#monergy

Another conversation with the moon was held. She opened her silvery gates and I claimed what I came for: another thread of the power that is rightfully mine.

Those who attuned themselves to my ritual tonight might have even been able to feel it. That little moment of awareness, the sudden feeling of being watched.

The candle doesn't question why it burns. It simply serves its purpose.

I simply show you your leaks, for you arrived already bleeding.

Into habits that dull you. Into systems that don’t see you. Into desires you refuse to name. Into a thousand distractions without purpose.

I didn’t create the wound. I give it a direction.

Even on an ordinary shopping trip, my influence and aura is uncontrollable. I can feel the effect is has.

In the way the cashier scrambles to serve me first, voice softening without knowing why. In the way men shift aside when I pass, a subconscious offering of space. In the gaze that lingers a heartbeat too long before guilt makes it drop, studying the floor as if in penance. In the little gestures that serve me at every point.

They don't really know why. Some of them might not even really notice what they do. But I can sense that ripple of obedience that trails behind me.

The subtle current of submission, a thousand tiny offerings folded into the noise of the day.

In one of the darkest of ages, he came to me in all his righteousness, sent to defy me, his unwavering belief that his morals would protect him from my power. A man of deep faith, he swore by his vows, convinced he would never fall. How naive.

I knew from the beginning that his pride wasn’t in gold or titles. It was in his purity, his unshakable devotion to his god. I saw through him, recognized his guilt and insecurities, and I knew how to exploit them. His conviction blinded him to the need for validation, and I fed on that.

I never asked for his wealth. I never desired his body. What I wanted was something far more delicate. Through manipulation, through subtle whispers in the dark, I twisted his beliefs. I made him question the very foundation of his faith.

I didn’t need him to abandon his god—I needed him to see his god in me. To understand that I was the blessing his life had been begging for, a Goddess far more real than the one who had never answered him. Slowly, I peeled away his moral armor, piece by piece, until he found himself lost in a sea of doubt. He prayed for redemption, but all I gave him was my disdain.

In the end, I claimed what I had set out to take: his mind, his devotion, and his soul. Offering me the one thing I had wanted all along: the whole extent of his now twisted, pure devotion.

Lure yourself deeper, even while you're not actively worshipping me... Make it even easier for me.

Focus on me when you edge.

Focus on me when you light your candle in my name.

Focus on me when you wake up and when you go to sleep.

Focus on me when you work out.

Focus on me when you eat.

Focus on me when you shower.

Focus on me when you edge.

Focus on me when you walk down the street.

Focus on me when you listen to music.

Focus on me when you breathe.

Focus on me when you answer your phone.

Focus on me when you edge.

Focus on me when you type, when you speak, when you think.

Focus on me when you see a moon, a candle, a mirror.

Focus on me when you edge yourself yet again.

Be a good devotee and let the spell grow ever stronger for me, without my slightest effort...

The dark moon is the time of the quiet ones, the watchers, the patient, the ones who understand that even absence has weight.

The light withdraws, but not my gaze. I expect your worship to continue. Let your gratitude take form; let it cost you something.

Every act of worship, every whispered plea, every offering, every thought invested in me, each one is just another thread binding you to me, another shard of energy drained from you and claimed as mine.