When I was little, I often dreamed of witches.
I blamed it on the abundance of witch decor I saw as a child. The nearby farm with the witch attached to the wooden orange moon. The house I trick-or-treated at every single year, that fashioned an old lamppost into a witch flying across the moon.
It was all so deeply ingrained into my Halloween experience.
When I got a little older, I started to believe that there was a witch out there watching over me. That she would come to me, maybe on my sixteenth birthday, like Sabrina on my favorite TV series, and whisk me away into my real life.
I didn't see Halloweentown until my thirteenth Halloween had already passed, but I definitely had my suspicions after the fact that perhaps my parents had just let my powers grow dormant, or something.
Clearly I was meant to be on the bus back to that town.
The older I've gotten, I've stopped searching the skies for Santa Claus, stopped imagining faeries in colorful gardens, all of that.
But on nights like tonight, I look up at the sky and I think that maybe, just maybe, the witches are out there, flying about, preparing for the celebration just nine days away.
It is our time now.
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