We are the blood of the witches you thought were dead. We carry witchcraft in our bones whilst magic still sings inside out heads. When the witch hunters imprisoned out ancestors when they tried to burn the magic away. Someone should have warned them that magic cannot be tamed. Because you cannot burn away what has always been aflame.
The monsters were never under my bed. Because the monsters were inside my head. I fear no monsters, for no monsters I see. Because all this time the monster has been me.