Secrets are interesting.

Momma said it was bad to be nosy. Momma said that secrets must stay secrets, and you can't ask anyone about them. But Momma also says to tell her everything. She says we can't keep secrets from her.

So why does she keep secrets from us?

I always wondered about the strange dreams I had, where I could feel the earth beneath my feet and the wind swirling around me. It was like I was in another world, where everything felt so familiar yet different at the same time. And then there were the moments when things just seemed to happen on their own - objects moving without anyone touching them, lights flickering without any explanation.

I tried to push these thoughts to the back of my mind, to ignore the strange occurrences that seemed to follow me wherever I went. But one day, everything changed.

It was a normal day, or so I thought. I was sitting in the kitchen, doing my homework, when suddenly the lights flickered and the room grew cold. I looked up to see my mother standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.

"Momma, what's wrong?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

She hesitated for a moment, her hands trembling as she tried to find the right words. And then, in a soft voice, she said, "You have the gift, just like me. You come from a long line of witches, and it's time for you to embrace who you truly are."

I sat there in shock, my mind racing with a million questions. How could this be true? Why had she kept this from me for so long? And most importantly, what did it mean for my future?

The silence that followed stretched so long you could have sworn time itself took a seat at the table to watch the drama unfold. Your mother stood there wringing her hands, which was not reassuring considering she was apparently a witch. Shouldn’t magic automatically come with composure? A dramatic cloak? A warning pamphlet?

“Witches,” you repeated, because saying it out loud did not make it any more reasonable.

Mom nodded, her expression equal parts guilt and please do not faint on my clean floor.

“Great,” you said, trying to sound calm while your brain did cartwheels into panic. “So I am magic. And you are magic. And we are just… casual about that now”

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I wanted to tell you earlier,” she said finally. “I just hoped you would have a normal childhood.”

You gestured vaguely at the flickering light above your heads. “Mom, the chandelier literally tried to disco last week. Normal left the building a long time ago.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. “Fair.”

You leaned back in your chair. The cold in the room had settled into something else now. Not ominous, not threatening. Just expectant, like the house was holding its breath along with you.

“So,” you said, crossing your arms, “what happens next? Do I get a wand? A familiar? A broom license? Or is this the part where you tell me there is a secret family spellbook in the attic guarded by a raccoon with trust issues?”

She blinked. “What? No. The raccoon is in the shed.”

You stared.

She shrugged. “It is a long story.”

And just like that, your life, your normal, predictable, homework dreading life, tilted sharply into the realm of the weird. Magic was not a dream anymore. It was not a flicker of lights or a whisper of wind. It was here. Real. Waiting.

And whether you were ready or not, you were about to step straight into the world your mother had spent years trying to hide.

A world you were apparently born for.