# THE SPELL YOU CAN’T UNDO They dragged me through the village with scripture in their hands. They called me cursed by heaven for healing wounded men. I spoke to roots and rivers. I sang the sick to sleep. They feared the light inside me that stirred beneath the deep. I watched them bless the fire. I watched them bow their heads. They praised the gates of heaven while smoke climbed from the dead. The bell rang once. The shutters closed. The whole town held its breath. Far beyond the village, his heart heard what they’d done. You burned the good. You burned the kind. You blessed the flame and called it divine. You stole my breath. You woke his will. He is the spell you can’t undo. He crossed the frozen country with powder on his hands. He slept beneath the winter pines and woke at the ravens’ cries. He learned the patience of the blade, how silent death can be, how fire bends against the wind, how men fall to their knees. He came home. He came home. He came home through the winter with iron at his side. He found no wife to meet him— only ash where I had died. He split the doors of those who judged me, dragged them through the snow. He bound them to the belfry posts and watched the black flames grow. The bells swung wild above their screams. The smoke swallowed every name. The hands that fed my fire were first to feed the flame. You burned the good. You burned the kind. You blessed the flame and called it divine. You stole my breath. You woke his will. He is the spell you can’t undo. No stone was set above me. No cross bore out my name. Only black earth by the church and ash beneath the rain. He stood before the doorway where judgment had been made. His knife hissed through the oak grain, cutting deep through shame. He carved our name in the church-door grain. Deep through the wood. Deep through the shame. Past prayer. Past law. Past holy blame. He left them all our name. No rain could scour it from the door. No priest could scrape it clean. No hand would touch the letters cut where judgment once had been. And every night the village heard his footsteps rake the snow. Not fast. Not loud. Just near enough for every soul to know. You burned the good. You burned the kind. You blessed the flame and called it divine. You stole my breath. You woke his will. He is the spell you can’t undo. I asked for peace. You chose the fire. I gave you mercy. You built the pyre. He came home carrying war. You gave him grief. And grief remembers what men believe. You burned the good. You burned the light. You crowned yourselves with holy lies. You burned my body. Not my will. He is the spell you can’t undo. Smoke still rises where I stood. Our name still sleeps inside the wood. He came home looking for his wife. You gave him war. He gave it back.
