(the original longer form of “the makings of a witch” -- written by nyx + keridwen, edited by xuannu)

…

Before the dead were put to rest, and before the wizard kings were cast off their thrones of pale bone.  Before their unassailable walls crumbled to dust, and wonder seeped from the cracks in our skin-- there were WITCHES who wove the threads of all things, and carefully adjusted each string to tune.

WITCHES wander the weird wilds of the world, unafraid and unfettered. They drip from moonlight and the edges of stars, sculpt each other from beeswax and jackal fangs, and sample strange delicacies from demon bazaars.

WITCHES live in the in-between. In the space between eyelids, in the spines of books. WITCHES build treasures with toadstools, turmeric bricks, turpentine, twine. WITCHES are dangerous. They brush their hair with henna for luster and blood for shine.

WITCHES own the Milky Way. They’re smart with the property market like that. They hold little rocks in the plushness of their hands and haggle them down to get a good deal. WITCHES know when things have value. They are collectors, curators, equal admirers of rubies and refuse. A WITCH is magic even in their speech, in their song, in the light beneath their feet. A WITCH would never lose their hat. A WITCH can never be caught.

…

WITCHCRAFT is about intuition. About listening to the quiet, about the freedom to choose and go where one wishes, about maintaining the balance of things.

A WITCH does not grow in the way you expect; they only grow stranger.

While no one may own a WITCH, anyone can become one. And when you’re a WITCH, you cannot be bound—may you be naked in your rites until the last of your oppressors are dead.

(more to come)