Part 2: The Cost of Magic
Alice and the Full Worm Moon
The Cost of Magic
Alice stood beneath the full Worm moon, admiring her work. Lines sprawled across the dirt in an intricate, interlocking web. She incorporated some symbols from books on the craft, painstakingly studying their meanings. Others came through intuition, an instinct born from lineage.
First, she drew a six-foot circle. Inside, she placed a clear quartz crystal stained with blood. Outside the circle, she sketched the moon through its phases.
Protection, reflection, binding. Old magic.
Within the circle, she cut sharp angles across the dirt—fractures in glass, intersecting at key points through a scattering of salt. Deep-cut lines spiraled outward from the center, creating rivets—directing energy like flowing water.
Her patience and planning were finally about to pay off.
Under the full worm moon, the sigils seemed to shimmer with electricity. Alice traced the air above them. They pulsed softly as a dark shadow slid slowly over the moon.
This was it. No turning back. The eclipse had begun.
Alice ceremoniously lit small bowls of herbs strategically placed around the circle. Once complete, she carefully navigated back to the center. Picking the crystal up and cupping it in her hands, she spoke the spell precisely, with intention sharp as a finely honed blade.
Shadowed moon/ stolen light
Bend the stars/ eclipse the night.
Bind his tongue/ unravel lies
Strip the mask behind his eyes.
Let him witness the pain he has sown.
Let him choke on the lies he has grown.
Moon above, and Earth, below.
Seal his fate.
He reaps, he sows.
By my will and by this fire,
Let him fall by his desire.
Waxing, waning, full and free,
Turn his fate so mote it be.
As Alice spoke the last line, the wind surged. The flames flickered aggressively. The spell took hold—she could feel it deep in her soul.
The air vibrated.
Magic surged.
She could feel it wrapping around her, flowing through her bones. Molten. Alice closed her eyes, letting the satisfaction settle in. She had spent years crafting this moment—aligning every thread of intention with the lunar cycles, ensuring there was no way out. He would suffer. He would know how it felt to suffocate under the weight of his lies.
He would finally feel what it meant to be powerless, to be undone.
The worm moon turned blood red in the moments during the full eclipse. Miles away, he was mid-sentence—probably telling a lie—when his throat seized. It started as a clenching, tightening with every breath. His pulse pounded in his ears. Panic clawed at his ribs. He staggered, gasping, eyes darting wildly for an escape from a threat he couldn’t see.
It wasn’t happening outside of him.
It was inside.
Twisting his emotions—taking the words from his mouth before they had formed.
Then something shifted.
The sigils pulsed erratically in warning. Alice’s stomach clenched. Something was wrong. The wind stirred, lifting her hair. Sigils flared, a live wire searing her vision, sending heat up her arm, and blistering her skin.
Alice screamed, staggering backward, as a fire burned beneath the flesh from her hand to her elbow.
Her body hit the dirt, sending dust swirling from the scorched Earth. After a minute, she sat up, and forced herself to look at the ugly burn. The charred skin stretched from her palm to her forearm—dead, already peeling at the edges.
Now numb. A scar. A lasting reminder.
The moon emerged from the Earth’s shadow, cold and pitiless. The spell had worked, but there is always a price for magic. Alice, too confident in her craft, had forgotten to research the cost.
Was it worth it? Probably. Still, next time, she will remember to do a price check.
Part One: The Ninth Harmonic
Justin delivered the Polaroid camera and hand mirror as requested, even though he wasn’t exactly gracious about it. He lit up when he saw Lily’s reaction. The writer/director/producer thought his finds were brilliant.