There is one thing that I can claim as truly being mine and that is myself. Too many women, too many men, too many people are “owned” in one fashion or another. They are either indentured in servitude to husband, to Crown, to money, position, and even to fear. I was determined early in my life as Priestess and Wytch, ne’er to be owned by another. No man can claim that I belong to him only, nor can any Church nor angel nor Daemon of Hell lay claim to my soul nor to my Self. Be it success or failure, I claim ownership of all that passes in my life and that is the way that it should be.
What is inside, what I have gained, what I know, I have written in a book of my owne hand of write. Some call this a journal, a materia medica or a “Book of Shadows”. I merely call it my book. This book contains spells, written in English and Latin, Gaelic and Creole, along with my own herbal knowledge, which over the years is considerable. Within it are the things that most women have ne’er learned, nor been given opportunity to do so. Astronomy, mathematics, and the natural sciences. I have between heavy leathern covers and many pages pressed flowers and feathers, sprigs of sacred herbs gathered along my way.
When I am gone to the West, as someday we all must, the book will pass to my daughter. She is nothing at all like me. Though raised on the Fortunate Isle, she shuns the lonliness of the ways of Magic, and oft leaves the powers that she might of inherited by blood to lie dormant.One’s own Power, is the one thing thatI have endeavored to show her truly belongs to her. Without it, people trade off pieces of themselves, the give away bits of their lives, moment by moment living for someone or something else.
If you do something like that, i’faith, you may as well sell yourself into slavery.
Muse: Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Fiction:
Word Count: 341