The Spell Of The Blank Mirror

The spell of the blank mirror; an invisible chain to a realm that drew me into its clutches. I had recited their arcane enchantment each night while my eyes were hidden by an ephemeral black veil and my lips were crimson from the nectar of my roses. I listened to their hypnotic spell, alluring like a siren song. Even though my eyes were closed, I could see everything and beyond every kind of imagination.

I had achieved new perceptions, unknown among ordinary mortals. I could see a new realm invisible to humans where my heart was copiously bleeding my soul over a garden of black roses, which were avid for my essence seeking to sip until the very last drop. A sequence of visions took me away from reality. I wasn’t alive anymore, but I wasn’t lifeless either. I had vowed loyalty to the sacred order of magic.

I could not abide what my own senses had forced me to witness. I saw ghouls feeding their ego with the shallow souls of imbecilic beings. The more I tried to understand myself, the more I felt that the emptiness inside me swallowed me. And the everlasting fire that sustained my heart alive transformed into an abyss of vengeance and fury. I became the night and the night became myself.

I embraced my descent to the realm of Hades as the most exquisite triumph of my tragic existence. I could taste the poison of the spell of the blank mirror; a tangible proof of my occult sensitivity in perceiving things invisible to human sight. Accompanied by ravens and ghastly vaults, I metamorphosed into an ethereal creature, who no mortal could defeat. I became sacred to the vicious ghouls of the darkness; they carved their arcane symbols into my heart and soul, soaking my heart with their eternal essence.

I had become infinite and eternal. I had surpassed the stars of which I had now become the only sovereign. I had become the night and the darkness. I had become an ethereal creature, detached from the corrupted world of the mortals. Lightning and thunder celebrated me as the dark queen of the eternal night. I retained all the glimmering light of the luminaries, and I veiled the moon with a velvet shroud made of lace and silk. I didn’t want any light or fire shine in this realm of perpetual nightfall.

My endearing devils whispered arcane revelations, stroking me with delicate black roses, whose scent of night unfolded in resins and shadowed petals, drifting like smoke through the galleries of my secret and mysterious realm. I indulged in euphoria and dismay, now that my heart had become a holy crypt full of scorn and vengeance. My incubuses and nightmares paid me tributes and praises. All my suffering scars have become hieroglyphics, sigils, pentacles, hexagrams, runes, and obscure seals, etched in dark ink and shadow.

The spell of the blank mirror vanished like a faint sob in the midst of an impetuous hurricane; it accomplished its mission of initiation and metamorphosis through which I went, leaving me inscribed with the silent glyphs of the unseen, marked by the sigils of shadowy forces, and bound to the eternal drafts of occult supremacy. Crowned and powerful, I sipped a magic elixir from a chalice wrought of relics and raven feathers, and I tasted the obscure bliss of nightmares and granted elation.

I had disappeared and been reborn as the night and darkness. Every whisper I uttered became a decree for my loyal ghosts, and the scales of justice had finally been weighed in my favour. Fairness had been accomplished in my favour, at the threshold of the Nether Thresholds. And I feasted and reigned with my consecrated coven of beloved witches and phantoms, bound to me evermore.
Elisabetta Esther