Chapter 4
Aweek has passed, and during that time I’ve dreamt every night.
Arousing dreams of hands, mouths, cocks - all worshiping me.
I’ve found myself yearning for it to be real instead of just wishful pleasures my subconscious has made up.
I’ve made excellent use of my new toy since it arrived, but it doesn’t come close to giving me the fulfillment I need.
These dreams have made desires deep within me, desires I didn’t realize I even had, surge to the surface, and they are quickly becoming needs.
I want what these dreams have offered, what they’ve made me long for. What I don’t know is how to make that happen. Since I don’t, I try my best to push the thoughts out of my mind and concentrate on my remodel.
The house is slowly transforming into what I envisioned when I first saw it. I’ve cleaned and organized, painted and stained. I’ve decorated and started to fill each room with my belongings, new and old. I’m doing it, and I’m doing it on my own.
This house is becoming all I dreamed it would be, and I couldn’t be more pleased.
I’m standing in the bathroom attached to my bedroom, making notes, taking measurements, and making a plan for the changes and updates I want to make when my doorbell chimes.
I check the security feed from the alarm system I had installed to see that a delivery driver has placed a package on the front porch.
By the time I get there and open the door, he is gone, and I see nothing but the dust kicked up by the big brown truck he drove.
I pick up the package, curious, as I wasn’t expecting anything. I don’t recognize the return address label, and that just serves to make me even more curious.
Carrying the box into the kitchen, I reach for a knife from the butcher block and carefully cut the packing tape. I peek inside and am pleased to see a book. But when I look at the title, my heart begins to race, and white noise echoes loudly in my ears.
“So you think you’re a witch…” I read the title aloud as I stare at the black book with gold-foil lettering and designs.
It’s gorgeous, and upon further inspection, I realize the main symbol and border designs match the triquartra on my house key.
I don’t know why, but I’m hesitant to pick it up.
Yet it is calling me, urging me to do just that.
The moment my fingers brush the beautiful hard cover, I feel a barrage of energy surge through me.
It begins in my fingertips and then roars to life throughout the rest of my body.
It is mystical, magical, powerful, and quite surreal in its reverence.
It’s as if thousands of years of knowledge are infused into my very being in a matter of seconds.
My head begins to spin, and dizziness makes me lightheaded. The world slowly goes dark, and I feel my body begin to fall.
I wake on the kitchen floor, the cold, hard tile offering relief to my body.
I still feel as if I’m on fire from the overload of energy forced into the essence of my mind, body, and soul.
I’m completely drained, but at the same time, I have the undeniable knowledge that unmitigated power now resides within me.
It is new and foreign, but at the same time familiar in ways I cannot understand.
I try to sit up, but it’s a struggle, and it takes me a bit to do so, my limbs heavy, weighted.
With my back against the cabinets of the marble countertop island, I try to process what just happened.
My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath.
My mouth is dry, and I’m desperate for a glass of water to quench my thirst.
“Water,” I croak out, “dear God, I need some water.”
At that moment, the kitchen faucet turns on, and water gushes out in full force. Confusion and panic flood my body as I stare at the steady stream. I tremble as I slowly pull myself up and stand, leaning against the counter, my eyes never leaving the sink.
I’m frightened, and I don’t understand what has just happened. Timidly, I step over to the sink and turn off the faucet.
“I had to have imagined that, right? That didn’t just happen.
” I try my best to swallow the lump of fear in my throat, but I can hardly do so because I still need a drink.
I grab a tumbler from the cabinet and fill it with cold water, downing two full glasses before I feel I’ve taken care of my thirst. Then I turn and stare at the open box on my counter, the book inside calling to me like a homing beacon.
I have no idea where it came from or why it ended up in my possession, but somehow, I know the book belongs to me, that it was meant for me. I haven’t even taken it out of the box yet. With what happened when I barely touched it, I’m apprehensive at the thought of actually holding it.
When I peek inside the box, my eyes widen in astonishment.
The book looks the same - black, gold foil - but the title is now different.
It now simply reads, “Ashworth” in that same beautiful scroll.
Something is happening here beyond my comprehension.
Fear and curiosity war within me, and I take a deep breath to steel myself for what I’m about to do.
“C’mon, Sadie,” I say out loud. “You’re not chicken shit. You’ve never been chicken shit. Get it together and pick up the damn book.”
One more deep breath as I gather my courage, and I grab the book before I can change my mind.
Nothing happens this time except a sense of calm slowly flowing through my body, a warm river of peace.
For the first time since I touched it, I breathe easily.
When I open it, an inscription begins to appear on the title page, one word at a time, and I read the paragraph over and over to try to make sense of what it says.
“You’re a witch. A hereditary witch. This Book of Shadows has been passed down through generations of your family, each adding spells, incantations, and experiences to the book.
It is your heritage, just as your magic is your heritage, just as this house is your heritage.
Read it. Learn it. Live it. Love it. Add to the book. Blessed be.”
My heart races. I do not know my family - my blood relatives. I was given up for adoption at birth. A closed adoption; my parents were only able to tell me one thing about the circumstances.
My last name was never to be changed by my adoptive family. Now I stand here, staring at this book with the newfound knowledge of why that was.
I’m an Ashworth. I’m a witch.