What I am certain of is that there's something wonky going on beneath the surface of what we call reality. Things are not as they appear. They are much, much more.

And if I said "because I'm a witch," they'd think I was crazy.''That's exactly right,' she confirmed.'Because everybody knows witches aren't real.'She nodded. 'Yes.''Except they really are real.'She continued nodding. 'Mm-hmm.''But you also told me Santa and the tooth fairy were real.''Those were lies,' she said. 'But they're lies every parent tells their children. So they're not really lies so much as a script.''I slept with teeth under my pillow, so it seems like a lie to me.

He likes things that make sense, and this word explains everything he knows about me. It makes perfect sense. Unless you don't know me, in which case it's delusional, irrational, and absurd.

The thing is, I wouldn't believe in them, and I would privately ridicule any idiot who did, except for one thing: I am a witch.

He sees the shit that happens around me - or because of me - so now he is only 99.99 percent certain I can't turn him into a frog.