The eve before the start of Swan season has always felt burdensome to me. It’s like a dark cloud I can’t shake. The knowing of what’s coming, the death that creeps up over the town like fate clawing at the door of every shop and home. I can feel it in the air, in the spray of the sea, in the hollow spaces between raindrops. The sisters are coming.
It's giving Hocus Pocus vibes.
