Not Your Clown...

Selene traced a blackened fingertip over the sigils carved into her altar, whispering their names like a lover’s curse. The witches who had cast her out, who had left her broken and bleeding beneath the full moon, would soon choke on their own power. One by one, she would unravel them, steal the magic from their bones, leave their souls as hollow as the promises they once made. The first had already fallen—she had worn his voice like a second skin, spoken in his cadence, smiled with his lips as the others welcomed her back into their circle. They hadn’t even noticed he was missing. Not yet. But they would.