Afraid of Magic

Sarah explained the situation to Madame Papillon. With a sweep of her hand over the wicks of the candles, they lit and the dark room was illuminated with a warm light, unlike the inside of Sarah.
“I thinkin’ we shauld readin’ ya fortune past an’ see wha ol’ Georgie bean up ta,” the voodoo queen breathed.
Sitting across from her majesty, Sarah inhaled and nodded in agreement.

A deck of her fortune was shuffled and as the cards rustled ‘round, Sarah thought about what she was doing here. She could’ve just talked to George, asked him why he wasn’t responding to her passive words and actions. Instead, she was asking for the help of magic. Of a kind that she wished she could talk herself out of believing, but the fear she was experiencing was too strong to deny—of course she knew that magic was real. Of course, just as her mother explained to her as a small child, that it could be helpful and also dangerous, that it took her aunt on the hottest summer night many years ago in the light of selfishness & rituals.

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