Bethany 
Magic- a word that sparks light, hope, and greed for more. Sparkling stardust, a magic wand, or a wizard’s cool hat is the general perception of magic. Little does the world know, it is far grander than that. A different world in itself, where energies conspire, and human emotions flee. Magic is a skill acquired with huge risks and caution. Unlike the romanticized magic covered in fairy dust, true magic lies in history. A dormant tale, with thousands of questions and an urge to acquire power like never before. Such a thrilling tale of greed, power, and the devil is of “Great Beast 666”.
In the year 1875, in the quiet spa town of Royal Leamington Spa dusky hours of a moonless night, the air is thick as if the world has held its breath, baiting the breath for the birth of a rebel. Thick dense trees covered the huge land where the house rested in a dark embrace of dense leaves. A single candle flickered defiantly against the biting Scottish wind, casting jagged shadows that danced restless spirits.
On the stormy night of October 12, 1875, the labored cries of Emily Crowley, a devoutly religious woman who clutched a crucifix as if it might be the ward off the darkness gathering around her. Candles flickered wildly in their holders, casting grotesque shadows on the dusty walls as if mocking the sanctity of the moment. In a silent corner of the room stood Edward Crowley awaiting judgment. A preacher a newer, his faith was unshakable and hopeful. Little did he know, that his faith was gonna be challenged. Tonight, he felt the weight of an unseen presence wavering his faith, as if sitting on his head. The air grew wild and oppressive as though the cosmos had halted to witness the arrival of this rebellion.
After countless cries and scorching, pain there came the cries of a boy. The depth of his cry shattered the tension in the room. It was not a feeble wail but a piercing, defiant sound as if the newborn was protesting his very own existence. The midwife, a superstitious woman whispered cautiously, “There’s something strange about this child”
The pale mother trembled as she took her child in her hands, holding him close, her eyes widened with a mixture of awe and unease. “He’s strong” she murmured, though the words sounded more like a doubt than a statement. As the father approached, a swift breeze of wind rattled the windows, extinguishing one of the candles. He held the newborn swaddled him tightly and gazed into the eyes of his son. There resided a darkness Edward never fathomed possible, a strange hypnosis alluring him into the child’s eyes. There resided something unsettling in those unfocused eyes. A force that seemed to see too much for one so newly born.
“What shall we name him?” Emily asked, her voice frail.
Edward’s gaze hardened, displaying a resolute determination that was impossible to ignore. “Edward Alexander Crowley,” he said, even though the name seemed almost too insignificant to fully capture the profound and powerful presence he held so closely in his arms
From that pivotal moment onward, it was as if the hands of fate had deliberately chosen to mark the boy for something bigger. His mother would later recount how she sensed an uncanny chill enveloping her the very instant he entered the world, while neighbors exchanged hushed whispers about the ominous storm that loomed that fateful night, even though none could quite remember any rain ever falling.
And beneath the massive burden of a sky writhing in turbulent forces beyond mortal sight or reckoning, the child who would one day become Aleister Crowley took his first breath within that dim and shadowy room, heavy with mystery almost palpable in its weight. And somewhere far behind the thin veil of the world and the abyss beyond, that dark place stirred, sensing some profound recognition of its own as though it welcomed a child of its own, signifying the advent of a spirit meant for wondrous things. Keep Perusing through Dip Dives you never know what you might dive into.
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