I mean, real Magic, capital M. Not rabbits out of hats, disappearing sequined ladies, or silver spheres that dance in the air. The real stuff, not tricks, illusions. I mean spells, enchantments – witchery, even. Damaged limbs that heal overnight, animals that trust in humans, paintings that come alive. Shadowy figures that aren’t really there. More, there’s more, but it’s too soon to tell.
Maybe – probably – you don’t believe. Maybe you half believe. Or maybe you want to believe.
A kind of magic I once knew, long before we took the cottage, came from powder or pills shared with friends; but that was just delusion. And a waste. I learned of real Magic when we came to ‘Gramarye’.
Yet everything has its opposite, and I found that there, too.
If you like, and if you’re willing to suspend belief for a while – as I eventually had to – I’ll tell you about it.
