The loneliness of witching

If there are no candles scented with all your deepest wishes to ever come true, no dances for the northern star to bring a lover back to stay as fix within your life as its own light points out north, why even do witchcraft? Why carry sheets tainted in blood, or an umbilical cord with you, and risk being burned alive?

Because there are years that have to be lived through, and moments that have to be survived.

Because witching dreams are vivid, and keep alive the sweet melody of things lost and chances missed. They keep the soul vibrating on that one last frequency.

Witching means believing in impossible things, as in being alive to feel good again, while the blood may already clot black in your veins.

And while you are carrying loss and vivid dreams in your heart, and sing through the silence of Dystopia, there might be dark people appearing at your doorstep, and at some point you might feel lost enough to let them in.

And people who seek the lost ones might ask dark things of you. Things that require blood tainted sheets and an umbilical cord, but also make you forget all your loss for a moment.

This is the loneliness of witching.

Unloved tale

OnceWhen someone had herShe was almost lovedBut then this someone thought:”I can’t be allShe’d ever known”And he let her go. And She ranShe ran too fastWhen she ranShe ran too far ThenShe was found againBy another strange manWho loved her recklesslyLove turned to painAnd carved his sinInto her skin And she fledShe fled too fastWhen…

Just a haunted girl scaring her friends – Writing update!

Intrigued. And quite as bit terrified.Those were the exact same words I got as feedback from my friends whom I’d recently handed the first pages of the witching novel to. Seems like I’ve accomplished my task, right? I’m the haunted girl scaring all her friends!No, but really. It felt as if I was understood through…

Tale about the softest secret

This tale is about a girl I once knew. This girl could not go anywhere without her lovely white shoes. Made of cotton, their rim did not reach her ankles, giving away how thin they were. Their soles were so slim, she felt the earth with every step. Those shoes she needed so dearly were…

Published by Mistress Witch writes

About the historical horror of living. Drafting my witching novel. Chasing dark, forgotten and haunted tales.

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