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)
Then I lay my hand over the crystals, positioned to the right side of the altar, the amethyst for power and black tourmaline for protection. Both rough to the touch and yet a soothing balm to my soul.
The heat from my palm seeps into the stone.
My first thought is that it's living heat, seeping into a dead thing. But that isn't right. The crystals are alive, just as I am. They don't have a heartbeat or veins or blood, but they have energies within them, energies that connect to the oldest parts of the world. To before I was born and they will survive me.
I whisper, “I connect to the void that existed even before there was a world. I am part of the universe, and the universe is magic. I am magic.”
I close my eyes and concentrate on the warmth transferring from my palm to the stone. Light, transferring to darkness. My head falls back just slightly as a warmth grows in my womb. A dash of power resonates through me as I focus on it, feeling the pleasure of it all.
That is how magic transferred to me when I was formed and born. The universe transferred its magic to me, and I lived, and I breathed, and I was magic. Magic existed long before I was created, and I will dwell in it for as long as I live.
I imagine lighting the unlit wick of the candles that lay on the altar, darkness flaring into heat. It's a transfer of energy, like the same transfers that have been made many times before. I only need to allow it.
Beatrice's words echo in my memory. The divine is within you.
“The divine is within me,” I repeat out loud. If that is so, then I should not need Beatrice to light candles for me. I should be able to light them myself, with my own divinity. I need not tell anyone else of the dreams or the darkness within them. The light is within me as much as the darkness in my dreams.
“The divine is within me,” I say again, allowing strength to come to my voice. “It has always been within me. I will allow it to dwell in me and flow from me to the wick. The divine is within me and with me, and I can bring light to the darkness.” I do not dare to peek and see if the candles are lit.
Allow for the possibility.
For the first time since I became aware of the fading of my powers, the possibility is there before me. I focus on it growing and I feel it pulse through me, like blood in my veins.
I am a goddess. Not a garden nymph, or a nymph of the forest. Not a pale echo of my mother. Not powerless at all. But filled with the power of warmth and light.
“Protect me from all things that wish me harm. Guide me to safety for my powers. Whatever ails me, cannot reach me any longer.” I repeat the incantation over and over.
I envision my powers, the life that I grant and the beauty I’ve aided in. “Bring forth my powers. To be my highest self.”
Beauty burns in the dark when there is nothing else. Life burns in the cold world when it should not survive. Hope may be the long way to say goodbye, but it is also a way of saying hello.
“I release all that ails me and it releases me as well. There is nothing that will stand in my way of being my most powerful self.” A shiver runs through me and I open my eyes. In the dark of my room, the starlight shining through the window, the unlit candle stands before me. It's stoic and straight, its wax still whole. My candle and the altar and me—we are all surrounded with the warmth of magic and the power of the Gods.
It is warmest within me.
“It will be warmest within me,” I say, giving voice to my hope. Hope must be nurtured as well. I must not let it wither and die.
I will not let it wither and die.
I inhale. Power and magic exist all around me. All I need to do is allow for the possibility. The possibility of a simple transfer. The possibility of ease, like letting water droplets fall from my fingertips into a pool. I can always get more crystal drops of water. The water has been plentiful all my life, and it has belonged to me all this time.
I blow gently on the wick, hope thick in my throat and beating in my breast.
The candle does not light. Inhaling deeply, I ignore the pain in my chest and the doubt that preys upon my thoughts.
“It is warmest within me.”
I breathe again, not allowing any more weeds of frustration to creep into my mind. That power still exists. I believe it exists. I believe it exists in me, and I can allow this to happen.