My witch had once been an ordinary person, and when Dystopia hit, had fallen out of that reality. Against all odds, she had survived her witching trial and had escaped the flames, to find a dark kind of love with someone just as lost as herself.
While writing, I am sending her through all of this to get an idea of what for me is the most important kind of witchcraft: Knowing how to survive.
Ever since my life came to a hold, I cannot help but think: „If everything that has given my life meaning and had made me feel joy is taken from me, why should I still want to be alive?“
I was wondering what being alive actually meant anymore, once there was no one left to talk to, to share it with and to sense having around. Nothing to feel, to taste, to see than the same four walls for an amount of time that does not seem to be over, yet. It made me sad to not use my voice anymore. Never laughing, never being touched, and still being caught in this body that constantly asks for these things. It seemed to me as if anyone else had something inside that held them together, which I was lacking of. Parts of myself had been silenced, had fallen apart, and were hurting me, since people, places and certain activities were not part of my life anymore. It felt as if I was lacking a component of myself, the skill to survive the next few years without my sources of energy and joy.
When I felt like this, I found my witch.
I was searching the depth of my mind for a reason not to give up. I was searching for a way to feel myself and find myself again in a world in which I thought I did not belong.
And deep inside of me, I found her.
Weird and lonely.
Wearing a long dress.
Sharing with me ice cream and wine at 4 AM.
She made me laugh and cry in ways I never thought I would.
She showed me how to live despite all of this.
My witch shared her tale with me, in which she had found love after her life had officially already been over. A tale, in which he had managed to make sense of years of waiting. She took one step after the other, until there were no more left to be taken.
She was what I needed. She made me rip holes into my clothes, and wear things that I had once loved to wear ten years ago. She made me use the darkness I have inside of me as a way to protect myself from this world that I did not understand anymore. She made me light up these four walls with garden flower scented candles, and now and then would come with me out onto a field to scream at the horizon while asking the universe to give back to us what we had lost.
My witch did not just show me how to survive.
She showed me how to live when I thought I could not.
She deserves her tale to be told, and I really enjoy drafting the novel about this unique girl from the 17th century. Updates on this will follow soon!
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Mistress witch writes 