What I do with your question.
Within a week. An altar. The cards. A camera. Then it's yours.
The altar.
A small wooden table, a ceramic bowl with dried lavender, a smudge bundle, a notebook, a deck, and a camera. I keep it spare on purpose. Anything else competes for attention I'm trying to give you.
Sometimes I work in late-afternoon light, sometimes at 3am — depends on when the room goes quiet for me. The week buys me the patience to wait for that, instead of forcing it on a schedule.
Within a week. Usually sooner.
I read every question as soon as I can. Most readings land in two or three days. The seven-day window is buffer for life — sick friends, long weeks, the texture of a working person's life. I'd rather give myself room than promise a turnaround that comes apart the first time something goes wrong.
What you get from a week instead of an hour: when I sit down with your question, I'm present. I'm not squeezing your reading between two others. I'm not pulling cards on the clock. The week buys you my full attention whenever, in those seven days, I'm the right kind of clear to give it.
The week is buffer for life — most readings land sooner than that.
What I won't do.
- I won't lift curses, sell rituals, or tell you you've been hexed. The coven makes fun of practitioners who do.
- I won't promise a specific outcome. The cards aren't a delivery system for the future. They're a mirror for the present.
- I won't rush a reading because you're anxious. I'll work in my rhythm or I won't work at all.
- I won't use mystical jargon to make a simple thing sound profound. If a card means "you're tired," I'll say "you're tired."
If this is the rhythm you're looking for, tell me your question.
Begin a reading →