Underworld Gate (evocation)
Leave your costume name at the threshold; keep only the one that aches.
Unclasp the small god of control from your throat.
If you fear the cost—turn back.
Lay down the script where you never bleed.
Open your hands; let the clever fall through.
If you fear the shedding—turn back.
No mirrors past this marker.
No kinder light to flatter you.
No bargains, no witnesses, no show.
No ladder back to easy.
If you fear the Crown of After—turn back.
At the iron gate the keeper weighs what’s true—
hunger without disguise, promise without pleading, vow with bone in it.
You lose the practiced sweetness that hides a leash,
the comfort that keeps you small,
the mask that asks to be adored,
the story where you’re always right.
You go in with your shaking and your teeth.
You come out changed—or not at all.
If you fear the cost, the shedding, the Crown of After—turn back.
I carry keys that do not flatter. I don’t discount the rite.
Come willing to be remade—steady, bare, and honest—
or keep your daylight pretty and stay outside the door.
I do not call the timid.
I call only the brave.
Offer whatever name you wish to be known by at the hearth today — real or imagined — we look forward to welcoming your words into the circle.
