Fated to the alpha ezra katya

I was using this deck in historic, for a while... Just a junk deck with this beauty - Narset

Every year, like a cherished tradition, my family and I embark on a pilgrimage to the captivating Lake District for a week, a sanctuary that has witnessed our growth and weathered our losses. However, this year held a secret plan within my heart, a deviation from the norm, at 10:15, I indulged in the fruits of my own labour, ingesting little over half a gram of Golden Teachers, nurtured by my own hands. My intention was to keep it a clandestine affair, allowing the walk to unfold naturally, untouched by inquiries into my well-being. Looking back, perhaps it would have been wise to confide in my partner, but fate would have its way, and all would unfold seamlessly.
At 11:00, we embarked on our journey, and the mild effects began to reveal themselves. The pebbles of Lakeland slate beneath my feet seemed to ripple, like whispers from a hidden realm. Yet, my mind remained clear, relishing the scenic splendour as we ascended a rugged, stony track, with distant hills adorning the horizon.
Around 11:30, a faint wave of nausea brushed against my senses. Unsure if it was the shrooms' doing, as I had never experienced such discomfort before from them, I confided in my mother. I didn’t tell her why I might be feeling like that but she offered me a Rennie, an English indigestion remedy. It soothed my troubled stomach, and we pressed on. During this time, I remained mostly silent, occasionally pausing to admire the majestic hills. At one point, a large military plane swept low across the valley, infusing our surroundings with a thrilling surge of excitement that set our hearts racing.
Finally, we reached the top of our short ascent, greeted by a breath-taking sight—Wetherlam, an ethereal mountain, where the divine and earthly realms embrace in a captivating fusion. It was all starting to feel otherworldly, and as we descended, we stumbled upon Dale End farm. A modest stall displayed enticing cakes for sale, and several members of our group couldn't resist their allure. One of the farmers replenished the offerings while we were there. Engaging in conversation, my mother's curiosity got us an invitation to witness the lambs under their care. Embracing the opportunity, I watched as my niece cradled a precious lamb named Pickle, its gentle presence evoking a profound sense of connection.
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After bidding farewell, our journey continued, leading us to Little Langdale Tarn—a serene mountain lake nestled at the foot of Wetherlam. At 12:30 I was peaking; the psychedelic tide surged within me, as I relinquished the company of the group and allowed the world to envelop my senses. Basking in the sun's warm caress, I closed my eyes, and the boundaries of reality dissolved. Visions of awe-inspiring landscapes inspired by my location danced across my mind, entwined with fragments of the essences of cherished childhood memories, imbuing me with a profound sense of peace and joy.
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A few moments later, difficult to know how long, I realised I should make haste and rejoin the family so as not to cause alarm due to my sudden disappearance. I found them gathered near Slater's Bridge for a well-deserved lunch. This enchanting spot held an otherworldly allure, where a mosaic of slate slabs forms the bridge over the gentle currents of the River Brathay. Dragonflies flit about, and silver-scaled fish gracefully swim beneath the crystal-clear water.
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Observing my family seated on a nearby flat boulder, I was overwhelmed by their unwavering care and concern, demonstrated through their attentiveness when I had mentioned feeling unwell earlier. With heartfelt sincerity, I expressed my profound appreciation for our family, perhaps in a manner tinged with sentimentality, but it felt in earnest and like it was the right thing to say. Savouring the simple pleasure of my peanut butter sandwiches, my humble vegetables and the shared indulgence of pistachios with my partner, I found myself inspired to pen a concise poem that encapsulated the essence of my journey, shaped by the flavours that danced upon my tongue.
The open skiesThe gentle brookThe falling birdsWith their hooks
The lying ladySlumbers lonelyThe bitter tasteOf clashing rocks
The sweet nutty tasteOf a close-knit familyThat ask after youOr offer you a Rennie
The “lying lady” was a figure I saw on the ridge-line of a nearby hill, the way the rocks and the ridge interacted made me think of a woman lying on her back . I closed my eyes a few more times during lunch and had some visuals of a huge human-like form standing in the landscapes we had traversed. This is a recurring vision I have, I don’t know who they are but they emanate both gentle serenity and awe-inspiring grandeur. As my family conversed around me, their voices seemed to traverse space and time, whispering from my ear, then from afar, then right before me. Among the kaleidoscope of visuals, one stood out—the convergence of damp, moss-covered stone walls, forming a sharp angle, on each wall, one brick was replaced by a stone resembling the head of a frog. Its whimsical allure enchanted me without rhyme or reason.
After lunch, the children embraced the surrounding playground of nature, and I, transported by the nostalgic embrace of my own inner child, immersed myself fully in the experience. I watched with delight as my niece attempted to capture elusive fish, I leapt from rock to rock, and played the role of a mischievous troll, teasingly pretending to chase after my nephew. In one animated escapade, my enthusiasm startled unsuspecting passers-by on the bridge. Succumbing to the tranquil allure of the waters, I spent the ensuing half-hour perched by the bank, my feet immersed in the cool embrace. As tiny fish delicately nibbled away my dead skin, I revelled in the symbiotic dance between human and aquatic life.
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We passed two hours in this wondrous haven before we ventured towards Cathedral Quarry. Though the psychedelic tide gradually receded, my heart brimmed with gratitude for the extraordinary journey I had embarked upon. Nonetheless I was still awed by this place, within the depths of the cavernous space, a majestic rock pillar stood and through a large window carved in the stone, a vibrant vista of lush greenery unfolded, evoking a profound sense of spirituality.
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As we retraced our steps homeward, the world sobered around me, leaving little to report. Yet, the magnificence of the journey remained etched upon my soul—a reminder that small doses possess the power to unlock extraordinary experiences, granting desirable effects while allowing for a grounded sense of control. At all points I felt that my trip was undetected but my family revealed to me later that I had come across as a little distant and introspective. In due course, I revealed my secret to them, met with curiosity rather than judgment.
Dear friends, I implore you to embark on your own pilgrimage to the Lake District, to immerse yourselves in its splendour and perhaps partake in a psychedelic journey of your own. I particularly recommend a walk through Little Langdale, which holds an enchantment unlike any other that even without the aid of psychedelics, is a place of profound magic.
EDIT: Formatting

I have a few like this. Came in a box I recieved. Didnt pay for it but I'm curious