If your idea of high magic involves extreme passive-aggression, and trading fascist men for elderly women who literally want to eat your youth, congratulations! You’ve found the ultimate sanctuary. Blessed be the bureaucracy. 🪄 ~ To trade the iron of the father for the glass teeth of the mother is no liberation at all—it is merely changing the shape of the leash. Freedom cannot exist in a hall of mirrors where every reflection demands a toll paid in marrow and skin. Poor girls. Markos’s coven offers no sanctuary, only a prettier slaughterhouse. They paint their cage in the muted hues of high art, masking their rot behind synchronized steps and heavy velvet. But under the floorboards, the truth is stark: young women are not crowned here, they are harvested. Their limbs are bent until they snap, their vitality siphoned into the lungs of an ancient parasite fake god so afraid of its own death that it eats its own children. I love art and witchcraft shits that's why I watched this film, and the film's agonizing dance scenes and flesh-toned dread are undeniable art, but it completely misses the soul of magic. Only in Susie Bannion’s final, blood-soaked awakening we see the true witchery: a raw, fiery power that burns away the legacy of mothers who were never holy, only hungry.