Wiccan Queen

Last night, I awoke in the night at 1:30 am and I felt a call to go outside to sit on the bench. It was him. I hadn't seen him in a week and I still could not see him, but I knew he was there. There is a new rising. It is this part of me who exists in both the realm of the living and the dead. It is a new Wiccan ability that is not witchcraft. It is a Wiccan male master calling out his own inner specter that almost became his whole reality. He found me just in time. I am to be a new type of Wiccan queen who is quite Wiccan doll. It has to do with my reality of dealing with my own death over and over in my lifetime. Some firemen went by and it almost went into necromancy, which is voodoo, but instead they could see the dark Russian part of me when my hair and eyes look long and black. I am the ring thing. Sometimes I had to fight my torturers off with dark Wiccan imagery. I am not demonic, but I surely played the demonic viola for them. In a few days I was fine. I speak very little of my torture from my childhood, but some of it is coming through as I deal with medical men from The Middle East and with my physical therapist a bit. I have put away the shovels that they used to bury me on occasion. I survived and bled prosperously for all around me. No more denials are heard by me because I just don't speak to demon makers in my vicinity. Wiccan is not to be messed with, but the darkness in me is soothing and judgement free. It is an almost new time of classic chivalry in the deathy expanse which I encourage to be near me and share in my silent agony.