shyness eclipsed the witch’s temptations; she wasn’t the witch you expected. a stare and fertilization of an idea: “have you ever been with a girl like me before?” she asks you as if kissing the neck of your soul. “of course not”— she responds for you. her power was in words: a chant that echoed through thick walls that took decades to build. she is a witch; and you inhale her final breath as her papier-mâché body falls from the Sears Tower.
