose from said readings; if you want the 18+ version, which choice of group you picked etc.

》 Wait until I’ve contacted you about your reading(s), once we’ve agreed on your reading(s) you can make your payment.

》 I am not responsible for any possible consequences if you decide to lie about your age on Tumblr and buy a reading with use of an 18+ option.

Payment Process:

》 I accept PayPal, the link of which is here.

》 Payment must be sent and confirmed before you can receive your reading(s).

》 After you’ve made your payment, you can message me with a screenshot.

Reading Delivery & Refund Policy:

》 You’ll get your reading(s) in less than 7 days counting from your payment confirmation day.

》 Refunds will be made if I am not able to give you your order in the 7 days counting from the payment confirmation day.

General Question | 2.99 EUR

An in depth answer to any general question you may have. I do not do health or pregnancy related questions.

General Question Small Bundle | 8.49 EUR

In depth answers to 3 general questions you may have. I do not do health or pregnancy related questions.

General Question Big Bundle | 13.99 EUR

In depth answers to 5 general questions you may have. I do not do health or pregnancy related questions.

Bibliomancy Advice Reading | 3.99 EUR

Summary:

This reading will give you a message on something it is you need to hear or become aware of in a creative and fun way.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• A message to you from someone in form of two book sentences;

• An interpretation of your given sentences for a more clear explanation on what is being told to you

• Advice given with said interpretation on the channeled sentences from the book(s) you chose.

What Books You Can Pick From (either 1 or 2):

Pride and Prejudice;

A Touch of Darkness;

Alice in Wonderland;

Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone.

Soul Clarity Reading | 3.99 EUR

Summary:

In this reading you will get clarity on what your soul / subconscious wants to tell you to work on.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• A clear question or short message to make clear on what your soul wants you to know;

• An explanation on what it is that your soul wants you to know to give you more clarity;

• A soul action that you can do to work on what is wanted, going from telling yourself things to physically doing something;

• A mantra that will encourage and help you with what your soul needs.

Inner Child’s Needs Reading | 4.99 EUR

Summary:

With this reading you’ll be able to get a closer connection and a better understanding with your inner child. This reading is great for Shadow Work to heal, grow and get a better understanding of yourself.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• How your inner child perceives you;

• What your inner child wants you to work on;

• A few supportive channeled messages from your inner child.

Crystal Aura Reading | 4.99 EUR

Summary:

A reading about your aura and energy.

What Will This Reading Contain:

• A description of the colour(s) of your aura;

• The meanings on this / these colour(s);

• A crystal I associate with your aura;

• What this crystal is associated with / the meaning of this crystal.

Your Clairs Reading | 4.99 EUR

Summary:

This reading will give you more insight on your psychic abilities and how to develop them more.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• What psychic abilities you have;

• Why you have these abilities;

• How you can practice/enhance these abilities;

• What these abilities will teach you.

Mythological You Reading | 3.99 EUR

Summary:

In this reading I will be taking a look at your energy and tell you which mythological being you remind me of and why.

What This Reading Will Contain:

• What mythological being your energy gives off;

• An explanation on why this creature / being goes well with you energy;

• A visual (picture) of said mythological being.

Your Impression | 4.99 EUR

• People's first impression on your personality;

• People's first impression on your looks;

• What people's prejudice about you is before getting to know you.

Future Friends | 4.99 EUR

• What new people are coming into your life;

• How these relationships will progress;

• What these relationships/friends will teach you.

Current friends | 4.99 EUR

• What your friends think of you;

• How these relationships will progress;

• What these relationships/friends will teach you.

Carreer Reading | 12.99 EUR

• The progress of your carreer in life;

• The field(s) you're going to work in;

• What fields would suit you best and why;

• Your earnings (low, middle, high);

• The challenges and obstacles you'll face in your carreer;

• Your strengths in your carreer;

• Your weaknesses in your carreer;

• What you'll learn and grow in throughout your carreer;

• How to manifest your dream carreer;

• if you are on the right path to your dream carreer;

Past Life Reading | 12.99 EUR

Summary:

In this reading I will take a look into your past life / one of them and tell you all sorts of information about it.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• Some information about you as a person;

• Some information about your family;

• If you have any karmic relationships from said past life;

• Some main events that occurred in your past life that were really important to you.

Channeled Messages

Channeled Messages [18+ possible] | 6.99 EUR

Summary:

Fun and sometimes needed channeled messages coming from certain people you choose.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• Channeled messages from a certain group / person of choice, who you can choose you can see under this segment;

• This reading will contain fifteen messages per order.

Who You Can Choose From:

Your Spirit Guides;

Your Inner Child;

Your Anchestors;

Your Future Spouse [18+ possible].

DISCOUNT: Buying Future Relationship 18+, Future Spouse and Future Spouse Extra together will be 26.97 24.97 EUR

Future Relationship Reading [18+ possible] | 6.49 EUR / 9.99 EUR

Summary:

This reading will contain all information you wish to know about your future relationship with your future spouse.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• What your dynamics will be like in public;

• What your dynamics will be like in private;

• What kind of dates you'll go on;

• How you'll show each other love;

• What your sex life will be like [18+];

• What your future spouse is into sexually speaking [18+];

• A few sexy channeled messages from your future spouse [18+].

Future Spouse Reading | 9.99 EUR

Summary:

This reading will contain all information you could wish to know about your future spouse; from facts, to likings, to desires, to where you'll meet etc.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• What your future spouse is like to others;

• What your future spouse is like when with you;

• Things your future spouse likes in people;

• Some quirks your future spouse has;

• Your future spouse's hobbies;

• Where you'll meet your future spouse;

• A few fun facts about your future spouse;

• A few cute channeled messages from your future spouse.

Future Spouse Extra Reading | 6.99 EUR

• your future spouse's toxic traits;

• your first impression of your future spouse;

• their first impression of you;

• how you two will resolve conflict in the relationship;

• obstacles you'll face and have to overcome with one another in your relationship.

Love Letter [Partial 18+ Possible] | 12.99 EUR / 13.99 EUR

Summary:

A long, detailed love letter from your future spouse.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• A love letter from your future spouse;

• This letter will contain at least 1000 words.

Monthly Reading | 4.99 EUR

Summary:

This reading will contain what it is about the next month that your spirit team wants you to be aware off.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• General Advice for the upcoming month;

• General happenings that will come to you in the next month;

• Things you might face in the next month.

Yearly Reading | 11.99 EUR

Summary:

This reading will contain all important things that your spirit team wants you to be aware off for the upcoming 12 months.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• General advice for the upcoming 12 months;

• General happenings that will come to you in the upcoming 12 months;

• Things you might face the upcoming 12 months;

• This reading will have 12 parts, to show what will happen in each month in total.

The Butterfly Oracle Deck [PDF] | 3.49 EUR

Summary:

This self-made oracle deck will be able to give you all the answers you need. The Butterfly Oracle taps into your inner wisdom and gives you pure spiritual guidance that you need to unleash your potential.

What Will This Reading Contain?:

• 30 self-made oracle cards with butterfly theming and clear messages for you;

• A matching foldable box to put your cards in;

• An information card;

• A 'How To Use' card;

• 32 backings for all cards.

Measurements:

• cards: 12,1 cm × 7,58 cm

• box [top]: 12,65 cm × 7,93 cm × 6.05 cm

• box [bottom]: 12,53 cm × 7,85 cm × 6.05 cm

Preview:

Note: This product requires you giving an e-mail to send the file to.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 38 - Between a Drow and a Slaver

The rogue comes to an impasse.

His leader rests heavy and loose against his front. Astarion keeps one arm looped around her—though the lizard’s gait is remarkable smooth and she hasn’t started to slide once. Still. Better caution and all. She’s fallen asleep again, which he thinks is a good sign? She needs rest to heal, and she seems untroubled?

The ground slopes down and down. They currently shuffle along a narrow switchback between huge, glowing crystal formations. He takes a moment to appreciate the color again. Check the underside of his left arm through the leather of the armor—still no knobs or lumps. He toys with the idea of asking the cleric about that. Chances of mushroom tendrils rooting around his undead flesh. Perhaps the druid, providing the freakishly big elf isn’t dead.

Decides his thoughts are turning maudlin, and he has his eyes and some time, and reaches down his front to find the delicate, golden chain.

Oh, his leader certainly was generous. The necklace is stunning. A waterfall of golden droplets, each one set with a dazzling, blue stone. Perhaps topaz? They glitter in the low light. He sets it down over his armor, admires the way it flows over his hidden collarbones. Imagines how stunning it would be against his skin.

He looks again to the dark head of hair rolling against him in time with the beast’s walking. She handed it over without a thought. This woman from another plane, with nothing and no one to her name, who collected a single ring for herself (her first finery, she’d said), and then gave it to the wizard to eat it. She could have kept this. It would have been just as stunning against her darker complexion. Would have stood out like the stars on a clear night.

But she’d let him have it. Freely. Because it was magical. Because he said he could learn it.

(They really ought to find her a prize of her own.)

Enchanted jewelry sometimes carries the spell words on it. It wouldn’t do to sell a piece no one knew how to use (though the higher-end stuff usually doesn’t, for that very reason; exclusivity and all). He wonders who this was made for, to be so exceptionally-crafted, but still carrying letters on the backside of the golden drops. Some foppish lord, perhaps. One of those with more money and ego than sense, who thought throwing gold around meant he could master magic.

To be fair, throwing money about tends to get people what they want.

Either way, Astarion unclasps the piece and flips it over. Traces his finger down each droplet, mouth working silently.

He knows one cantrip, how to mend his clothing, the way to position himself in a dim tavern to entice, and how to get on his back. He supposes the wizard would know these words and immediately raise that infuriating finger to state the name. The cleric would know it. The blade would know it. Hells, even the gith could probably work it out.

At least their tiefling can’t touch something like this without melting it (can she even read?).

He mouths the words (not breathing, best not to lest one accidentally set one’s face on fire) again, feels the shape of them on his tongue. It lurks on the periphery of his mind. A shape in the fog. Something he’s known—no. Something he’s seen. A charming man in the Blushing Mermaid once, down on his luck and looking for coin. He’d amused Astarion, in some way. He just can’t remember what it was. What he’d done that made that man rise from the corpse-laden bog in his memory.

Against him, his leader stirs. He inhales, catches a curl of her scent, which is immediately drowned out by the strong smell of cool water.

He straightens in the saddle. This is enough to jostle his slumbering leader, who makes a soft sound, and jerks up. Looks around.

They’re nearing the bottom of the switchback, now curled in over itself to form a tunnel. And at the very bottom, Astarion spies a flicker of light. Orange light, and the whiff of smoke. Not the usual, cheery scent of a merry wood fire in the main hall of a rowdy tavern. This is a salt smell, slightly acrid. That dried seaweed bundle his leader had been provisioned with by those finned fanatics.

His leader draws the lizard to a halt (he’s named it Fredrik in his mind). A shadow moves against the very flickering light.

Drow, in his limited experience, do not make fires. Not the Underdark ones. This is something else. His leader comes to the same conclusion. The tadpole wiggles behind his eye as she reaches out to the others of their merry band. Finds them still distant and grouped quite close together.

Not their companions, then.

“There’s water ahead,” Astarion says.

The fish beasts had said there was a village on the bank of their mother water. That shadow down there is angled in such a way as the light and whatever blocks it must be projecting down. Meaning a structure. A gate, he’d venture, if it’s a village.

His leader pulls up her bag of holding. Roots around and finds her last Potion of Tongues. She fiddles with it.

The bizarre, unpredictable underground air shifts a new scent to him, and the back of Astarion’s skull prickles even as ache slams through the roots of his fangs.

Death. Bowels. Blood.

“Drink it,” he says.

She glances at him over her armored shoulders, eyes narrowed and calculating (he’d rather like to kiss right between those furrowed brows) (only to make her frown harder, of course).

She drinks. Holds her grimace silently.

He starts to speak, remembers her hearing is far worse than his, and leans in close. “There’s been a fight just ahead.”

She shivers. Odd, she doesn’t usually spook at news like that.

“You picking up heartbeats?” she says. Gods, he’s missed how she sounds. How her accent twists the words and the way she structures them. Hearing her at full eloquence almost tickles.

But he’s a job to do. So he listens. Counts.

“One just beyond, two lurking in the wings. Another two? Possible three further in.”

Her finger rubs over her thumbnail. She swallows again. “Drow?”

“I doubt it.”

“You can tell from a pulse?”

He nearly snorts. Nearly lies, just to watch her blink at him. But, “I’m very good, darling, but not that good. Besides, these little blood bags have torches.”

Her jaw muscles clench. Then she nods (he does appreciate someone else being observant). There’s no other approach. No back way, no sneaking from this vantage, not with the drow still after them.

“Fuck,” she sighs, and nudges Fredrik on.

They emerge into the largest cavern yet, walled off by a crude, dilapidated gate shut fast. Well, as shut fast as something that shoddy can be. He’s rather sure an errant sneeze could bring the damned thing down. A decrepit village crawls along the top and sides of the walls, like a half-rotted growth. And upon that growth, short, dark figures. Duergar, he suspects.

One of them steps forward onto a platform overlooking the top of the gate. A venerable, grizzled sort with a huge battle ax clutched in his right hand.

“Two sun-scum on a drow lizard,” he says, voice low and gravelly as a child's imaginary deep dwarf cold hope to be. “Could hear you blinking back there. Noise like that gets you eaten down here.”

“And don’t we know it,” Astarion says, slipping on the easy charm.

Said charm slides right off the duergar, whose eyes narrow. “Reckon I ought to hush you before something hungry comes along.”

On the edge of Astarion’s hearing, the faint wail of a horn bounces around the tunnel behind them. But the old battle ax doesn’t seem to notice. Apparently their famous hearing isn’t as sharp as Astarion’s. At least not yet. Once they’re aware of the hunting party after his leader and him, the deep dwarves will keep that gate shut and let the drow have them.

So he lets himself smile wider than he usually does. Lets his fangs show in full. “Oh, I assure you, we’re far more trouble than that’s worth. Why don’t you be a darling and let us pass through, and we can all forget we ever saw each other, hmm? We promise not to get devoured in your vicinity.”

Two other duergar shift in the shadows, one on either flank above.

Old battle ax hums. “Don’t suppose you two have seen a deep gnome running around?”

Astarion feels his nose wrinkle. “Thankfully, no.”

He’s content to leave it at that—mouthy little beasts throw themselves underfoot and then have to gall to squawk when they get stepped on.

But he feels his leader’s own eyes narrow. Before he can stop her, “You looking for somebody in particular?”

Oh gods. She’s going to get involved. Astarion has a fair idea what’s at play here, and what, exactly, these duergar likely are. And he feels, quite distinctly, that she will not approve.

“Oh, just on a hunt,” the battle ax says. He should leave off there, but of course, he doesn’t, because the world likes to see Astarion suffer. “Gnome bitch ran off with the sergeant’s boots. Gonna kill the little fuck shite and fetch back the leather.”

Her mouth opens. She’s a sweetheart when it comes to the downtrodden. And to him. (He refuses to think about how those two may or may not overlap.) And she won’t let something like this go unchallenged. But they haven’t the time, so he claps a hand on her shoulder.

“Ah, well,” he says. “Best of luck, then.”

Her outrage is a magical flare in the dead of night. The flash blinds his mind for a moment.

“Hold now,” the battle ax says. Leather creaks and wood squeals as the other duergar take up position and ready weapons. At least one of them carries a bow.

Shit.

“You want passage,” the battle ax says. “So how’s about you do a job for us.”

Distant footsteps shush behind them. Fredrik is a swift beastie, and they’ve been moving since they broke free, stopping only when his leader needs to relieve herself. Yet from that sound, the drow are close. Very close. They must have been running this whole time.

Of course they’ve been running this whole time. His leader carries the last piece of knowledge that decides the future of their house. He should have realized.

“We’re quite pressed for time, actually—” he starts.

“Wasn’t asking,” the battle ax says. The archer draws. “One slave is as good as another. Either you bring us that gnome, or you take her place.”

Shit. They’ll have to find a way around. Quickly. Water laps just out of sight. Either a river or another lake or possibly, if this is the village, the mother water itself. All they have to do it get out of here and find the shore and follow it along.

“Now that you mention it, that is an enticing offer,” Astarion says.

Eleanor is a burning coal in his lap.

The duergar grins. “Thought so. I’m a reasonable man. Our gnome last we heard had holed up with them rot flowers. Them myconids. Seen ‘em?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“They’re hard to miss. Walking mushrooms. There’s a colony back the way you came. You find them, you find our quarry, and we can let a few sun-scum pass through.”

Footsteps echo behind them. Surely the infamous duergar ears should have caught on by now?

“Sounds simple,” Astarion says.

She’s going to do it. The shift twists through his leader, an iron gear grinding into motion less than a second before she speaks. But it’s too late to stop her. She’s gone focused again.

“They’re all dead,” his raging bonfire of a leader says.

The duergar blinks at her. Possibly just now notices her round, stubby ears. Not a drow, not even an elf, but a human perched upon the back of a drowic riding lizard.

“Your mushrooms,” she says. “They’re all dead.”

“Darling,” Astarion tries. He really does try.

She tugs on his tadpole. Those men are slavers. That thought is an iron blade pulled straight from a forge, the air shimmering around it from the heart blasting off.

Of gnomes. They enslave gnomes, not people like them, unless they anger the duergar which she’s well on her way to doing. No one cares about gnomes.

She turns herself in the saddle. Twists right around and her face is carved of iron, her eyes are burning coals. “I do, asshole.”

“Dead how,” the old battle ax says.

The drow are coming down the switchback. Gods, they don’t even have time to turn and flee, now. They’re trapped.

“They got slaughtered by a band of drow,” his furious, foolish leader says.

Astarion is too far to catch the stink of fear sweat, but close enough the pulse of blood in their veins hooks his attention.

The battle ax seems to look at Fredrik in a new light. “Yeah? You lot know this how?”

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion says.

Eleanor smiles. He doesn’t even need to see her face to know it, to picture it: tight, almost polite, except it doesn’t reach anywhere near her eyes, which still burn. “Cause them same drow are about to swamp all y’all.”

The horn wails. A high, tremulous thing, like the dying squeal of some beast dredged up from the darkest caverns. The duergar snap straight and stare at the tunnel Astarion and his leader emerged from.

“Godsdamnit,” Astarion says.

“Shoot them!” the battle ax says.

Astarion is already unshouldering and stringing his bow, fetching two arrows and firing the first. He hits the stubby archer to the left through the eye. The vulgar thing tumbles off the edge of the wall.

“Go!” he says to his insufferable leader. “Up the wall!”

“The what?”

“These lizards can climb.”

She needs no further directions. Thumps her heels into Fredrik’s flanks and the beast shoots towards the wall. Astarion fires his second arrow at the duergar on the right—a flash of a crossbow—but the little shit ducks and the shot flies over his head.

“Holy shit fuck,” his leader says.

The lizard reaches the wall. Doesn’t even slow. It rears up and Astarion lunges forward to press himself and his leader to the saddle as the creature sprints vertically up.

He’s always wondered what this would be like. He’s heard stories of drow, obviously. And of their mounts. Trained teams can even skirt along the ceiling of a cavern. His stomach gives a giddy swoop and he giggles.

Duergar shout. Something hisses past his right ear. An arrow. But not shot from above or to the side, but from behind. And he doesn’t have to pluck the thing now embedded in the wall to know the barbed tip, likely coated in drowic poison.

“Shitfuck!” his leader says.

They fly up the wall. Ancient planks rattle under the force of the lizard’s climb. They shoot up and up, like a loosed arrow themselves, until they go weightless as Fredrik hits the top of the wall and leaps. Spreads his legs wide. Comes down with a thump and a rattle on a rotten walkway.

Astarion has enough time to look beyond—the vast cavern glowing blue under fields and fields of that blue moss on the ceiling. The deep, black sea lapping beneath it, the water darker than anything he’s ever seen. The thin strip of rocky beach where two docks jut out. And one boat, considerably more solid than anything in the village.

“Over there!” he says.

The instinct swoops out of nowhere. He doesn’t process it, isn’t even aware he’s doing it. He just grabs his leader and tackles them both to the side as something swooshes a hairs breadth from the side of his face.

The two of them hit the wooden walkway. His leader makes a nasty sound as the air punches out of her lungs.

Worse is the squeal of the lizard. The wet meat sound as the ax comes down again, and this time bone crunches. That beautiful beast gasps. It’s a last gasp, filled with death; the monster inside Astarion recognizes it.

Then Fredrik falls, practically decapitated. And the old battle ax of a duergar hefts up his ax once more.

“What the fuck have you shits brought to my men?” he snarls.

Astarion rolls to his feet as his erstwhile leader follows.

“Have it your way, darling,” he says. Draws his knives.  “Let’s kill them all.”

[grimoirey]

✨ Color Magic ✨

Color magic involves using colors to amplify intentions, emotions, or goals in various spiritual and energetic practices. Each color is believed to carry specific energies and symbolism, which can be harnessed to support desired outcomes. Here’s a guide on how to understand and use color magic effectively:

Understanding Color Magic

Each color vibrates at a particular frequency, which corresponds to different emotions, intentions, and even elements. By consciously incorporating specific colors into rituals, spells, meditation, or daily life, you can align your energy with these symbolic meanings and focus your intentions.

Using Color Magic in Practice

You can incorporate color magic in many ways, depending on your preferences and what feels meaningful to you. Here are some methods:

1. Candles

How: Choose a candle color that aligns with your intention. For instance, red candles are used for passion or energy, while blue candles promote peace or healing.

Use: Light the candle and focus on your goal or intention. The candle flame serves as a visual focal point while the color supports the energy behind your intention.

2. Clothing and Accessories

How: Wear colors that resonate with your goals or desired energy for the day.

Use: For instance, wearing yellow for a presentation could boost confidence, while green might enhance feelings of balance and compassion.

3. Crystals and Stones

How: Choose crystals that carry both the color and properties you’re seeking. Green crystals like malachite can support abundance, while blue stones like lapis lazuli encourage communication and intuition.

Use: Carry the stone, place it on an altar, or use it in meditation.

4. Visualization

How: Visualize a particular color filling your body or a specific area to invoke its energy.

Use: For grounding, imagine a warm red light surrounding your feet and legs. For peace, visualize yourself surrounded by calming blue light.

5. Decor and Environment

How: Arrange colors in your living or working space to influence the mood and energy.

Use: For example, adding green plants for growth and health or using purple in a meditation space for spiritual insight.

6. Food and Drink

How: Choose foods and drinks of a particular color to absorb that color's energy internally.

Use: Eating green foods like leafy vegetables can support health and abundance, while drinking herbal tea from blue or lavender flowers can promote relaxation.

7. Writing and Art

How: Use colored pens, markers, or paints that correspond to your goals.

Use: Write affirmations in a color that reflects your intention. For example, writing in gold or yellow for success and abundance or using pink for love and friendship.

Examples of Color Magic Intentions

Here’s a quick guide to what each color can be used for:

Red:

Passion, strength, courage, protection, vitality, motivation, survival, sexuality, confidence, love, grounding

Orange:

Creativity, enthusiasm, ambition, success, independence, joy, attraction, adaptability, spontaneity, self-expression

Yellow:

Happiness, intellect, clarity, confidence, optimism, learning, mental clarity, communication, inspiration, concentration

Green:

Healing, abundance, growth, balance, health, prosperity, luck, renewal, fertility, compassion, harmony

Blue:

Peace, communication, truth, relaxation, wisdom, trust, loyalty, intuition, sincerity, healing, calm

Purple:

Spirituality, intuition, wisdom, transformation, psychic ability, mystery, magic, dignity, enlightenment, higher consciousness

White:

Purity, protection, clarity, peace, truth, innocence, unity, spirituality, simplicity, cleansing, illumination

Black:

Protection, grounding, mystery, transformation, strength, banishing negativity, introspection, power, resilience, ending cycles

Pink:

Love, compassion, friendship, self-love, emotional healing, kindness, warmth, romance, affection, harmony, nurturing

Brown:

Stability, grounding, security, nature, simplicity, reliability, endurance, practicality, home, comfort, physical health

Gold:

Wealth, success, confidence, enlightenment, luxury, illumination, positivity, abundance, power, divine wisdom

Silver:

Intuition, reflection, feminine energy, lunar energy, dreams, psychic ability, clarity, protection, emotional balance, patience

Color Magic Tips

Trust Your Intuition: If a color has a particular meaning for you that isn’t “traditional,” go with it. Personal associations are powerful.

Stay Intentional: Color magic works best when you actively focus on the desired outcome while working with the color.

Combine Colors: Mixing colors can create new, nuanced intentions. For instance, combining green and gold can amplify goals related to both abundance and success.

Color magic is a subtle but powerful way to enhance your spiritual or energetic work by aligning yourself visually and energetically with your intentions.