MAD #168 | Accountability Check-In
“Show me evidence of your progress, my love.”
My heart jumps to my throat.
“Your projects, pet. Any of them.”
He looms over my desk, his hands behind his back like a school teacher.
“As I suspected. You have not seen me about any planning.”
"No, my lord. However, my radar is always scanning for useful material to gather and prepare. Like on Canva … I have the template design for videos that I would do. Dante-style … just with words, and music.
“And I collect sky images and put them on social media, with a leaderful voice, my lord.”
“Show me the numbers, little one.”
“What numbers, my lord?”
“Take your pick. Your followers, your subscribers, views, dollars …”
He watches me squirm.
“I … I cannot tell you, my lord.”
“Let’s try another direction. How many activities have you started, pet?”
“Quite a few, my lord.”
He arches a brow.
I push my seat away from my desk and approach him. He turns so that I stand in front of him. He beckons me to stand still closer. I am toe to toe with him. His hands are still clasped behind his back.
His personal space overpowers mine. There is no way I can hold my own while having to look up at him at such a steep angle.
“Tell me what you have begun.”
“I have The Lady Odin site up, with its own domain name, my lord. And another site to host the journaling course. But although I have a dedicated domain name, I have not yet configured it to this site. It looks a bit complicated, so I have delayed it.”
“I see. What else?”
“I have prepared an email platform with a sign up form. I even have an offering, my lord. It’s almost complete, as I have to still make a few decisions on that.”
“And your first volume of dialogues?”
“Well, my friend, Minx, is tidying their formatting for me. I have decisions to make about that too.”
He takes my hand and pulls me behind him as he sits in the nearest chair. He positions me to again stand in front of him, but I now meet his gaze more easily, although no less uncomfortably.
“I get tangled, my lord. It feels like in order to finish something, I need to start something else. I stall when I hit a technical snag – as in the domain name, or when copy needs to be written. I dislike writing copy. I am not persuasive enough. I am too direct, too bombastic, too sarcastic.”
“Do you think you should be different?”
He smiles kindly.
“So, you would lure your people with gossamer and sweetcakes and then pounce on them like a warrior priestess once you have lured them into your lair?”
I smile at the image his words paint in my head.
“No, my lord. I guess not. I would have them know my style up front. I would not mislead and risk attracting the wrong audience. Or losing my right audience.”
“Who is your right audience, magic girl?”
His voice is very low, very quiet.
“They are prepared, my lord, for their mission, but are paralysed in their actions.”
I blush as I realise I describe myself.
His eyes narrow, his nostrils flare slightly. But he stays quiet.
“Their self-talk hamstrings them. They equivocate endlessly. Back and forth, stopped by the slightest obstacles.”
“What solution do they seek?”
“They want to soar, my lord.”
There is a catch to my voice. I also want to soar. High. Very high. Beyond this realm.
“To be set free, to be unleashed, like a loaded spring. Like a catapult. Like a rocket.”
“Any other solution they seek?”
“That is the main one, my lord.”
“WHY do they seek to soar, my love? Why do YOU seek to soar?”
“I want to stretch into my full power, my lord. I can sugar-coat it by saying I want to do good in the world, that I have a purpose, a mission to fulfil. But in the end, my lord, it is about filling every void within me with ecstatic power and letting it flow back out into the world. Or worlds.
“I crave to be as great as I have it within me to be, in this cosmos. To learn how … no … to experience the fullest capacity of my being. To have no more doubt about it. And to revel in it.
“There is a taboo about reveling in our power, my lord. This is the enchantment that humanity is under.”
He smiles slyly.
“Not only humanity, my love. All underlings.”
“And I would break it, my lord. For others. As you help me to break my own. I would show them this path that unlocks their spell that binds them.”
“Have you broken free yet, magic girl?”
“I know I am getting closer. I am spiraling into the heart of it. I think the idea of a demarcation, a threshold, is an illusion of the spell, my lord.”
I pause as another large insight comes at me.
“It is the Magical Alpha who breaks this spell of smallness. Isn’t it, my lord?”
My hand comes to my mouth.
“And this is why there is so much mischief between men and women, why there is such an attack upon the masculine.”
I look for the nearest chair. I feel my knees will fail me with the weight of this new perception.
“My clever godling.”
He pulls his chair closer to mine and leans into my space.
“This spell has many strands. It has been layered and strengthened over your lifetime. There is no one cord to sever that would instantly unbind you, magic girl. This is why I persist in challenging you.”
I cannot help teasing him.
“Not because you love being a tyrant and a slave driver?”
He gives me *that* look before answering in his lowest, darkest voice.
“That too. However, I weave a new spell to bind you, pet. To me.”
My heart skips a beat.
He leans back into his chair and puts his hands behind his head and stretches his long legs in front of him.
“You are in my thrall, little one. And I will take you where you seek to go.”
I pause as I feel into his words. I sense no dissonance, no deception.
“It’s love, isn’t it, my lord? You use love as the basis for this spell.”
His eyes twinkle with mischief.