Page 14 of His in the Dark

I envision my powers, the life that I grant and the beauty I’ve aided in. “Bring forth my powers. To be my highest self.”

Beauty burns in the dark when there is nothing else. Life burns in the cold world when it should not survive. Hope may be the long way to say goodbye, but it is also a way of saying hello.

“I release all that ails me and it releases me as well. There is nothing that will stand in my way of being my most powerful self.” A shiver runs through me and I open my eyes. In the dark of my room, the starlight shining through the window, the unlit candle stands before me. It's stoic and straight, its wax still whole. My candle and the altar and me—we are all surrounded with the warmth of magic and the power of the Gods.

It is warmest within me.

“It will be warmest within me,” I say, giving voice to my hope. Hope must be nurtured as well. I must not let it wither and die.

I will not let it wither and die.

I inhale. Power and magic exist all around me. All I need to do is allow for the possibility. The possibility of a simple transfer. The possibility of ease, like letting water droplets fall from my fingertips into a pool. I can always get more crystal drops of water. The water has been plentiful all my life, and it has belonged to me all this time.

I blow gently on the wick, hope thick in my throat and beating in my breast.

The candle does not light. Inhaling deeply, I ignore the pain in my chest and the doubt that preys upon my thoughts.

“It is warmest within me.”

I breathe again, not allowing any more weeds of frustration to creep into my mind. That power still exists. I believe it exists. I believe it exists in me, and I can allow this to happen.

No—I know it exists. I know it in my bones and my gown. I know it like I know the solidity of the floor beneath me. This is the cycle. This is hope and perseverance. This is refusing to let death have its way.

This is faith in the Gods, but it is also faith in myself. In me, there is possibility, and that possibility comes from magic itself. It gives itself to me freely. I take it freely. Like water droplets falling from my fingers. Like new buds pushing above the soil. They know the warmth is above them. They never doubt.

I will not doubt.

I do not doubt.

Allow it.Allowit. I do not know if what I feel is hope or my powers returning. The two may be the same thing.

I take another breath and add the words of the spell written on the parchment colored with age and crinkled. I will guide the magic with words from others who have seen protection and growth.

“The power inside me craves the light,” I begin, the spell taking on a new resonance as I speak the words. "Bring me the warmth of fire and take from the powers to my right."

I blow on the candle. The faintest ember at the wick glows to life. My breath is caught and goosebumps flow over my skin. The skies darken and I repeat the words more confidently and louder.

“The power inside me craves the light. Bring me the warmth of fire and take from the powers to my right." I blow again, and the ember disappears.

I take a deep breath and hold the feeling of the spell in my mind. It is a protection spell. It is a release. Whatever plagues me will no longer harm me. I will be protected and freed. Protected and freed. I vanquish the harm inside of me. I release it. I guide it out. I stare at the budding flame and I whisper with every need in me, fear and anger, the hope and the love I have for what I know I’m meant to be.

"The power inside me craves the light. Bring me the warmth of fire and take from the powers to my right."

This time, the flame bursts into life on top of the candle, and hope burns bright in my heart.

"The power inside me craves the light. Bring me the warmth of fire and take from the powers to my right."

Tears brim as the warmth from the flame is felt on my face.

It burns. Light in the dark, spilling a pool of warmth onto my altar. My hands over the crystals cast shadows in the dancing flame.

This is the warmth I felt all around me as I came to my chambers. This is the warmth of magic. This is the warmth that dwells within me and calls the flowers to the sun.

I was so hopeless that I was willing to dismiss Beatrice’s words before. But she was right.

The Gods are gifted, but magic is for all of us. Allow the possibility of magic working. That is all you must do. Simply allow it.

I heard Beatrice’s words, but I did not allow myself to understand. Not until now.

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