I didn’t come here for answers. At least, that’s what I told myself while setting the candles one by one, careful not to let them touch.
The room was quieter than usual tonight. Even the trees outside felt like they were holding their breath. I opened the book to a page I don’t remember marking… yet it knew exactly where to fall. Symbols I couldn’t read, but somehow understood. Not with my mind. Somewhere deeper.
I arranged everything the way it felt right. The stones. The blade. The circle. None of it was planned — and that’s what scared me the most.
I lit the last candle and waited.
Nothing happened at first. Just the sound of my own breathing… and the faint crackle of fire. I almost laughed. Thought maybe this was all it was. Just another attempt to give shape to something I couldn’t name.
Then the smoke changed.
It didn’t rise. It listened. Curled, paused… and began to follow something that wasn’t there before.
I didn’t move. I didn’t dare.
Because in that moment, I understood something I hadn’t before:
I wasn’t performing the ritual.
I was answering it.
And I don’t think it asked for me by accident.
