Ghostober Day 1 - βRitualβ
Mood music: Iβm Wicked - Twin Temple, Season Of The Witch - Lana Del Rey
Thereβs always something in the air, when ritual time comes around.
Some kind of hullabaloo with making sure things were properly prepared and set up to run smoothly. If there was one thing that did not happen within the ministry, it would be things running smoothly. Just four months in, and Lyra had figured that much out. That was not necessarily a bad thing, just not her style of things - and something she would come to live with.
A steady hand fixes sharply drawn black lines around the curves of her cheekbone, down her face, and around her eyes; a template to soon fill in against the soft white that already covered the entirety of her face. The charms on her earrings tink together as she rummages around to finish last minute touch-ups on everything. Proper ritual attire, consisting of an old uniform - anything that looked willing enough to be thrown out after. Ah, yes, the definition of prim, quite perfect. All for an audience of solely herself.
Though ritual attendance was not required, most everyone was there.
Along the wooden boards of her office, a pentagram was traced in white paint. At each point, a black candle awaiting instruction; littered around the drawn pentagram were a few books, open to specific pages in a specific pattern; beside the books, a mortar and pestle already filled with specific ingredients. Pepper, thyme, and cardamom are at the base of those ingredients. Tucked already at her side, is her trusted ritual knife, which the wind from the open windows blow at almost eagerly. It is a simple setup, but nonetheless effective as the grandeur that the church often provides as its display of ritual. As often as her hands laid bloodied from spell and hex casting, there needed to be dedication to times of rejuvenation. A witch, no matter how strong her foundation or walls of protection are, cannot solely rely on them for her own growth. Prosperity, happiness, and success laid at any palm of the hand, and somehow it often slipped away from people. Because those things took sacrifice, which did not come easily to most. Especially sacrifices from oneself.
The term sacrifice means to give up, surrender something for the sake of something else. A fairly loose terminology in terms of ritualistic work. All it takes is-
No matter how many times that was done, it always stung a little bit. Lyra smeared the droplet of blood into the mortar bowl and mixed it into a fine powder, which she clumped together into tiny flat balls and placed on each of the five candles. As she took a comfortable spot in the middle of the pentagram on the floor, she snapped her fingers and the candles lit in a low flame. Light flickered across her face and though the books were opened to their specific pages, she already knew the words. They flowed from her, mindlessly, a script of her own creation.Β
β Hecate, I call to thee. May I receive protection and stay safe from any and all negative energy. I am rooted in the present moment, and connected to my Earth. May I be gifted with weight upon my shoulders that will help carry me further than who I am now. I lovingly let free all the energy that no longer serves me, and allow your own energy upon me, Mother of witches.β
A gentle breeze, too warm to come from the cool air outside, reaches the room. It is comforting, safe, and has the faintest scent of sage and cinnamon. A familiar smell that immediately seems to relax Lyraβs shoulders. Closed eyes flutter open, and the candles are no longer lit, their smoke sifting and swirling through the light of the early moon. With a deep breath in through her nose it is let out as a quiet sigh, now even more unwinding into her spot on the floor until she laid on her back. Hands folded to rest on her chest, the finger she had pricked lingering between her lips to clean it. Not the best habit, but it was all in normality around the church. Plus, the taste of her blood she found to be rather nice - she could extend that outside of her own blood, but she hadnβt the most experience with that yet.Β
Easy as it was for her to stay laying on the ground, she had other things on her schedule for the evening so in an almost regrettable way she hoisted herself up. She found her way back to the bathroom and pulled out from the drawer, a small box of bandages - the only ones the ministry had at the time. Specifically, the only ones that Copia had.Β
A pack of one hundred, sterile, Scooby-Doo band-aids.