When I was a little girl my sister and I would play make believe for hours. We set up a kingdom in our backyard. I was the good and beautiful witch, like in the Wizard of Oz, and she was the plucky princess.

We spent many happy summer afternoons this way. Until she met him. He was dirty and hateful. He ruined everything.

He told her she really was a witch, and on her eleventh birthday we found he was telling the truth. It wasn't fair! I was the oldest. I should have magic too.

But who cares about magic. Only freaks can use magic. Those creepy teenagers at the mall who wear all black and have metal stuck through their noses. Witches are freaks. My sister is a freak nothing more.

I would never be like that. They make perfectly good teacups into slimy frogs and play with newt eyes. Who wants magic anyway? I don't. Unnatural freaks.

Being a witch got my sister killed. It left her son an orphan. The son of freaks and probably one himself. I won't let it happen, not again.

A freak in the family was what caused my parents death. To save his life and ours we will squash the so called 'magic' out of him. No more freaks.