I always wondered what was on the other side of the stone arch.
It had stood there for centuries, overlooking the ocean. My teacher said it had been there since the days when they burned witches at the stake. The grass around it was a rich green, even in winter when all else was bare.
Everyone else looked through the archway and saw pastel waves lapping at the shoreline.
But I saw something different.
I saw fire and magic.
I saw women in dark cloaks chanting beneath the moonlight.
I heard the songs too, songs of vengeance and reprise.
One day, when I was too young to know any better, I asked my mother about it.
“Mama, where did all the witches go?”
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