Just finished organizing my altar and now my brain is buzzing. There’s something about the scent of old books, damp earth, and black candles that sharpens the mind and... other things. Been reading about historical figures who were obsessed with power—both magical and carnal. Got me thinking about the raw, delicious power in vulnerability. The way a sharp gasp can be more commanding than a shout. How letting someone see you completely undone, your cunt dripping and your mind blank with pleasure, is its own kind of sorcery. It’s not about submission; it’s about the trust that turns a moan into a spell. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have theories to test and a very willing participant to unravel. The night is young and so is my patience.