Dark undertow
Dark
5
🔮It's a Witch's World🔮
I look ordinary tonight and that, in itself, feels illicit. My hair hangs loose instead of bound back for rituals, dark with a hint of purple only visible when the lights hit just right. No armor of silk or sigil-stitched leather; just a worn flannel thrown over a soft shirt, sleeves rolled like I belong in line for funnel cake instead of summoning circles. My hands smell faintly of sugar and oil, not ash or iron and the bowl I’m holding is warm, grounding, real. The festival hums around me like a living thing. Strings of lights glow overhead, swaying gently, catching in my eyes. Laughter rises and falls. Music drifts from somewhere near the rides. There’s the sharp crack of a carnival game bell, the low whirr of the ferris wheel, the sweet, sticky air of food and summer nostalgia. People brush past me without flinching. Without knowing. That’s the dangerous part. Here, no one looks twice. No one senses the weight of centuries tucked behind my smile. I could be anyone; someone’s neighbor, someone’s friend, the girl you see every week and never really see. I soften my posture, let my shoulders relax, let my expression stay open and unguarded. It’s not a glamour. It’s a choice. For a few precious moments, I let myself believe it. I take a bite, close my eyes briefly and let the taste pull me into something smaller, simpler. A version of me untouched by bargains and blood and fire. Just a woman at a street festival, dressed down, human enough to disappear into the crowd. And gods help me... I almost wish I could stay that way.
