Dear Miss Elaine Parks, the one and only Love Witch,
I have been thinking of you so much this last month, and wanted to send smoke signals your way, bearing some of my heart’s deepest musings on your nature and predicaments.
If you read this letter, my dear, you will find that I have many inquiries for you. I will start off with the questions that burn my soul at this moment: do I wish to be you, glamorous succubus? Or would I rather be chosen, seduced, murdered and then buried, all in beautiful ritual, by you? At first, my answer to both questions is an enthusiastic Yes, please! But then I ask myself, why? Elaine, what is it that I love about you? Is it your crystal blue eyeshadow adorning those sinister brown eyes? Your bejeweled fingers plucking cursed Threes of Swords from lurid tarot decks? Your world of potions, symbolic paintings, pink tea rooms with harps, magical forest weddings; your world that is so rich with occult sensuality? In the end, are you reeling me in with smoke, mirrors, and wicked intentions? Are my answers to my questions Yes, please!?
Even as your admirer-from-afar, I can´t help but feel like one of your hapless victims, dear Love Witch. I feel drawn to you immediately in a manner that mimics love. Watching you with these men, I fall under the spell of an erotic psychedelic trip, fraught with the dark sex magick that excites and arouses. I want to cross the threshold between worlds with you. I want you to choose me instead of the other fools –they could never understand you, not like I do. Could you love a woman, Elaine? (The world may never know.)
You are vindictive and unhinged. Your existence is perpetually uneasy. Your femininity and supernatural prowess are your weapons in an unaccommodating, unfriendly world, dominated by the patriarchy and uncomfortable gender roles. In this way, some femmes champion you a hero. I know many of us long for a permanent solution to issues of toxic masculinity and prescribed femininity. Hell, sometimes I wish I could abandon my sense of composure and wreak havoc on the assholes of the world, like you, Elaine. You inspire my deep fantasy of being a villainess. But you also inspire fantasies of powerful femininity, dreamworlds, and pure magic. This entices many creatures, many desires, does it not?
I think you were created to be a fantasy of multitudes.
I think that, to be your viewer, is to simultaneously be your victim.
Elaine, don´t hate me for saying it, but I think that you are the biggest victim of all. Even more than your perished paramours and your shiny-eyed admirers on the other side of the screen. You are doomed to a loveless existence, darling.
I conclude this letter to you with lines from a melancholy song: “Love is natural and real, but not for such as you and I, my love”.
If you aren´t too offended by my concerns and admirations, do send a bird my way, please.
As above, so below, sister. Jules E