Waking up after a day like yesterday was a real bitch. Getting out of bed, the same sore points are still sore. Sitting at the edge of the bed, I want to touch them, to check myself in the mirror, but I'm afraid to see or feel bruises. Part of it is my skin not used to having blemishes, but a bigger part is my pride not used to having blemishes either. I'm so tempted to do a yoga pose straight out of bed, I almost make one as I stretch my back to feel flesh elasticity being tested in a way it doesn't like, and now I'm groaning like a little girl that doesn't want to get up early for the physical activity she foolishly signed up for in the afternoon, knowing how it'd fuck up her lazy mornings.
My hands are rubbing my temples for the headache I woke up with, or dreamed about that manifested itself. Or both. Probably the latter as the dream was about...expanded horizons, I guess? That's the word for it as things felt like they were being forcibly pulled away from awareness, but connectivity remained and I had to bear the unnatural change. I'd call it a nightmare, but I got pretty turned on as it was happening, and I swear I edged towards an orgasm, distracting me from the the pain that didn't last long in the dream; the remaining pain came up with me this morning. It's slowly going away, and stroking my temples is helping, but I bet it's to do with reflecting my new witchy regimen.
I don't even dare look for the clock or my phone to tell the time, cause I really can't care. Looking outside through half-open eyes, I'm guessing it's still morning, which means I probably get yelled at less by my teachers. It would be so nice to have them make me care, and make them sexually regret it, but the firepower they threw at me yesterday means I'll be the one spanked.
One kinky thought leads to another right away, and I reflexively throw myself back onto the bed and move my hand down to caress my thigh, giving myself a little one-player foreplay to work myself up. Honestly I'm surprised I'm doing this as my pride and my libido often feed off of one another, but the pride misalignment keeps me from being in an enthusiastic mood. And yet, that doesn't keep my hand from working on my body, answering to a stimuli-deprived libido. That need to get off is still growing, in a scary way, like everything going on makes my engine perpetually purr and roar, even when the rest of me has had enough. I sense I could be severely dehydrated and the only liquids it could care about are the ones draining out of it when I bend to her wishes. I'm not under the covers for long as frustration hits; part of my training involves holding her back, denying her for constructive reasons. It takes that promise plus the fear of her demonstrative hold over all priorities.
My loud, jungle cat yawn wakes me up a little more, shaking my wild hair around, loving how free it is. I stretch again, pain be damned. I want to roar like the proud jungle cat, if I wasn't pussy enough to be concerned that I'd wake up some hunters, who mysteriously were nowhere to be found. Before I could look for them, or look for my first cup of coffee that morning, I find an old picture of a very young me, Ma, and Aunt Maggie together. It was one of the few I had around my apartment, and my most cherished one. I think I was happiest with both of them in my life, as evident by the wide smile of my goofy kid face, and Ma and Maggie's face looked happy together, but both of them looking down on me with pride; the pride in their smiles only seemed evident when I got older. I wonder if they knew their pride would lead me to do something great, and I wonder if whoever put the picture there wanted that pride to be reached through G-magic.
And now I realize that this pic is supposed to be back at the apartment with jeremy, and I'm at Esther's place. I'm about to call out for them when I see Connie across the street, or more accurately on the rooftop of the two-story building across the street, levitating a few feet above it in a cross-legged meditative posture to be eye-level with me. It's then when that brain pain fades as I let whatever I'm sensing in my head, allowing it to work as intended. Turning my head at two different angles, I sense Esther and Esmeraude somewhere else too, at the same height, meditating the same way, facilitating the connection. Someone says something, something to do with telekinesis, and suddenly I'm frozen, staring across the street at Connie who disappears, and reappears in-front of me in the bedroom a second later.
"Do you feel it?"
I'm puzzled as hell at first, looking around at the trinity staring at me, their positioning putting me at the center of a triangle. Okay, I think I've got it, and tapping a bit into the extra-sensory, I sense...something. I touch my temples, and that reflexive withdraw of my fingers afraid to bring back pain feel something before my fingertips even make contact. I can feel a sense of them, somewhat, like telepathy, but their essence as well, what their thoughts won't tell me. It feels like the information is being broadcast and shared between us, as they're probably reading me too.
"No, Mistress. Do you feel this?" Connie asks pointedly again, bringing her hand up to make mine move under magical puppetry. My manipulated hands slips down my chest, down between my legs, and the G-Magic sends ripples through the connection, and the ripple back to me, as I can easily feel a boost of power, fingertips twitching, ready to unleash more power than before.
"Holy shit," I say and think. They all say something in unison, and a new ripple flows in every direction all of a sudden, a gust of wind blowing things off the cabinets and dressers in-effect.
I pick up Gretel to find the page to where I last made an entry in her, but my eyes bulge as I see text being written down on a new page out of thin air; crazier-still, I see....I'm seeing the thoughts I'm thinking being written down in real-time. I'm looking at my thoughts being written down the moment I'm thinking them, in my handwriting. It looks like it's being written in ink instead of laser-printed with technology, so the ink itself is a magical manifestation. I'd stop to look at the opposite side of the page to see if an impression is being made on the other end, but I'm still too caught in watching my own thoughts becoming a novella. And looking back to read, I wonder why some of the text seems like the tense is wrong, or some of my earlier thoughts since I've woken up were probably more felt than thought.
"That's how the spell works," Connie is telling me, reading my thoughts like she was hold Gretel instead of me.
"What spell, I've never even heard of one like this."
"Most will not have thought of this, because it takes a special kind of cultivation through power, experience, and creativity to make this happen. Your power, our experience, and all of us thinking of the importance of your record keeping with Gretel."
"Gretel is important to you?"
"To all of us, because Gretel is important to you."
Drawing my eyes back to the developing text on the page, with magic that knows some semblance of quotation and probably-proper grammar, or it's just co-opting it from my brain, I have to wonder how quickly this stream-of-consciousness writing will fill up a single journal, and how many Gretels I'll need to keep a thorough record. Maybe too thorough though.
"Can this writing be shut on-and-off at will?"
"Yes...like so."
---Entry 23/Divination 3/Brain Trust---
Dear Gretel,
