Susan’s Story

I’ve always wanted a typewriter.

As a writer I’ve been long romaticizing the old fashioned forms of recording our stories and communicating with one another. A day came when I decided, no really. I would really like to have one. Less than five minutes after the resolving notion I found an online listing of this machine.

I immediately knew it was meant to be mine. 

What I didn’t know was that she already belonged to someone else.

On bringing her home to my kitchen table I felt the weight of her energy.

“You’ve got a lovely soul about you, don’t you?”

I cleaned her diligently and researched all I could about her make. I sought out ink ribbons from a small business, was gifted paper from our Artificer, and blessed all the materials. 

The moment came. She was filled up once again, given new blood.

And she came to life.

My fingers graced her keys as I tentatively typed out my name. Next, I reached for my tarot cards.

“I’d like to get to know you.”

She gave me her name.

“Susan.”

She told me her story. 

“When I was alive, I had much struggle. A gift from an abusive husband gave me some solace, this machine I now inhabit. My life was not my own, in many ways. I lived for my husband in the traditional sense, however my heart was dedicated to my two daughters. In the shadows of his abuse, I found magic and love from a fierce goddess, who I now name- An Morrigan. She showed me strength, and promised a path would be revealed. After coming home drunk one night, my husband performed unspeakable acts, harming me and my girls. I knew the time had come. Under the cover of night we escaped, while he slept off the drink. My daughters hurriedly packed their most precious of belongings, and I took my underwood. Though the path was increasingly difficult for a time, we soon found a home to call our own. When life finally allowed it, I sat down to write. I wrote for my daughters, I wrote for my goddess, I wrote for myself. Years of love and struggle I poured into these keys. My words are now mostly lost to time. When I aged and laid dying of sickness I willed this machine to my youngest daughter, and passed into the other realm. For a time there was nothing, for a time there was everything. And when time then bent it allowed me back to the earthly realm as a spirit, my machine. My beautiful typewriter which I had done my best to ensure protection for, was gathering dust in a shed. So I waited. And I stretched my energy to meet with yours. And now life begins again, in its own way.”

She told me The Morrigan fuels her connection and magics now, in an exchange of their own. She had returned with a purpose- to influence written word, to fuel connections to the other realms, and to heal.

We had a common goal, so we formed a pact.

“Every word written on me Becomes True.

Every message finds the One it is Intended for.

Every piece of my mechanism is Immune to Decay.

Every letter Rings True.

Any ink placed into my Jaws becomes Infused with Energy.

Any one whose fingertips Grace my keys becomes Blessed.

I make the Masses Healed.

Let’s get to work.”