I’ll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours
“You can build talent, but the fact is, talent is the thing you have least control over. By contrast, you have total control over the amount of patience, guts, and persistence you bring to your writing. And that’s beautiful.”
The Threshold
This is the moment where reading turns into practice, where theory sharpens into experience.
You’ve walked through warnings, foundations, danger, ethics, and service. You’ve seen the crooked truths most books avoid. Now the page becomes a door. A mirror. A hedge.
This is not metaphor. This is initiation.
I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
The Hedge
Close your eyes.
Before you rises a hedge, thick, thorned, whispering with secrets. It is the boundary between the ordinary and the Witch’s road. You have walked beside it many times. You have longed for it. Feared it. Resented it. Craved it.
Tonight, you stand before it with a choice.
Step closer. The thorns snag your sleeve. The hedge hums. You press your hand into the living wall and feel it pulse, alive with centuries of witches who crossed before you.
Push through.
The Sabbat Fire
On the other side, the air is charged. The sky is not day or night but something in between, gloaming.
A fire blazes ahead. Around it, witches dance. Some are masked, some are bare. Some laugh, some weep, some scream with joy. They do not stop for you. They do not welcome you. They simply exist, fierce, unashamed, whole.
The drums in the distance echo the rhythm of your heartbeat. Your pulse syncs to theirs. You feel the current pulling you closer.
This is the sabbat that exists beyond time. You are not an observer. You are a participant, if you dare.
The King and Queen of Faery
At the center of the circle stand two figures: radiant and terrible, beautiful and monstrous. The King and Queen of Faery.
They are every paradox, mercy and cruelty, sweetness and venom, creation and destruction. They are the faces of sovereignty.
Their eyes fall on you. They do not blink. They have always known you.
One extends a hand. The other lifts a cup, brimming with liquid that glows like blood and starlight. Their voices, one sharp as iron and the other sweet as honey, braid together and ask:
“What will you give to this path? What will you take from it?”
Answer with your whole self. They will know if you lie.
The Mirror of the Witch
At the fire’s edge, a mirror shimmers. It is not glass, but water, shadow, smoke.
When you look into it, you do not see the face you show the world. You see everything.
The rage you bury.
The grief you hide.
The hunger you deny.
The brilliance you’re afraid to claim.
You see the Witch under your skin, the one who has been clawing to get out since the day you were born.
The question is not whether the Witch exists. The question is: will you embrace them?
The Crossing
The witches dance faster. The drums grow louder. The King and Queen hold their gaze. The mirror ripples.
This is the moment.
If you step forward, into the fire, into the circle, into the mirror — you will not come back unchanged. You will not be able to pretend you are “just dabbling,” “just experimenting,” “just playing at witchy.”
Crossing is a vow. It is binding. It is becoming.
If you are not ready, step back. There is no shame. The path will wait until you are.
But if you are ready, then step forward. Drink from the cup. Take the hand. Enter the dance. Burn and be remade.
The Grimoire Opens
On the ground before you lies a book. Its cover is dark, its pages alive. You realize this is not a book at all, but a living current. Words crawl across the page as if written by unseen hands. The air thickens.
The book breathes as you touch it. And in that moment, you know: The Deviant Grimoire has claimed you.
Every lesson that follows is not just ink. It is pact.
This is no longer reading. This is Witchcraft.
So I ask you:
Will you stay at the hedge, watching others dance?
Or will you step through, drink deep, and take your place in the circle?
The choice is yours.
The path does not beg. The path does not flatter. The path waits.
But once you cross, there is no return.
The next chapter awaits.
