Dear Muggle!

“Dear Muggle, That’s Not a Crystal — That’s My Ward Against You.”

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but when you walk into a witch’s home and start touching things — you’re playing a dangerous game.

And no, Becky, that’s not “just a cool rock.” That’s obsidian, and it’s been charged to keep assholes like you from draining my energy like you drain your boyfriend’s bank account every full moon.

Let’s make this simple.

If it’s black and shiny?

Don’t touch it.

If it’s next to a candle and smells like grave dirt?

Absolutely don’t touch it.

If it’s on an altar?

You’re already cursed, sweetie. Just sit down and accept your fate.

I didn’t sprinkle black salt on the threshold for decoration. I did it to keep your confused, crystal-appropriating, essential-oil MLM energy out of my damn space.

And while we’re at it — no, I’m not going to “read your vibe” or tell you if your ex is coming back. Your vibe is chaotic, and your ex left for a reason. Go home and stage a séance with your self-esteem.

My home is not a museum of weird witchy things for you to giggle at while holding your pumpkin spice latte.

It’s a fortress of shadow. A sanctuary of power. A hex-ready haven of NOPE.

So the next time you enter a witch’s space and reach for something that’s humming louder than your brain?

Maybe ask yourself:

Am I about to die… or just lose all my luck for the next seven years?

Either way, Brenda… don’t touch my rocks.

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