Thanks to Snowbear for editing!
This is an entirely fictional story.
CW: Nonconsent, horror, loss of pregnancy, revenge, witchcraft.
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It's been two weeks since Shane ghosted me. I'm gazing at the reflection of my flickering candlelight and ritual spread in the dark, weeping window pane, rain pattering softly outside my apartment. The kettle screams. I pull out a brown mug from the cabinet and submerge a teabag-- black leaves and a spiral of molasses on top. Steam fogs my glasses temporarily as I pour. When it fades I set the kettle back on the stove, the coil still red-hot, and it cries out again, the sound filling every corner of my small studio. It eases as I switch off the burner and return to my post.
The cards watch me as I sit, as I curl my fingers around the mug, and blow.
Why did he leave.
Empress.
Where did he go.
Ace of Stones.
What will I do.
Lord of Stones.
I stare down at them, make sense of their mystery. I nod my head once and stand again, carrying my candle and tea to the other side of the room, Charlie standing into an arched stretch and stomping off my pillow to duck under the bed. Sitting on the bed I tuck my legs under me and breathe, closing my eyes. Empress. Ace. Lord. A story forms in my mind, filling the gaps left from Shane's ghosting. A sexy young thing. The allure of something better. Newer. Younger. I should have known. Should have thought twice before opening myself to someone his age. Of course. I can almost see her, this blonde thing. She's meek, quiet except when it's delightful not to be, with a bright laugh. She probably waxes her cunt.
I swirl the tea in my mug and close my eyes. A deep breath and then another. The whisper of a chant begins on my breath. A sip of tea passes over my tongue. I repeat this until my tea is gone, and then I lie back in my bed. When the candle finishes burning down to the brass, the spell is complete.
When I open my eyes there is only darkness.
We're here.