Seeking the Hypnotist

Chapter 8: Seeking the Hypnotist

The doubt that had settled over me after the dream of fire was not the kind that fades with morning light. It clung, a cold mist that seeped into the hours between sleep and waking, coloring every ordinary task with an unsettling hue. I had tried to rationalize the visions—the scent of incense, the voice of Marie Leveau, the shadow of Crowley’s influence—but reason offered no comfort. It only sharpened the question that now pulsed beneath my skin: What if it’s real?

I could not afford to remain suspended between skepticism and belief. The Hermetic Order’s cryptic references to a “lineage of the veiled ones” had ignited something in me that demanded either proof or dismissal. And so, with a trembling hand, I began my search for a hypnotherapist.