Horns locked, teeth bared, flesh torn limb from limb

The saddest thing I have seen in the magical world is when two magicians disagree, falling into loathing and hatred. Then the summoning and casting is directed in anger and spite to whoever deity will listen and draw up the winds. When I performed my rite uniting Pan and Baphomet there was a genuine need within me to realign the universe and balance the scales. As successful as it was the edges are tinged with pain. I threw a rock into the dark waters so their would not be any ripples. So why must this echo come back to me and stand before me dripping wet? Dark, yes. Silent, no. He shouts and screams at me showing me my success. Everything he writes tortures me with the knowledge I succeeded in my task.Why then does it still hurt? I wanted this, I needed this. Magicians beware of your successes.

What mars the work and stains the page is the hesitation drawn from the sight and sound of it walking in my room. It is easy to make light of evocation and believe they will not come but when the mind is full of shadows and every corner is filled from ceiling to floor with shapes and forms of something sinister and all I can do is listen for their murmurings and inwardly scream. I digest the manifestation and draw random illustrations to accompany the scratchings made by my pen.