When the email came, it was brief and blunt. "I have left the keys at the house," it read, "One beneath the turtle potted plant and the other under the mat. If you fail to find them, may I recommend nearest Four Seasons?" There was no signature line.

“Father?” The child asked, “Why do stars die?” It was past midnight as the boy and his father walked alone in the garden surrounding their cottage between Little Peak and East Peak. “I guess the simple answer is that they are too tired to carry on” the father answered smiling.

Ever since I could remember, I longed to be a witch. As I saw the great people of society rise above, they left behind the ancient art, and I longed to reach back and grasp it. My grandmother would tell tales of how we could unlock this power, but I never knew how. Until now.