In the Shadow of Hecate

I’ve got my church raised on October 31^st, 1966. I’m a cold operator; a hot knife cuts me down the middle every time, so come and feel my love. At the crimson crossroads I stand, I’ve got my torch, my key, and my dagger.

No God, no Heaven above it bubbles to the surface from a place so far down in my soul, it makes me dark as the night, Hecate, my underworld bride, makes me come alive.

Her touch is both gentle and haunting, leaving a lasting impression of longing in its wake. In the silence that follows, I am reminded of the fragile line between pain and desire, forever drawn to the shadows she casts within me.

It’s Halloween all year for her, and when October comes, she’s already there, she scares me outta my grave, and it’s her love I crave.

Her laughter echoes like distant thunder, unsettling yet beautiful, pulling me deeper into her spell. Each fleeting glance from her eyes is a promise of mystery, laced with the thrill of surrender and the chill of the unknown.

Hecate, make me come alive, Hecate, make my beating heart skip a beat, Hecate, you know I love your dark ways, Hecate dances through the twilight, her silhouette flickering between worlds where the living meet the lost. With every step, she draws me further from reality, her presence a hypnotic invitation to embrace the darkness within. The air grows colder in her wake, yet I find comfort in the chill, knowing it is a sign that she is near.

Happy Samhain from Wicced Sarah.