Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
PERSEPHONE
If Beatrice can do this, so can I. A mere mortal. Surely even if I am losing the divine I was born with, magic can aid in my time of need. My mother speaks of it, as does my confidant Beatrice. And I’ve seen the powers that have come to her, the blessings she’s wished for and the gifts granted with ease after her rituals.
If it works for her, it will not betray me. The spell I cast will work and my worries will be put at ease.
Those are the thoughts I hold close in my mind as I gather the necessities for the simple spell and carry them to the low altar, the glass clacking as I go. My thoughts are fixed on that altar and on magic, though I do not want to think too far into the coming days.
There is still hope.
My doubts are soft at first. They creep in like weeds in a garden, growing under the soil and in the night before one knows that they’ve put down roots. By the time they sprout, they have gone much deeper into the earth than it first appears.
The doubts in my mind sprout like those weeds, budding above the earth and bursting into my mind in full bloom.
What happens if this spell goes wrong? The phrasing on this spell is not specific, nor does it include the true reason behind its workings or even the true reason for its casting as my particular need is unique.
There is another fear among the others I had not expected to face.
What happens if the spell goes right?
What happens if my power comes back in a firestorm that grows beyond my wildest imagination and it causes great attention and my father’s wrath?
A shiver passes through me.
Even with my intentions focused as they are, I cannot predict the outcome. My mother’s warnings scream in the back of my head. Be careful of your thoughts. Magic happens with a dollop of humor. It is often delivered in a way you weren't expecting and could never have predicted. You’ll get what you want, but how and what else comes with it is often unexpected... Not always in delighted ways.
Magic is a little like planting an unknown seed in a fertile patch of dirt. One will not know the shape of the flower or the color of its petals until it blooms. One must wait for the greenery to peek above the earth and show itself. One can only hope that the outcome will be good, but there is no guarantee in gardening. It could result in the infestation of shrubbery that shades and smothers the other flowers in the garden. But the seed that you planted will rise. And isn’t that what you asked for? What was prayed for even?
There is no guarantee in magic, either.
I arrange the items carefully on my altar, touching each one as if it is something precious. It is something precious. The crystals and candle I have brought with me are a part of my magic, just as the altar is. The obsidian sphere is small but mighty, a gift from someone long ago that I cannot remember. The small bottle of smokey quartz chips sits next to it, and as the tips of my fingers brush against it, I pray for the ease of burdens on my mind.
Just as the space around me dwells in magic. Just as I dwell in magic. It is part of me, and I am part of it, too.
“If Beatrice can do this, I can as well,” I say softly, letting my mother’s certainty smooth my voice. I repeat what she always says, “For the good of all and to the harm of none, I am divinely guided, divinely protected and I pray to you now and thank you for the blessings you bestow upon me.”
I sit on the floor close to the low altar. Seated this way, I am as near as I will ever be to the mortal world and centered within the heart of Olympus. For a flicker of a moment I can feel the prayers from those in the mortal realm, the cries and pleas for me to aid them and I vaguely wonder if they start their asking with the same quote. And yet I know I have no power to grant their prayers. The thought is only a flicker of a moment, faster than the light of the white candles and it’s gone, vanished and I send it away. It is no more that I cannot answer them. “It is no more,” I whisper.
I breathe in deeply, feeling the warmth of the air all around me. The safety of my chambers, and the safety of my home. I concentrate until I can feel the light of the stars and moon shining through my window.