@witchnoir.bsky.social
Eclectic Neo-Pagan, professional Game Master, and general mental health disaster. They/Them
‘The final push’ would not be a blow…it would be the hush that follows. When the Camarilla no longer lets me speak what I see, I will have no choice but to sing it in fire.
October 9, 2025 at 2:27 AM
‘The final push’ would not be a blow…it would be the hush that follows. When the Camarilla no longer lets me speak what I see, I will have no choice but to sing it in fire.
...I bring, if they silence the song before it’s sung, then perhaps I have not yet chosen at all.
I do not think I will ever bow to them. But I know what would make me fall: one more vision buried, one more truth silenced, one more hand raised to still my tongue.
I do not think I will ever bow to them. But I know what would make me fall: one more vision buried, one more truth silenced, one more hand raised to still my tongue.
October 9, 2025 at 2:27 AM
...I bring, if they silence the song before it’s sung, then perhaps I have not yet chosen at all.
I do not think I will ever bow to them. But I know what would make me fall: one more vision buried, one more truth silenced, one more hand raised to still my tongue.
I do not think I will ever bow to them. But I know what would make me fall: one more vision buried, one more truth silenced, one more hand raised to still my tongue.
...borrowing their voice. They tell me that revelation requires ruin, that death is not to be hidden behind silk and smiles. They ask me to choose who will teach me to die. I tell them I already have a teacher…and yet, the words linger. If the Camarilla cannot bear the truths...
October 9, 2025 at 2:27 AM
...borrowing their voice. They tell me that revelation requires ruin, that death is not to be hidden behind silk and smiles. They ask me to choose who will teach me to die. I tell them I already have a teacher…and yet, the words linger. If the Camarilla cannot bear the truths...
I remain because I owe Irena more than I can ever repay, and because structure feels safer than chaos. But every time I hear another secret buried beneath the marble, I feel the floor shifting beneath my feet.
The Sword speaks to me in dreams, though perhaps it is only the Beast...
The Sword speaks to me in dreams, though perhaps it is only the Beast...
October 9, 2025 at 2:27 AM
I remain because I owe Irena more than I can ever repay, and because structure feels safer than chaos. But every time I hear another secret buried beneath the marble, I feel the floor shifting beneath my feet.
The Sword speaks to me in dreams, though perhaps it is only the Beast...
The Sword speaks to me in dreams, though perhaps it is only the Beast...
8. The Final Push #vtm #vamily #monthofdarkness
They say the Sabbat are butchers. I’ve seen their work…the ashes, the hymns sung in blood. Yet I’ve also seen the Camarilla’s gentler cruelties, the truths locked away for fear they might crack the porcelain mask of order.
They say the Sabbat are butchers. I’ve seen their work…the ashes, the hymns sung in blood. Yet I’ve also seen the Camarilla’s gentler cruelties, the truths locked away for fear they might crack the porcelain mask of order.
October 9, 2025 at 2:27 AM
8. The Final Push #vtm #vamily #monthofdarkness
They say the Sabbat are butchers. I’ve seen their work…the ashes, the hymns sung in blood. Yet I’ve also seen the Camarilla’s gentler cruelties, the truths locked away for fear they might crack the porcelain mask of order.
They say the Sabbat are butchers. I’ve seen their work…the ashes, the hymns sung in blood. Yet I’ve also seen the Camarilla’s gentler cruelties, the truths locked away for fear they might crack the porcelain mask of order.
Before I leave, I l kiss their foreheads gently. The nurses will find them in the soon and call it mercy. Perhaps they’re right…I only hastened what was already coming. But when I step back into the night, the taste of their gratitude still lingers…and I wonder if I’ve taken more than blood…
October 7, 2025 at 8:44 PM
Before I leave, I l kiss their foreheads gently. The nurses will find them in the soon and call it mercy. Perhaps they’re right…I only hastened what was already coming. But when I step back into the night, the taste of their gratitude still lingers…and I wonder if I’ve taken more than blood…
My lips find the pulse that trembles like a candle in the wind, and I drink until the pain slips from their faces. Their breath grows light, their grip loosens, and for a moment, I see the person they were…not broken, not bound, but free. It’s the only kind of peace I know how to give.
October 7, 2025 at 8:44 PM
My lips find the pulse that trembles like a candle in the wind, and I drink until the pain slips from their faces. Their breath grows light, their grip loosens, and for a moment, I see the person they were…not broken, not bound, but free. It’s the only kind of peace I know how to give.
They look up when I draw near, eyes glassy with pain and morphine, and I speak softly so they will not fear. “You’ve walked far enough,” I tell them. “It’s all right to rest now.” They always believe me. When I take their hand, the Beast purrs, but I silence it. This is not hunger — it is farewell.
October 7, 2025 at 8:44 PM
They look up when I draw near, eyes glassy with pain and morphine, and I speak softly so they will not fear. “You’ve walked far enough,” I tell them. “It’s all right to rest now.” They always believe me. When I take their hand, the Beast purrs, but I silence it. This is not hunger — it is farewell.
7. Where I Hunt #vtm #vamily #monthordarkness
The halls are always quiet at this hour, filled with machines that whisper more faithfully than prayers. I walk among them unseen…a shadow in white, a phantom in the hum of fading hearts.
The halls are always quiet at this hour, filled with machines that whisper more faithfully than prayers. I walk among them unseen…a shadow in white, a phantom in the hum of fading hearts.
October 7, 2025 at 8:44 PM
7. Where I Hunt #vtm #vamily #monthordarkness
The halls are always quiet at this hour, filled with machines that whisper more faithfully than prayers. I walk among them unseen…a shadow in white, a phantom in the hum of fading hearts.
The halls are always quiet at this hour, filled with machines that whisper more faithfully than prayers. I walk among them unseen…a shadow in white, a phantom in the hum of fading hearts.
Because if I must carry their curse forever, then I will be the one to decide what it means. They made me immortal; I will make myself whole.
October 6, 2025 at 7:26 PM
Because if I must carry their curse forever, then I will be the one to decide what it means. They made me immortal; I will make myself whole.
...is only their echo in my veins. And maybe it’s right. Maybe I am nothing more than a reflection painted in someone else’s color.
I do not hunt them for vengeance. I seek them for judgment…not divine, but my own.
I do not hunt them for vengeance. I seek them for judgment…not divine, but my own.
October 6, 2025 at 7:26 PM
...is only their echo in my veins. And maybe it’s right. Maybe I am nothing more than a reflection painted in someone else’s color.
I do not hunt them for vengeance. I seek them for judgment…not divine, but my own.
I do not hunt them for vengeance. I seek them for judgment…not divine, but my own.
I did not ask for eternity. I only asked to meet my end with grace. And they took even that from me.
Sometimes, when I dream, I hear their voice behind the Beast’s smile. It tells me that I am theirs not by choice, but by blood. That every vision, every whisper, every fragile truth I chase...
Sometimes, when I dream, I hear their voice behind the Beast’s smile. It tells me that I am theirs not by choice, but by blood. That every vision, every whisper, every fragile truth I chase...
October 6, 2025 at 7:26 PM
I did not ask for eternity. I only asked to meet my end with grace. And they took even that from me.
Sometimes, when I dream, I hear their voice behind the Beast’s smile. It tells me that I am theirs not by choice, but by blood. That every vision, every whisper, every fragile truth I chase...
Sometimes, when I dream, I hear their voice behind the Beast’s smile. It tells me that I am theirs not by choice, but by blood. That every vision, every whisper, every fragile truth I chase...
6. Blood of My Blood #vamily #vtm #monthofdarkness
I never saw their face. Only the shadow bending close, the cold breath that drowned my heartbeat, the kiss that smothered my last prayer. Their blood burned through me like revelation, rewriting life into unlife — truth into torment.
I never saw their face. Only the shadow bending close, the cold breath that drowned my heartbeat, the kiss that smothered my last prayer. Their blood burned through me like revelation, rewriting life into unlife — truth into torment.
October 6, 2025 at 7:26 PM
6. Blood of My Blood #vamily #vtm #monthofdarkness
I never saw their face. Only the shadow bending close, the cold breath that drowned my heartbeat, the kiss that smothered my last prayer. Their blood burned through me like revelation, rewriting life into unlife — truth into torment.
I never saw their face. Only the shadow bending close, the cold breath that drowned my heartbeat, the kiss that smothered my last prayer. Their blood burned through me like revelation, rewriting life into unlife — truth into torment.
And I wonder, not for the first time, if this is what the truth has made of me…a prophet who only remembers her purpose when she finally bites.
October 5, 2025 at 5:03 PM
And I wonder, not for the first time, if this is what the truth has made of me…a prophet who only remembers her purpose when she finally bites.
The faces turn toward me, stricken…not by awe, but by fear. I have shown them my fangs, and they see themselves reflected there.
Afterward, I always try to gather the pieces. I speak softly again. I smile. But the echo remains…the taste of something holy and cruel on my tongue.
Afterward, I always try to gather the pieces. I speak softly again. I smile. But the echo remains…the taste of something holy and cruel on my tongue.
October 5, 2025 at 5:03 PM
The faces turn toward me, stricken…not by awe, but by fear. I have shown them my fangs, and they see themselves reflected there.
Afterward, I always try to gather the pieces. I speak softly again. I smile. But the echo remains…the taste of something holy and cruel on my tongue.
Afterward, I always try to gather the pieces. I speak softly again. I smile. But the echo remains…the taste of something holy and cruel on my tongue.
And when the vision burns too bright to contain, the truth spills from my lips like blood…sharp, merciless, impossible to swallow.
The Beast applauds when it happens. It calls me beautiful in my breaking, says I was born to wound the world with what I see. And for a moment, I believe it.
The Beast applauds when it happens. It calls me beautiful in my breaking, says I was born to wound the world with what I see. And for a moment, I believe it.
October 5, 2025 at 5:03 PM
And when the vision burns too bright to contain, the truth spills from my lips like blood…sharp, merciless, impossible to swallow.
The Beast applauds when it happens. It calls me beautiful in my breaking, says I was born to wound the world with what I see. And for a moment, I believe it.
The Beast applauds when it happens. It calls me beautiful in my breaking, says I was born to wound the world with what I see. And for a moment, I believe it.
5. Show Me Your Fangs #VtM, #vamily, #monthofdarkness
They think my silence is peace. They mistake stillness for gentleness, and my calm for control. But quiet waters hide their tempests. Every word bitten back becomes a blade; every false kindness, a crack in the mask.
They think my silence is peace. They mistake stillness for gentleness, and my calm for control. But quiet waters hide their tempests. Every word bitten back becomes a blade; every false kindness, a crack in the mask.
October 5, 2025 at 5:03 PM
5. Show Me Your Fangs #VtM, #vamily, #monthofdarkness
They think my silence is peace. They mistake stillness for gentleness, and my calm for control. But quiet waters hide their tempests. Every word bitten back becomes a blade; every false kindness, a crack in the mask.
They think my silence is peace. They mistake stillness for gentleness, and my calm for control. But quiet waters hide their tempests. Every word bitten back becomes a blade; every false kindness, a crack in the mask.
I've started a thread on my profile sharing the entries I'm making to this
October 4, 2025 at 4:30 PM
I've started a thread on my profile sharing the entries I'm making to this
The truth burns, but it also binds; every time she uncovers another hidden thing, it pulls me a little closer to remembering why I wanted to live at all.
October 4, 2025 at 3:46 PM
The truth burns, but it also binds; every time she uncovers another hidden thing, it pulls me a little closer to remembering why I wanted to live at all.
She doesn’t know what I am. She can’t. And yet, when she looks at me with that sharp, unflinching gaze, I feel as if she does. In her eyes, I am not a monster…just another mystery begging to be solved. That’s why I can’t stay away.
October 4, 2025 at 3:46 PM
She doesn’t know what I am. She can’t. And yet, when she looks at me with that sharp, unflinching gaze, I feel as if she does. In her eyes, I am not a monster…just another mystery begging to be solved. That’s why I can’t stay away.
When she speaks, I hear echoes of the girl I once was…the one who thought truth could offer her salvation if she only looked hard enough. I paint the same way Gwen writes: obsessed, unrelenting, desperate to see what hides beneath the veil.
October 4, 2025 at 3:46 PM
When she speaks, I hear echoes of the girl I once was…the one who thought truth could offer her salvation if she only looked hard enough. I paint the same way Gwen writes: obsessed, unrelenting, desperate to see what hides beneath the veil.
4. My Touchstone #VtM, #vamily, #MonthofDarkness
Gwen Avery still believes the truth can save people. I envy her for that. She digs through blood and politics and power like a woman searching for a heartbeat in the grave.
Gwen Avery still believes the truth can save people. I envy her for that. She digs through blood and politics and power like a woman searching for a heartbeat in the grave.
October 4, 2025 at 3:46 PM
4. My Touchstone #VtM, #vamily, #MonthofDarkness
Gwen Avery still believes the truth can save people. I envy her for that. She digs through blood and politics and power like a woman searching for a heartbeat in the grave.
Gwen Avery still believes the truth can save people. I envy her for that. She digs through blood and politics and power like a woman searching for a heartbeat in the grave.
Perhaps I fight to prove I am more than the echo of another’s cruelty…that I can shape the darkness into something worth seeing.
October 4, 2025 at 12:53 AM
Perhaps I fight to prove I am more than the echo of another’s cruelty…that I can shape the darkness into something worth seeing.
I think I fight for that…the moment before revelation, the trembling instant when meaning threatens to make itself known. Every stroke I make, every secret I chase, is a defiance of the thing that took my name and left me Dirge.
October 4, 2025 at 12:53 AM
I think I fight for that…the moment before revelation, the trembling instant when meaning threatens to make itself known. Every stroke I make, every secret I chase, is a defiance of the thing that took my name and left me Dirge.
3. What I Fight For #VtM, #vamily, #MonthofDarkness
They say the dead have no purpose but persistence…that we linger only out of hunger, or hate. But I remember the brush in my hand, the first painting after the Embrace, when the colors bled like wounds across the canvas.
They say the dead have no purpose but persistence…that we linger only out of hunger, or hate. But I remember the brush in my hand, the first painting after the Embrace, when the colors bled like wounds across the canvas.
October 4, 2025 at 12:53 AM
3. What I Fight For #VtM, #vamily, #MonthofDarkness
They say the dead have no purpose but persistence…that we linger only out of hunger, or hate. But I remember the brush in my hand, the first painting after the Embrace, when the colors bled like wounds across the canvas.
They say the dead have no purpose but persistence…that we linger only out of hunger, or hate. But I remember the brush in my hand, the first painting after the Embrace, when the colors bled like wounds across the canvas.