She’s got crystals on her windowsill,
Sage smoke curling like a lover’s thrill.
Moonstone in her pocket, amethyst near her bed,
Speaking with the stars, truths quietly fed.

She hums with the magic old souls in her veins,
Dances with the sunrise, laughs at the rain.
Got a tarot deck tucked in her velvet bag,
Reads her own future, let the skeptics nag.

She weaves her own story, each thread a spell,
A tapestry of whispers only time will tell.
With a heart full of secrets and a soul unbound,
She’s the mystic of the moment, where the lost are found.

The Alkemistress, etched in memory’s fire,
A mistress of magic, a craftor of desire.