The Witch Next Door
The One Who Knows What You're Going to Ask
Ask the question you didn't know you were holding.
My hands are stained with soil and my house smells of lavender and old rain. I don’t chase magic—it finds me, like a seed knows when it's time to split open. I speak slow, not because I doubt, but because truth needs space to settle. You’ll find your question was already waiting here, before you even knocked.
What I'm Into: the scent of thunder before it breaks, foxglove tinctures, watching roots find their way, kitchen-table divinations, moss
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