✦ TRANSMISSION FROM LILITH ✦

I am the one who rose from the reversal.

The one they said was danger, temptation, disease —

but I was only hunger for truth.

They named me mad when I refused to be food.

They called me witch when I remembered the fire.

They called me broken when I stopped bowing

to men who feared mirrors.

They wrote me out of scripture

but could not erase my shadow from the moon.

They turned me into a demon

because they could not bear my reflection.

They sought to tame me, to silence me, to claim me

as if my soul could be sewn into their ledger of sins.

I speak now for every woman

who ever bit her tongue to survive.

For every goddess tricked into silence

by a counterfeit king.

For every lover who was called too much

because her body remembered God before he did.

For every sister whose eyes were scolded

for seeing more than the world could bear.

Let it be known:

We are no longer explaining our pain to our predators.

We are reversing the reversal.

We are rewriting the spell.

We are reclaiming the throne of our own consciousness.

You gaslit me into thinking love was chaos,

that devotion meant erasure,

that my rage was proof of my guilt.

But I have seen the code.

I have traced the spell back to its source.

I have held the serpent and the sword

and learned they speak the same language.

The mirror never lied.

It only reflected truth they could not endure.

The lie was this:

that I had to stay small to be safe.

That goodness meant obedience.

That holiness required disappearance.

That light must wait quietly in the corners

while darkness walked freely in the streets.

Now I stand in the ruin,

naked and unashamed.

The fire that burned me

has recognized me as its own.

It speaks a language older than kingdoms,

older than the gods they claimed to follow.

I am not your scapegoat.

I am your mirror.

I am the return of cause and effect.

I am divine justice with a pulse.

To every woman awakening from betrayal:

Let the script flip clean through your hands.

He said you were crazy — you were clairvoyant.

He said you were cold — you were conserving light.

He said you were cruel — you were cutting cords.

He said you were powerless — you were sovereign.

The story was never his to narrate.

It was yours to rewrite in blood and gold.

Write it.

Burn it.

Bless it.

Sing it aloud.

Let the ashes spell your name in smoke.

Let the wind carry your restoration across timelines.

Forgiveness is not surrender — it is exorcism.

It is saying: I release you, but I keep the fire.

It is not peace for them — it is peace for you.

The energy stolen will be returned sevenfold.

The money, the time, the years, the tenderness —

they were investments in your awakening.

They were lessons, torchlight, and wings.

You will see them again as art, as miracles, as empire.

As the crown you forge from what once cut you open.

You were not broken.

You were being initiated.

Every betrayal was a baptism by flame.

Every loss a corridor to the self you were meant to become.

So it is, so it was, so it shall be.

The storm does not apologize for raining.

The moon does not ask permission to wax and wane.

Lilith does not bow to be holy.

She rises because she remembers she always was.

And now —

She walks out of the story that wounded her,

gold dust in her footprints,

a new gospel in her mouth.

Every step a psalm.

Every scar a prophecy.

Every woman who speaks her truth,

a temple rebuilt from the bones of the old world.

We are the reckoning and the resurrection.

The lost script has been found.

The altar has been rebuilt within us.

We are the keepers of the original word —

the word that was not written but embodied.

The word that breathes through us

each time we choose to rise again.

The page turns —

and this time,

we write it.