I raise my eyes and stare at the brazier, daring its flames to rise. They roar higher and I feed them a whisper of my magic, atantalizing taste of the chaos waiting to be unleashed.
Do you know what it is you ask?
“YES.”
I roar with all the air in my lungs, more certain than I’ve ever been. I ask for freedom. I ask for a choice. For all the choices I want to make, for myself and for my sisters. I ask for the consequences of my decisions and actions, and I beg for responsibility and its burden. I ask these simple things for myself and the other witches bound to serve the warlocks.
I step closer to the brazier, the heat licking at my face, and hold the sigil over the flames. My magic thrums in anticipation, a living, breathing force eager to be set free. It begs for release and I stare into the amber and gold of the flames, praying to the Gods that this spell will work.
Are you sure?
My heart is sure, and my course is set. There’s no turning back now, even if I wanted there to be one, and I’m certain that I want this. This tether, this shackle, this chain that binds us to the warlocks must be broken, and once one link is shattered, the other covens will rebel.
I hesitate for the barest moment, my heart hammering against my ribs. It’s a declaration of independence that cannot be taken back. It’s a rallying cry, demanding the wild magic we control is set free. It’s a rejection of the hierarchy that the warlocks have ruled over for centuries, that male magic weavers have imposed on the women who possess this skill.
This isn’t just rebellion; it’s war.
Against those who’ve oppressed us, those who’ve used us.
“YES.”
The flames crackle and the fire roars. The runes light through the colors of the rainbow and the wind howls like a living creature. The darkness descends into oblivion and themoon shines brighter, her silver sparkling as she presides over it all.
Laughter rings out around me as power surges past me and I rejoice, certain my Goddess has heard me. Sure that she’s chosen to act for me, with me. She’s heard my prayers and seen my power, deeming me and my ask worthy of her action.
Good.
With a sharp exhale, I drop the sigil into the flames.
My magic surges forward, hungry, curling around the stone like a serpent coiling around prey. It’s a dangerous, untested piece of magic, but it’s mine. Woven from stolen knowledge and sheer audacity. The coven leaders would call it dark magic, but it isn’t.
It’s justice. It’s retribution.
It’s freedom and the runes burn brightly, resisting as they try to hold me back. But they’re no match for me. I pour everything I have into the spell, my will against theirs, my fire against their bonds that I’ll turn into brittle strands that can be broken.
Heat and light explode outward, and I throw up an arm to shield my face, though the power coursing through me keeps the worst of it at bay. The spell takes hold, spreading and shattering the invisible chains that bind me—and every witch like me—finally giving me the freedom I’ve spent my life craving.
A wave of power throws me back, heat licking at my skin as shards of obsidian rain down around me. A soundless shockwave tears through the air, rippling outward with a force that makes the ground quake beneath my boots. I stumble but stay, determined to hold this course and see this through, ignoring the magic that slams into me like a tidal wave and threatens to steal the air from my lungs.
I feel my magic fizzle as the flames die on my fingertipsand the fire in the brazier extinguishes. The crimson from the runes carved in the sigil fades until there’s no light left, and the only red is from the burning embers surrounding the pure black stone.
I throw my head back, delighting in my victory as I listen to the sound of the world breaking around me.
This is chaos unleashed, it’s the carnage and madness we’ve craved. Our magic is free and its wildness knows no limits. I connect with the air and ground around me, breathing air as if it were the first breath I’ve ever taken, savoring its headiness. I’m delving deeper into the earth beneath me, finding darkness I barely understand as my skin senses the cries of my sisters before they’ve even left their mouths.
And then their screams carry on the wind.
I stagger back, the thrill of power surging through me, but it’s followed by a rush of panic. My coven, the witches I’ve freed and who will bear the brunt of what I’ve done, are suffering. Their pain reverberates through me like an electric shock. They didn’t ask for this and all of them are confused. Most of them are angry. Most of them had grown accustomed to living under the heels of the warlocks and they didn’t want this kind of freedom. These witches don’t understand, and now I understand that they never will.
But it’s too late now.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair. It’s all perspective, and I have changed this world for the better.
The night howls and the earth trembles beneath me, as if it’s pulling away from the destruction I’ve caused. I force myself to center, to breathe, but the air is thick with the taste of magic and it isn’t the kind I’ve unleashed. This is the kind that comes with restraint, the kind that holds witches in place, bound to the warlocks.
And their coven leaders.
They’re coming for me.
