I write the working and wake it in the Iron Citadel before it ever reaches you. You cast it: love, return, money, silence, rivals, revenge, or a ward with teeth — their names in the steel, the final word in your mouth.
I will not always stand in the circle for you.
Some of you don’t want a stranger holding the match. You want the engine. The words. The order. The exact moment to shut your mouth and let the working do what it was built to do. Then you want to speak it yourself, in your room, with your name on the debt.
That is this service.
I write it. You cast it. No shared altar. No Dominic breathing on your grievance. A private script, built once, for one situation, in language mean enough to use.
Karma is a lie. Justice is a debt you collect yourself. If you are finally ready to collect it with your own mouth, stop browsing and send the brief.
Some of you don’t want a stranger holding the match. You want the engine. The words. The order. The exact moment to shut your mouth and let the working do what it was built to do. Then you want to speak it yourself, in your room, with your name on the debt.
You get a bespoke script, written by me, for one working and one set of names.
Once it is delivered, the circle is yours. I am not coming over to hold your hand while you light the candle.
People who already know what they want and are done outsourcing the final word.
If you want me to cast it, buy a different product. The Fallen Angel Spell and the True Cursing Spell are spoken from The Iron Citadel. This page is the opposite deal.
I forge the engine. You pull the lever.
One working. One blade. Do not send me a buffet and call it a spell.
Love and return. Obsession. Reconciliation. Fidelity. Sexual pull aimed at one person. Written for a locked room, not a stage.
Rival removal. Discord. Loss of appetite for the other one. A push to get the of the scene. Not “release them with love.” I don’t write slave-morality.
Curse and revenge. You name the punishment. Peace, money, reputation, sleep, desire. I write the engine. You decide if you have the nerve to start it.
Binding and silence. Stop a mouth. Hold a secret. Tie them to a promise they already pissed on. Short. Ugly. Precise.
Wealth and leverage. A deal. A debt. A job. A name that keeps blocking you. Pressure, not a vision board.
A ward that bites. Not sage. Not good vibes. A line written so the next person who crosses it pays for it.
If your email is three grudges, a wish, and a paragraph about your feelings, I will cut it to one working or I will send it back. A script that tries to do everything does nothing.
1. You write the brief.
Your name. Your date of birth. Theirs, or as much as you have. What you want. What you will not accept. A photo if you have one. The more specific the injury, the sharper the steel.
2. I confirm the aim.
Vague, sentimental, or hiding what you actually want? It comes back. I do not write for people who cannot say the sentence out loud.
3. You pay.
Payment is the signature. No draft on a promise. No “I’ll send it when I feel the energy.”
4. The script lands.
Private. Your names in it. Your working, in order. You do not get a copy for your group chat. You do not resell it. The words are licensed to you, once.
5. You cast it.
Follow the sequence. Do not add rose quartz because a video told you the vibe was off. If a tool is wrong or a name is misspelled, that is a revision. A new enemy is a new script.
You are not buying a poem and hoping the mood does the rest.
When I write the working, I activate it. Your names go into the script under my hand, in THe Iron Citadel, before the file is sent. The current is in the text when it lands. You do not have to “raise energy” like an amateur who bought a PDF off a stranger. You do not have to wonder if the words are empty until you feel something dramatic.
I forge it. I wake it. You speak it.
That is the difference between a template and a working. A template is paper. This arrives already set. Your part is the unleashing: the lock on the door, the tools, the sequence, their name out loud. You command the last step because the first steps have already been taken by me.
Do not add lines. Do not soften the aim because you got nervous in the dark. The activation is tied to the script as written. Freelance it and you are talking over something that was already live.
Payment is the signature. Delivery is the activated working. Your mouth is the release.
There is no epilogue unless you speak one.
This is not me spending the night in the circle. You are.
Single script — £150
One aim. One set of names. Spoken text, tools, sequence, closing.
Heavy script — £250
Revenge, rival removal, or anything that needs a second stage and more than one throat in the working.
Customer request
Name: Elena Voss. DOB: 14 March 1991. London.
Target: Marcus Hale. DOB: 2 November 1988. Photo attached.
Aim, in one sentence: He left me for his coworker Nadia eight weeks ago and still answers her at 1 a.m. I want him back in my bed, done with her, and unable to want her again.
Where I will cast it: my flat, bedroom, door locked. I have a black cord, paper, his photo, one red candle, a mirror. I do not want a curse on her body. I want him. I will speak it myself.
Service: heavy script, £250. Paid.
