My friend is against my witchcraft. How

Three cards came out, all upright — no reversals this time.

The question isn't whether they approve; it's whether the friendship has room for the truth. The Devil in the past says this bond didn't start as a clean, easy thing — there's a hook in it, something that binds you together and something that snags, and the two have never been separate. Justice in the present is the one that matters now: the whole question has become whether each of you will say plainly what you actually stand for. Ten of Swords in the future is the consequence seat, and it's a hard one — it doesn't mean catastrophe, it means a clear-eyed ending, one of you putting the sword down on the table rather than a slow fade. Under that condition: if you can state your practice out loud, without trimming it, and if they can state theirs without you being required to apologize for yours, then the outcome is a clean line that someone drew consciously and the friendship survives as something smaller but real. If instead the arrangement is that you go quiet about it and wait for them to come around, the future seat suggests the ending arrives all at once, and not gently.

The cards don't report what your friend feels or will decide — only what you said and what the pattern does if it keeps running as it is.

Your step, in the next 48 hours: say the actual sentence out loud to them. Not the softened version, not the reassurance that you won't be doing anything — the one that names what you do and what you won't drop. Then let it sit without repairing the silence that follows. That answer, whatever form it takes, is the one thing this spread can't hand you.

Want the spread drawn as a picture, or this reading saved to your journal?