I finished my succubus painting (on a 4 foot by 2 foot canvas). As my final step, I wanted to add my blood into the irises of the painting. In essence; desiring to ‘give life’ and my own personal vitality to the painted imagery of the succubi. A tribute to all of their kind. Unlike other paintings in the past in which I’ve added my blood, my purpose was completely different this time.

 

 

       In the many times past I’ve used blood as an integrated-signature. This time however, for specifically this painting, the addition of blood was made with deliberate intention. I wanted them, or her, or whoever it was that whispered, whichever being that heard me at the tree… to know that this act was for them. Not for myself (not a signature). It was a gift, a way to honor them, while I enjoyed the boons of looking upon the finished work myself. ⁣

　⁣

　⁣

       Something unexpected happened this time however. Something that had never happened in the past. As I stood painting, after dipping my brush into the bleeding wound and applying it into the irises. My vision began to blur, black spots began to spark and fade on the canvas before my sight, then my body began to heat up. Rapidly heat up.

 

 

       So hot! And it came in rolling waves that never lessened between each wave. I began to sweat, I could feel prickling ripples across my back. My mind became fuzzy, like cotton, and I started to feel ‘far away’ like my mind & vision was walking backwards, leaving my body standing still as I watched it drift away. The darkness around my periphery began to press inward. ⁣

　⁣

　⁣

       But I continued painting despite the strangeness, trying to ‘force’ myself to recenter focus and complete the work. Applying new coats, new brush strokes. But when I became too dizzy and too far away to stand, I sat down on a nearby chair, reaching my arm up and continued painting. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t understand nor process why I was feeling this way, but I was insistent on completing the painting. I saw the painting stretched out before me, my arm uplifted, brush extended, and then… blackness. A void of nothingness.⁣

　⁣

　⁣

       The next time I saw anything; I was lying on the floor, propped upright in the corner of the kitchen, on the opposite end of the room from which the painting was still resting on the easel. I have no memory of how I got there, nor how much time had passed; only that I was there then, unsure why or how.

 

 

       I also recalled the ‘feeling & emotion’ of the final moment just before I blacked-out, and it was the same feeling I had when coming-to and struggling to stand up; Power. Not my power, but something else’s. Someone else’s Power had overcome me as I began painting my blood into the irises. So-much-so that I must have been overwhelmed and passed out as a result of it? ⁣

　⁣

　⁣

       As for my own personal emotion; it could only be described as ‘fear.’ Not fearful for myself, but rather; I was respectfully-afraid of how much power I had felt in that moment. Power that didn’t belong to me. I hadn’t ever encountered a tangible sense of power that existed outside of the boundaries of physicality. And it frightened me, shook me to acknowledge that; Yes, there are beings unseen around us. And they are powerful.

 

 

I remember thinking in my mind, as I steadied myself at the kitchen sink (though I didn’t know to whom I was directing the question): “𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑆𝑂 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟?” I felt quite small in the face of it. I was unsure at that time if I ever wanted to experience it again. As curious as I was about what had taken place, I was cautious about how to proceed. I went to bed after that, waiting until the morning light to finally see the completed painting