Alicen's Magickal Diary: The Cord That Wouldn't Burn
A 2-night exorcism-ritual-turned-living-nightmare.
I am writing this from an AirBnB in Asheville, NC — which I would describe myself as having “escaped” to, sort of, spiritually. Of course, it’s a bit more nuanced than that—a LOT more nuanced, in fact. So nuanced, that I’ve avoided writing about any of it for months, because it’s just so… much. But it’s reached a point where, if I don’t write it down, I may actually perish.
I need to be witnessed, in the special way that writing has always made me feel witnessed.
But I also need to be careful, because other people are involved in this story—and anyway, exposing details about one’s magickal activities always comes with risk. Witchcraft/Illuminati accusations, for example.
Why have those always bothered me so much? I know why—because of the very person at the center of the story to follow, who seemed hell-bent (literally, in a sense) on destroying me before I could ever find out how powerful I actually am, and how much I have to offer the world…