The warm scent of orange blossom that had left the windows ajar and caressed the page of the Rede had been the signal. Her ethical code had been accepted, and now the energy was ready to be channeled. Belinda felt charged and strangely calm, as if the oath written in the Grimorie had aligned every nerve in her body.
The house was strangely quiet, an emptiness that Belinda no longer saw as an absence, but as a sacred and protected space. The days after Christmas passed happily amidst Frank Sinatra's songs and family gatherings. They were golden, red, and true days, typical of the holiday season, but the urgency of the rite was growing within Belinda.
The time was ripe for the consecration. The Grimorie had been opened, and many pages would be filled throughout the journey, but it was important to have started with the Rede and a prayer to the Goddess. The Red Notebook awaited its new role as the "Mirror Book," and there was the Wand. She hadn't wanted to buy anything new, faithful to the principle of "handmade and with soul." The Wand was a gnarled, thin branch, cleaned and smoothed, gathered from her lemon tree—the same one that had hosted the blackbird.
The living room became her temple, a place to consecrate herself and the tools she had gathered. She moved the sofa and the central table, clearing a large space in the center of the room.
She set up the altar on the old family chest of drawers, which had witnessed generations of births and sorrows, placing the elements of the rite. In the center, framed by dried bay leaves, she placed the Pentacle carved with a small knife, which now resembled the seal on the first page of the Grimorie. To her left, she placed the terracotta bowl with the mix of scented oils of lavender and rosemary, chosen for their ability to purify and increase awareness. To her right, the censer. She lit the charcoal, and soon the dense, resinous smoke of myrrh—the resins Anna had given her at Christmas—filled the living room, veiling the sun's rays in a sacred atmosphere. In front, she arranged the three central objects of the ritual: the Grimorie, the Red Notebook, and the Lemon Wand.
Then, she went down to the beach, collecting twelve smooth, gray stones that reminded her of the shoreline where she had read the prayers. Returning upstairs, she drew an imaginary circle on the floor with chalk, and on that perimeter, she placed the stones, softly reciting her formula of protection. The stones were her boundary, her shield against the outside, and the container for her energy.
Belinda sat cross-legged within the circle, closing her eyes and breathing deeply the smoke of the myrrh.
She began by invoking the four elements. She imagined the Fire of passion and transformation, the Water of healing and intuition (Azzurra's realm), the Earth of stability and root (Caterina's realm), and the Air of thought and knowledge (Anna's realm).
She picked up the large binder. She passed it three times through the smoke, then touched it with the scented oil. She whispered the words of her intent: "For the memory of Caterina, for my strength, and for the destiny of Azzurra, I create you. Be my will and my law." She felt a dull resonance, as if the covers were vibrating.
She did the same with the small notebook. "Be my light in the shadow, my map in the oniric realm. Guard the secrets of the blood and the visions of the future. Be my mirror."
Finally, she raised the wand, no longer a simple piece of wood. She briefly dipped it in the oil and passed it over the smoke. "From the heart of the Earth and the breath of the Blackbird, I animate you. Be my direction, my protection, and my action. May you direct energy, but never harm the innocent." It was the final act of union with the elements of her land.
When she opened her eyes, the smoke was dissipating. The living room was the same, but the objects on the chest of drawers were no longer "things," but charged tools, ready for use. The circle of stones seemed to pulse slightly on the marble floor. Belinda felt drained, yet powerfully centered. The shadow of the ancestors was now closer, not just an echo, but a breath.
As she gathered the stones to dismantle the circle, she saw a reflection on the cabinet glass. It was Azzurra's face, smiling, drawn in the center of the dust made visible by the sun. Belinda smiled. It was the first sign. It was not a spell, but a blessing, the confirmation that the energy of the mavara was now interwoven with that of the mother.
She prepared to put everything back, but she froze. On the cover of her Grimorie, right beneath the blue unicorn, there was a dark spot. It wasn't a coffee stain. It looked like ink, but she hadn't used any. It was an unknown symbol, traced with elegant handwriting, almost a scratch.
A cold shiver ran down Belinda's spine, replacing the warmth of the rite. That symbol was not hers. Someone, or something, had left a mark on her Grimorie. The magic had begun.