The Legend of Zubeyde

She was the woman they feared. The woman they followed.

Zubeyde was my great grandmother - a name spoken in hushed tones across Karaman, Cyprus, long after she had passed. She was known as 'the woman who could stop a curse mid-sentence.' But she was more than a healer, more than a seer. She was the keeper of sacred knowledge, the kind that isn't learned from books but remembered through blood.

In a time when few women were allowed to live beyond the expectations placed upon them, Zubeyde defied all of it. She lived alone, on the outskirts of the village, in a small weatherworn house that always seemed to breathe with life. Herbs hung drying from every beam. Strange symbols marked the door. The scent of smoke, rosewater and earth lingered around her like a veil.

People travelled for days to see her. Some came bearing produce whilst others came weeping, desperate for relief from heartbreak, infertility, bad omens or the weight of ancestral pain. They arrived scared. They left transformed.

She didn’t have a shop. She had no signage. No advertisements. Her name spread only by word of mouth - and fear. Because when Zubeyde said your luck would turn, it did. When she said to bury something, you buried it. When she warned you not to look back, you didn’t.

Some of the stories my mother told me felt like legends - too unbelievable to be real. But they were always told with the same intensity, the same emotion. One story I remember: A couple whose crops had failed for three seasons came to Zubeyde on the brink of ruin. She performed a fire ritual with black salt and bay leaves under the full moon. The following harvest, their land produced more than it had in a decade.

Another woman who had suffered seven miscarriages was told by Zubeyde to light a candle each morning for nine days and bathe in milk with dried jasmine on the tenth. That woman gave birth to two healthy twins.

Zubeyde was more than a healer. She was a portal. A bridge between this world and the one beyond. They say she could speak to the dead, read the wind and sense deceit like it was perfume.

She died before I was born, but her presence lingered in the stories, in the rituals, in the tone of voice my mother used when she spoke her name. We only have one photo of her. The rest were lost during the war in Cyprus. This image of her staring directly into the camera, expression unreadable is treated like a relic in my family.

Her teachings were never written. They were handed down, from mother to daughter, with quiet care and reverence. First to my grandmother. Then to my mother. And eventually, to me.

But they weren’t just handed down. They had to be earned. For years I watched, learned and listened. Then I studied. I recreated every potion, every oil, every powder from the fragmented memories of my elders. I translated the meanings behind the symbols, the reasons for the rituals, the timing of the ingredients. It took me years, but I wanted to be certain that what I was offering honoured Zubeyde’s system.

This is how Sacred Secrets came into being.

Not a candle company.
Not a trend.
A luxury ritual experience encoded with generational wisdom.

Every Sacred Secrets candle and mist draws directly from Zubeyde’s original system. Whether it is for attracting love, releasing grief, shielding your energy or unlocking abundance - these are not simply products. They are invitations. Initiations.

This is not branding. This is a bloodline.

You didn’t stumble across Sacred Secrets by accident. You were called here. The same way they were called to Zubeyde - silently, mysteriously, urgently.

This is your doorway to something ancient.

Zubeyde’s legacy lives in flame.
And now, it lives with you.

Welcome to Sacred Secrets.