JapaneseRedWolf

“Blondie? Hey blondie? You here?” the woman snuck through the shadows cast by the jagged rocks of the snowfields, looking for the blond swordsman she had asked to meet her there. Not that she actually expected him to show up, but she had to at least try to be hopeful. “Here,” his voice came from a hidden alcove near the frozen sands of an iced over shoreline. “You alone?” “Are you?” she approached cautiously, ready to either retreat or fight, but when he stepped into her view with a smirk on his face, she relaxed. "You are.” “How can you tell?” “You’re showing e

Because of what we are, we may never fit in. Because of what we believe in, we may never be accepted by others. Because of the symbol recognizing our faith, people say we worship a Devil. Because of the name of the followers, we are catagorized as evil. Does this make it right? Just because we seem different, does that give you the right to shun us from the world? Does it give you the right to keep us secluded? For past hundreds of years, we have been burned at the stake or drowned in a lake. We are the people of discovered inner power. We are people of Earth, of Air, of Water, Fire, and Spirit. We worship the Lord, and the Lady. W

My pentagram is not evil. My ways are not a sin. My god is not Satan, And murder is not my thing. I follow the old ways, Because now I won’t die. I follow many Gods and Goddess alike, And unlike in the past, Your murders are not considered right. No more can you burn us, No more can you drown us, No more can you murder us, Now we will stand and fight.

We are Wicca, We are not evil. We are hunted and burned by the church, Because we are different, Not in appearance, But in our beliefs. Our ways are different, Our minds are too, And because we don’t follow one god blindly, We are burnt alive, Burnt for something we didn’t do. They called us heretics, Witches and whores. Burnt at the stake for no faith in their lord. They call us evil when they burn us alive. They drown our children to see if they were right, If our children sink, Then they were good, But if they were to rise, To death is where they go. The church is our enemy, From no fault of our own. They ha