Citrine is a magic maven, owner of a world-renowned mystical occult shop, Rosetta's Magick, in New Orleans. Her shop houses traditional and rare magical supplies and curios, as well as a variety of coveted antiques that allegedly hold acute historically magical components. All she's really missing is the Holy Grail. But where do all of these gorgeous antiques and extremely rare pieces come from? The answer to this seems to be connected to an eerie and ominous locked cellar in the shop's basement that's off limits to all but herself. What lies behind the Cellar Door, and why is she the only one with access to it? Read a bit of Citrine's backstory below to get a glimpse of who she is...and what the answer to that question just might be.
The night faded away as the sun rolled over me, a slow exhale inching across my skin. As the Earth woke, it called me to it, like a serene beckoning to another day here. It almost felt as if the elements were smiling at me, and I wanted nothing more than to explore this perfect day in beauty and solitude. I arose and stretched into the morning, so anxious for everything that was awaiting me.
Standing to my feet, my soles pressed against the hardwood floor, refreshingly cold in contrast to the summer heat. The floor boards sang soprano and gave weight to my existence for the first time that day. My fingers pulled against the heavy lace that tried its best to shield the room from the rays of the sun. A flood of light burst wildly from behind the curtains, pouring itself unyieldingly over each surface, thrusting against my eyes in a stinging kiss. The sensation was startling and sleep was nowhere near me now. I secured the drapes open with a satin rope and turned to see all that was around me, harshly revealed in a wash of light.
Its warmth and burning luminosity tugged at me in ways that transcended the comprehension of my intellect, but my soul and the body that housed it understood. A force that made me feel weightless guided me outside, guided me to bask beneath the awaiting Sol streams.
I walked towards the bedroom's exit, passed the golden pecan-colored dresser and the matching framed mirror that hung above it on an eggshell-colored wall, tossing a pleasant, evaluating glimpse to the reflection that quietly floated by. I walked through the kitchen and the floor tiles were slick in comparison to the solid grip I'd felt before. The screen across the front door swung open against the force of my palm, and my heart strained for the slightest moment as the overwhelming light of the sun coated and cradled all of me. I stretched my face to the sky, suddenly more aware of my empty palms, harnessing an amazed invitation for such a blessing of beauty that the portal in my chest swallowed up.
I pitter-pattered down the wooden steps, its grey paint warm and sticky under me, then finally I made contact with the Earth, green blades of grass bending under my feet, stretching upward through my toes. I was so happy here. I belonged here, in the Earth. The yard was long and wide and as green as the truest, untainted Love. Trees hovered and danced for me, their rhythm slight, and perfect. Walking around the side of the house, my garden came into view, and I wanted nothing more than to taste and ingest what I was feeling. The oranges were ripening nicely on their tree, and a part of me was still in awe of my successfully growing fruit. This garden was my second, and I regretfully killed more produce than I'd like to mention last summer. My nurturing skills were still developing, and in more ways than one. I pressed my bare knees into the grass and placed my palms inside the garden soil. I closed my eyes and inhaled ever-so-gently as I made the contact. The soil around the base of my hands and fingers started to glow a golden auburn color, almost as if it were liquid copper. I slowly felt the heat inch up my forearms and biceps, my shoulders then throughout my entire body, a tingling empowering buzz encapsulating all of my vessel while simultaneously sending me into a state of natural euphoria. I heard a low hum expel from the depths of my human body as the light reached the tips of my toes, kissing every atom in my body. As the charge completed I slowly opened my eyes as the waves of the world solidified, and I was here again. Planet Earth. Slowly lifting my hands, now buzzing with cool electricity, I ascended from my knees and reached for the orange tree that lined the right side of the garden, hiding just the edge of it in a cool, sheltering shadow. I plucked an orange from the tree and it sank satisfyingly large, plump and heavy in my hand.
I then walked to the side of the house where I turned on the water hose and hydrated all of wherefrom my fruit came, making sure my succulent Earth babies hungered and thirsted not. Turning the hose back off, I walked to the front of the house and plopped down in the grass, my legs fantastically naked and free against it, softly caressed by the breeze. My fingers sank into the orange, ceremoniously breaking the skin, digging deep into the meat that would nourish me. Laying down in the middle of the yard I stared at the sky and bit down into the sweet fruit, my amazement still flowing. The juices ran down my chin and it felt perfect. Breakfast in the sun on a bed of grass while mundane responsibilities were the furthest thing from my mind. I finished the fruit and licked my fingers clean trotting up the stairs back to the kitchen. The screen swung open and slapped shut behind me as I entered the kitchen once more, tossing the fruit's remains in the compost beside the island counter. My eyes caught sight of the glowing green numbers on the stove. It was 8am and reality was setting in. Rosetta’s my antiques and occult shop wasn't going to run itself.
As much as I would have loved the day to drag along and only belong to me, it pained me to realize the rarity of such occasions. This life is beauteous and robust with endless additions to myself, to this still, solid, quiet solitude, to this sanctuary. But I guess paradise doesn't exist without an opposition, a balance, a sacrifice. My lips made a loud, kiss-like sound as I used them to clean the rest of my fingers of the orange remnants. I picked my sticky fingers through my afro and was shower bound. By 10am I'd have to be in the city, and reality-ready in front of a marble counter and curious patrons galore. I was eager to see what this day would consist of.