Before We Begin
You do not need to know what kind of work you need. You do not need to know the right words. You only need to know that something brought you here.
Every road begins with a conversation.
Where We Start
We start by sitting down together, and it costs you nothing.
You tell me what happened. What you're carrying. What you're hoping to set right. I'll ask questions — some plain, some closer to the bone. Not to pry. Because a road can't be read if I'm only seeing half of it.
Tell me the truth of it, and we'll go from there.
Reading The Road
Before any work begins, I sit down with the cards.
I read the road you're on — what's in it, what's working against you, what it's asking for. Then I confirm it. I don't move on a hunch, and I won't work a road you don't need.
I also ask permission. Not every road is ready to be worked. If the cards say wait, we wait. If they say no, I'll tell you plainly.
This is where guesswork ends and the work is decided.
Preparation & Timing
Once the road is confirmed, I prepare.
Your timing gets chosen with care — read against the sky, so the work lands when the door is open, not when it's convenient. Herbs are selected. Petitions written. Candles dressed. Every material has a reason for being there.
By the time a candle is lit, the whole thing has been built to fit your road and no one else's.
The Working
Then the work is done.
I pray it. I work it. Psalms, petition, and the old methods, carried out with full attention. And I watch — how the flame moves, how the smoke turns, what rises and what resists. The work speaks while it's happening, and I know how to listen.
Every step is deliberate.
After The Work
You won't be left wondering.
I read what the work left behind — the wax, the burn, the way the air changed while it moved. I photograph it. I interpret it. Then you get a report: what I saw, what it means, and what the road looks like now.
You'll know exactly what was done on your behalf.
Supporting Preparations
Some roads ask for more than a single working.
When yours does, you may go home with preparations of your own — an oil, a bath, a smoke blend, tea lights to burn at your own altar. Each comes with instructions in my own hand: how to use it, and when.
The work doesn't end when you leave my table. It goes home with you.
Walking The Road
The work doesn't end when the candle burns out, and neither do I.
I check in. I stay reachable. If the road shifts, we adjust. If something comes up, you tell me, and we handle it together.
I stay until the road is walked.
Soft hands. Sharp teeth. That's Hollar Root.
The old ways still live here.