You call me what I must become,
Witch in the shadows, hands bathed in dust…
Not rage, but the cold hum of silence,
A pact sealed in the breath we never speak.

I stand at the edge of the spiral,
Where words curl and dissolve like smoke,
Carving out meaning in the cracks of your voice,
I walk through, never behind.

Magic is not good or evil, it simply is…
A tool like fire, held in trembling palms.
I move through the currents,
Light seeping through where none should be.

The law of three, a trick of the light…
It’s not so simple, not so pure.
You want a mirror? I’ll give you one,
But look closely, it bends with each glance,
A reflection born from all of us.

They call for blood, but I laugh softly…
There are other ways to break,
Other ways to bend.
A sigil drawn with steady hands,
Each stroke a choice,
Each silence a spell.

The night wraps its arms around us,
And together we breathe in its weight.
We craft this thing, this moment,
A ritual not of darkness or light…
But of the in-between,
Where art and sound meet,
And we create something
Neither can name.