Week 30: A story about a magical object.
A witch’s most powerful weapon is his or her soul, their very being, their energy and life force, the fuel that keeps them going, lifts them up and pushes them to do the extraordinary. The very thing that gives them magic, for magic is both a useful defense mechanism and a protective bubble over the horrors that seek to plague vulnerable minds.
Dawn’s magical object, her most prized possession however, was her book of spells. Without it, she would lose vital information. It was the thing that guided her and helped her be a good, kind and giving person. The world views magic as an evil, because it is against what is believed to have been God’s word. But surely, believing in an all mighty being that created the entire universe is a kind of magic too?
The only thing that ever made sense in her life was magic. She was in her mid twenties now, granted she was still very young, but even at this age, it was the only thing she had in her life that was true as the flesh on her bones and the blood in her veins.
It was an odd thing, to grow up in a household that subverted (and rightly so) against society’s pitfalls and restrictions. People do not realise but magic is everywhere they look, in the trees, in the planets that they water, in the very air they breathe, the spirit of a magical being has been there, has walked and lived. Magic is not evil; magic is something contradictory and complex, something, if used for good, is a wonderful force. Much like humanity, don’t you think?
“When did you discover your magic?”
“What made you pursue magic?”
“Can you really use magic?”
These are all questions she’s faced with daily. But how do you explain to another that the thing they fear or are skeptical of, comes from her entire being? It glows in her eyes and shines through her hair; it beats in time with her racing heart and drifts like little whispers of air from her fingertips.
How do you explain to yourself to a world that is too closed minded, stuck in their old ways, trying to appear liberal when really, they’re the same as they ever were?
Tell me, how can anyone ‘different’ survive in this world? Why do we still have a ‘normal’, or at least what is considered normal?
People preach of freedom, and yet all I can see are humans in shackles, mentally and in some places, physically. When will the “mind-forg’d manacles” fade away, when will we be free?