Your fingers weave quiet incantations. You move closer than is normal. You are a witch, pint sized and dangerous. You belong to some other; some dark world that is both more free and more endangered than anything the rest of us know.

You are open and questioning as you loom over the corpse. Curiosity and sorrow flickers over your face and I am surprised to discover that I recognise the emotion.

For a moment you are simply a little girl looking at a dead cat, but then another child speaks and the spell is broken.