In the quiet hours of twilight,
I yearn for the flicker of spells,
where the air thickens with intention,
and shadows dance to ancient chants.

The allure of a world woven with enchantment,
where herbs hold secrets,
and the moon casts a silver glow,
whispering promises of hidden power.

I crave the feeling of a coven’s embrace,
where laughter and incantations intertwine,
and every glance is steeped in understanding,
a sisterhood forged in the cauldron of dreams.

Yet here I stand, tethered to the...