(Because chemistry is cute until it explodes in your face.)
You ever cast a love spell so strong it works—and then immediately regret your manifestation? Yeah. Been there. Done that. Burned the altar.
Love is energy. Always has been. But nobody warns you that obsession vibrates on the same frequency as stupidity.
Back when I was still trying to save gods and reform demons, I thought “manifesting love” meant picturing perfection. Then perfection showed up shirtless, smirking, and allergic to accountability. The universe has a wicked sense of humor.
Here’s the truth no one wants to print on a candle: every love spell is a boomerang. You don’t attract what you want—you attract what you are. If you’re chasing validation, guess what? You’ll magnetize someone who needs a full-time audience. If you’re vibing on insecurity, prepare for a masterclass in emotional unavailability.
That’s not fate, it’s physics.
I once dated a man who thought “shadow work” meant making me do all his healing for him. Every argument ended with “you’re triggering my trauma,” like that was a plot twist and not a personality flaw. I finally realized the most powerful love spell isn’t for someone else—it’s the one that breaks your own patterns.
You want to conjure magic? Start with self-respect. You want to summon romance? Start with boundaries that don’t need translation.
Because the biggest myth in the cosmos is that love requires sacrifice. It doesn’t. It requires alignment. Anything that demands you dim yourself isn’t love—it’s extraction disguised as devotion.
And ghosting? That’s not a mystery; it’s an answer. The second someone disappears mid-sentence, the universe just deleted your homework for you. Don’t chase closure; the silence is the closure.
If someone truly wants to be in your orbit, they’ll stay through the retrogrades. Love that vanishes under pressure was never built for divine weather.
The real alchemy isn’t turning lead into gold—it’s turning heartbreak into sovereignty. It’s looking at the ashes and saying, “I didn’t lose love. I shed illusion.”
So yes, I’ve loved gods, wolves, warriors, and one charming lunatic who quoted poetry mid-betrayal. I’ve lit candles for every one of them. And every time the flame went out, it wasn’t rejection—it was graduation.
Now, I don’t cast spells for love. I embody it.
And anyone who can’t match the vibration? They feel it, they flinch, and they fade.
That’s not magic. That’s physics.
Join the Rebellion
For those who outgrew love spells and started conjuring empires.