As she sat in her room

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When she aimed for the sky, she didn't know that she will be falling hard over and over again before she could actually fly. 

She sat in her room with a mind so twisted, not catching a breath. A pain in the heart, a bullet in the brain. 
not a bullet of iron or poison, but a thought: why me. 

She wondered, it's been a while now, she's asking this question: Why should I live through this? Why was the sky and beyond my deepest desire? and the answer now is clearer.

It's freedom. She longed to be free.

Freedom was her fantasy. Because, you see, having all the powers in the world would not set you free. Knowing it all will not set you free. Truth can never set you free. To be free is to be careless. But if you care, then you're a prisoner, contained in fear. 

And she is never free. She thought that perhaps if she could learn all the spells in the world, then she could free herself. That she can finally break away from the chains that keep her broom grounded. But little did she know that with every spell, she's the one grounding herself in the low. 

How can she erase the knowledge? For every experience lived, and every spell thought, has formed her, forged her into the person she is today. Into a wicca. And, a wicca's destiny is to get burned by the weight of truth.

And so, as she sat in her room, she cried and cried and cried. For all the pains, all the loss, all the breakings, all the effort gone to waste. She also cried for her loved ones and their pain.

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