The Mourning Spell | Spell Oil

The Mourning Spell

Hold Space | Release Pain | Mourn with Magic

A spell for honoring death, in all forms.

In winter's hush where sorrows sleep,
she walks in frost where memories weep.
A witch who gathers ache & bone,
to stitch the grief you've never shown.

Leather binds the years gone past,
lace softens every shadow cast.
She brews a charm that grief can hold,
half tender-warm, half bitter-cold.

Vanilla ghosts the midnight air,
a sweetness laid on wounds left bare.
Pinecones crack with forest lore,
& apple peel curls evermore.

An acorn trembles in your palm,
a quiet seed of borrowed calm.
Menthol coils like winter's breath,
the chill that clears the sting of death.

Through thorn-lined paths she threads the way
so pain can bloom, then fall away.
Black roses crown the heart's despair,
their petals whisper, 'Leave it there.'

Where sorrow sinks into the ground,
mushrooms rise without a sound,
soft lanterns grown from spells you spilled,
a gentle proof that loss can build.

Hematite steadies shaking hands,
obsidian draws the shadowed strands.
They guard, they ground, they do not break,
iron allies for the heartache.

So, speak her name when nights turn long,
when mourning needs its sacred song.
Within her craft, the hurt can rest,
your sorrow finds a gentler nest.

By candle flame & winter's sigh,
she honors love, she honors why,
& in her magic, slow, divine,
your heart is freed, one thread at a time.

1 oz