A coven of witches: the most nurturing sisterhood that you’ll ever be a part of.
~Unknown
High Priestess. Keeper of the Wild.
Spell Carver. Author.
In the hollow spaces between blood and bone, my wildness remains.
I don’t remember choosing the path. I remember it choosing me.
Before I knew the word witch, I knew how to listen. I spoke to animals as if they understood me—and perhaps they did. I pressed my palms against tree bark and felt something steady answer back. I kept stones in my pockets, tucked feathers into books, dried herbs in jars without knowing why. The world felt alive to me in ways I couldn’t explain, and I learned early that not everyone could see it the way I did.
I was born in the deep bayous, where the air hangs thick with memory and myth. Gris-gris tucked into drawers. Traiteurs whispering prayers over the sick. Hoodoo woven into kitchens and back porches—roots drying in paper sacks, candles burning low into the night. These weren’t exotic things. They were ordinary. They were ours.
Faith in my family wore Sunday clothes—Methodist and Southern Baptist—but the old ways lingered in the shadows. Healing came through laying on of hands and through herbs steeped quietly on the stove. Spirits were not feared; they were acknowledged. Magic lived in mason jars, crossroads, and back pockets. No one called it witchcraft. It was simply how we lived.
It wasn’t superstition.
It was Cajun survival—born of hardship, stitched with prayer, and carrying forward the old ways because—letting it die would have meant losing ourselves.
I’ve always believed in the sacred pull of the wild—the way thorn and bone and moonlight can remake a soul. My life has been forged in loss, fire, and fierce love. I am held by sisterhood, fed by ritual, and honored to walk this path not only as a storyteller, but also as a mentor, a healer, and a teacher.
The Craft has never been something I simply do—it is something I am. It’s in my breath, my blood, my remembering.
My journey took clearer shape in my teenage years. Around 1992, I was “honorarily accepted” into a Lakota Sioux tribe. I was young, wide-eyed, and hungry for meaning. Honoring the moon, the Earth, the Sun, and the gods and goddesses outside the mainstream became second nature. I attended traditional churches before and since, but the stillness I found beneath open sky, the hush of wind through trees—that was the sanctuary that answered me.
Over the past two decades, I have wandered both away from and back to the path. But even in seasons when I wasn’t consciously practicing, I was never truly gone. The thread remained. I discovered Draconic Wicca at one point, and I remember telling my husband and daughter, “I always felt like a bad witch because I never had an altar… but really, I always have.” We looked around at the shelves of dragons and crystals that had quietly gathered over the years—it was all there, waiting for me to see it.
Looking back, I believe I have always had guardians walking beside me, even during the quiet years when I wasn’t actively studying or practicing. Protection does not always announce itself. Sometimes it simply steadies your steps.
In 2018, I returned to the Craft with intention, committing to a personal year-and-a-day journey. I explored many traditions—Gardnerian, Draconic, Dianic Wicca, Occultism, Naturalism, Greek and Norse Paganism. I studied my Cajun family’s lore, legends, and Hoodoo practices. When I learned that my father’s family carried Irish and Welsh roots, I turned toward Celtic magick as well. Over time, I realized I was not meant to fit neatly inside one current. Pieces of each tradition resonated, and I allowed myself to gather what felt true.
That was when I embraced my identity as an Eclectic Witch—not as someone scattered, but as someone woven.
In late 2022, I felt the quiet nudge to gather women together. I launched a Facebook page and group—Unleash Your Inner Witch—offering workshops and sharing what I had learned. Selling was never the point. What moved me was the connection, the conversations, the way women leaned toward one another when given permission to speak freely about the sacred.
Through those exchanges, I found a local coven—right in my own town. Or perhaps it found me. I was welcomed in with warmth and curiosity, and for the first time, I felt what it meant to stand inside a circle that was not only symbolic, but living.
That experience changed me. I was supported, seen, and eventually invited deeper—given a witch name, stepped into priestess training, and initiated within three months of joining. It was not about speed. It was about recognition. Something in that circle recognized something in me.
That coven taught me what sacred sisterhood could feel like. It also revealed what I longed to help cultivate—steadiness, authenticity, and space for both shadow and strength. I began to understand not only the kind of coven I wished to belong to, but the kind of leader I was becoming.
Though our paths have since diverged, I hold that chapter with deep gratitude. It was not a detour. It was preparation. It showed me what belonging feels like when it is real.
Today, I stand not only as a witch but as the High Priestess of Daughters of the Dark Moon—a coven born from shared vision, deep bonds, and a sacred call to lead, teach, and grow in true sisterhood. In this coven, I have found the alchemy of connection, authenticity, wisdom, laughter, shadow work, and soul-deep magick.
This is not simply a coven.
It is chosen family.
The name I now carry—Skotia Morgaine—was not given lightly. It is steeped in mystery and power:
Skotia, an epithet of Hekate, the Goddess of Witchcraft and the Crossroads, speaks to my connection with Her through shadow, the unseen, and the wisdom held in liminal spaces. Morgaine, rooted in ancient waters and legend, echoes with the strength of enchantresses, sea water, and ancestral magic.
Together, this name is a spell in itself—woven from night, oceans, myth, and memory.
It is who I am, who I’ve always been becoming.
I am Skotia Morgaine.
I am a Devotee of the Covenant of Hekate.
I serve Her as High Priestess of Daughters of the Dark Moon.
I am home.
A new cycle has begun and I’ve never felt more rooted. The circle continues. The work deepens.
I chose this ground. I hold this place. I tend this fire. I stand for this coven.
