The old craft was never lost. It was only kept.
Dare to open the ancient Grimoire?
Every witch keeps a book. Not all of them are meant to be found.
My familiars Gunnar and Alís welcome you…
Opened at the threshold
Two voices, seven centuries apart,
saying the same thing.
“Given to Óðinn — myself to myself.”
Hávamál, 13th c.
“Satan represents vital existence
LaVey, 1969
instead of spiritual pipe dreams.”
Two traditions, one book: the craft that survived, and the road that stopped hiding. They are not the same thing. They are not strangers either. The first was put into my hands early — by my grandmother, and by hers before her, across more years than I have been alive. They knew exactly what they were doing, and they had harder words for it than magic. The rest I paid for myself.
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Contents
A witch does not announce herself in the street.
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