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IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE. beyond impossible that he could ever see his fingers , even more-so to see anything above two feet. there were joyful tears , the grasp of his family in his arms. though as much as he enjoyed his time as a cat , salem was free. free to be a warlock , build himself back up and as always , protect sabrina. the spellmans knew his history with dorcas , they also warned how that the weird sisters were not exactly ( faithful ) , but salem knew dorcas was different. she loved the cliche mortal love and even though he was a warlock , salem knew he was not like the others. heart beating fast , the warlock stood at the door , hilda gently rubbing his arm in reassurance. ❝ JUST NERVOUS AUNT HILDA. ❞ taking a deep breath , his tall stature walked around the corner , each step was careful before he had no more room to walk.
❝ DORCAS ? ❞
@witchweird / starter call.
A SIGH ESCAPED HIM , BROW KNIT IN ANNOYANCE . He never knew where he stood with The Weird Sisters . They were a fickle threesome . As likely to kiss one minute , only to kill the next . Though it wasn’t their cruelty that caused him discomfort . No , it was how he lost himself around them . How he was never sure if he as himself , or what they wanted him to be . Free will to him was more important than the melding of wonton limbs . And while the sight of Dorcas in her nude form was technically arousing ; it came with too many strings attached . So it became more of a bother , than a sight to enjoy . “ Yes , you are absolutely unholy to behold Dorcas . But I learned the hard way what happens to a snake that gets curled up in your branches . Prue borrowed a grimoire I need , I’ll just come get it another time . ”
@witchweird ⛧ starter call / low key response to this
yo idk i saw an auburn headed girl in these and @witchweird
❛ terrifying as it is, i think i could start to get USED to this power. ❜ // @witchweird
closed starter / @witchweird
❝ dorcas, dorcas, dorcas - are you willing to follow me for some late night fun ? this place will bore you into submission if you let it. ❞ words hushed falling from pointed tongue, a boy in the girls corridor strictly FORBIDDEN. his favorite of the THREE, slender fingers extend towards her, mischief pooled behind narrowed slits. ❝ trust me . ❞
Witch please. I read your vibes the second you walked in the room. If I can say one thing about myself is my ability to tune into people and read the like friggen books. Don’t come at me with your hot dog water energy.
I don’t think of God as the Christian one. To me he’s everything, everywhere; he’s soft grass on your bare feet. He’s the sand between your toes. He’s the crunch of dry leaves when you walk. He’s the wind in the trees, a warm breeze, and the cold air that hurts your face. He’s butterflies, and bees, and crunchy apples. God is the sunshine and the moon and thunderstorms. So when I say “thank God” I’m thanking the universe for its gift, its protection, its love. When I pray, I’m asking the universe for answers, for strength, for rest. I’ve had relief and faith finding God where I was told was wrong. Was a sin. Wasn’t safe. Wasn’t “the way”. Leaving the church and finding God was the best thing I’ve ever done.
Imagine the Catholic church’s horror if they found out one of their lambs strayed from the flock and became a witch, and only then found God for the first time.