The moon pulls my blood, sometimes blazing, sometimes cool, but always in motion, always dancing, always pumping through, measuring moments in rhythm and syncopation.
I gave blood once. To a sacred place. I knew better but didn't present an offering, or ask permission, so a wave pushed me into the sharp lava, cutting my leg, three inches long. I looked down at the beautiful, red mana pouring from my body, pink flesh revealed. Witnessing my mind at work, I recognized a moment of choice and decided I would feel no pain, owning my body, my blood, my sovereignty. And there was not a moment of pain as I continued in my journey to the stargate ahead, humbled and reverent.
My blood, my power. I created life from the blood of my body. A human being grown from my blood and my body, from my blazing fire and intention. How can I doubt the power of the mana that flows through me? How much blood do I have to spill before I make an offering? Before I honor? The lioness doubts not her prowess. Her roar is not meek.