“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet…” – Shakespeare

And yet, darling, isn’t it curious how we hold this to be true of flowers but not of women?

A woman who could heal was called a witch.
A woman who enjoyed her body was labeled an adulteress.
A woman who spoke her truth—a bitch.
A woman who dared to lead—too much.

Speak when spoken to.

Be pretty. Be quiet. Be good.

History didn’t just rewrite women. It erased them.

Wise women. Midwives. Herbalists. Visionaries. Elders.
Once revered as the keepers of knowledge, they were hunted in the name of fear. Branded heretics. Burned as witches. Recast as villains in stories written by those who feared their power.

But the truth?
They were medicine.
They were a mystery.
They were free.

And now, we are remembering.

✦ Step Through the Looking Glass ✦

I've always found it amusing how one person’s prayer is another’s spell.
 Prayer. Chant. Incantation. Spell.
 All are simple pleas whispered into the void, reaching toward something unseen—hope, clarity, healing. One is sacred, the other sacrilege? The irony is almost poetic.

For centuries, hands that folded in reverence were the same that cast stones at anyone who dared to reach for the divine in their own way.

But now—now we stand at the precipice of something extraordinary.