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For everyone who knows that Halloween is a state of mind not a time of year.
Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue. Ichabod Crane, "Sleepy Hollow"
“Dreadful and beautiful, much like you, sweet death, my little terror of decay.”
He’d expect me to be an emotional, scared, sputtering mess. The devil he may have been, but he must not have realized that girl had died. I had horns now. I was death. I’d find a way to start acting like it, and I would make him burn if he got in my way.
I never claimed to be the hero in this story. We were the villains.
“You are my burning willow. You are my hell; my place of eternal torment and sorrow. I am your devil, your guardian. I should love nothing, but I love only you,”
They were the villains of the story and had a trail of blood and evil deeds behind their names. And I loved them more and more with each passing breath. They’d been worth every moment of doubt, every moment of confusion at solving this riddle of me, of Ash Grove. And finally, we’d reached the end of the page together. At least the end of this chapter, this book. We had endless more stories to write together for all of time.
Death came silently and with no warning. One could not see her nor predict her arrival. And what a breathtaking gift that was.
Though maybe in everyone we love we are simply finding missing pieces of ourselves. Maybe they help us remember who we truly are. Maybe that’s magic.
