I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you.

Better to have a single perfect diamond than a sack of flawed stones.

I don’t have the time to devote to circles or covens. I have to fit things in when and where I can, in stolen moments and cups of coffee. Stirring clockwise to conjure. Widdershins to banish. There’s never enough time, and rarely enough caffeine, but I make do with what I have. Besides, cauldrons and pointy hats are overrated. Sometimes I see other customers practicing. Pouring their cream and sugar with studied intent. Stirring with purpose. I add an extra spoonful of sugar to my own coffee for them, to make all of our enchantments sweeter.

The rain increases and umbrellas sprout like mushrooms amongst the graves.

I couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what I wanted to be real.

Even the air feels different on Halloween, autumn-crisp and bright.

The boy spends most of his time reading. And writing, of course. He copies out sections of books, writes out words and symbols he does not understand at first but that become intimately familiar beneath his ink-stained fingers, formed again and again in increasingly steady lines.