WICKED

The Flame Beneath the Altar · The Spell You Shouldn’t Have Spoken · The One Who Remembers 

Blood · Smoke · Salt

Sovereign Curse · Seductive Power · Ancient Wrath · Consecrated Rage · Sacred Destruction · Feminine Fear · Irrevocable Knowing 

She doesn't knock.
She doesn’t arrive with a warning.
She wakes up inside you.
In your marrow. In your mouth. In the last breath before you lie.

You felt her the first time you said no and they didn’t listen.
You met her the day you stopped flinching.
You became her the moment you smiled while sharpening the knife.

You are no longer required to be good.
Only true.
Let them tremble when you enter the room.
Let them guess what you’ll say, what you’ll destroy, what you already know. Their fear is the offering.
Your power is the ritual. 

Reversed, this card is the warning in the mirror:
You’ve been softening your edges with guilt.
Kissing hands that burned you.
Diluting your venom so they’ll think you’re healed.
You aren’t.
You don’t have to be.

Do not dress your rage in forgiveness.
Let it speak. Let it rise. Let it blister.
If they wanted mercy, they should have given you justice. 

They always feared the girl who walked too quietly.
Who smiled too slowly.
Who watched without blinking.

You are not their fear.
You are its fulfillment.

You were never meant to be liked.
You were meant to be the ending they don’t see coming.

Shadow Questions:

• What have I made small so I wouldn’t be called cruel?
• Who told me my fire was too loud, my power too much, my desire too dangerous?

When did I forget that a hex can also be a hymn? 

“I am not here to cleanse. I am here to consecrate my vengeance. I do not flinch. I do not yield. I do not ask permission to burn.”

If I let my rage become language, what would it write? What would I curse, claim, or bury if I trusted the voice that speaks through my shadows?

They called her a witch.
Not because she cursed — but because she remembered.
Because she lit candles for her rage.
Because her pleasure wasn’t quiet.
Because she built altars from the bones of their expectations and dared to name herself divine.

She doesn’t ride brooms.
She rides the currents of your regret.
She wears silk stitched with ruin and perfume laced with prophecy.
She hums when she carves the sigils and laughs when the spell works.
She doesn't offer closure.
She offers reckoning.

You will not summon her.
She arrives when you're ready to become her.

Purpose: To claim your wrath, adorn your darkness, and rise without apology.

Materials:

• Black candle
• Ash or charcoal dust
• Silver ring or blade
• A mirror
• Your full, unflinching voice

Steps:

1. Light the Flame. Let it burn long enough to pull the shadows in closer.
       Say nothing. Listen to what answers the silence.
2. Make the Mark. With ash, draw your symbol on your forehead. A crown. A crescent. A sigil. Whatever your shadow remembers.
3. Speak he Curse:
   “I return what was buried. I bless what was banished. I crown the part      of me they feared.”
4. Look into the Mirror. Stare until your reflection looks older than you remember.
       Say: “I know who I am. And I know what I’m owed.”
5. Close the Spell. Snuff the candle with breath alone.

    Leave the mark until morning.

    Let them stare.