Death was never on my mind. I didn't think about it. My head was full of epic tales of adventure, where magic was real and I was a witch. Sometimes I was at Hogwarts; other times I was Morgana in Merlin. But never—not once—did I wonder about death. Especially my own.
I was almost thirty when it happened. I had a successful career as an Occult professor at a small-town college. I lived close enough to my parents to visit, but far enough to breathe. I wasn't married, and honestly, that was the only "bad" thing about my life. Not that I needed a man to be happy—but let's be real, I would've been happier with some arm candy.
My death wasn't anything unique, not like those bizarre endings on 1000 Ways to Die. A piano didn't fall on my head. A toilet seat didn't plummet from space and nail me with a headshot. I didn't die a hero saving a child from danger. No, my death was boring. An accident.
I was driving home late one night after staying at college to prep my classes. I fell asleep at the wheel and hit a tree. Goodbye, life.
I didn't become invisible to the rest of the world, wandering like a ghost stuck on the other side. No. I was stuck in darkness. Forever. I don't know how long I was there—maybe a century, maybe a blink. I had no idea.
Then the light came. Pure, white, shiny… and kind of cliché.
Voices followed. Muffled at first, then clearer as I strained to listen.
"Isn't she precious, Abby?" A male voice, warm and happy.
"Oh my god, Rudy, she's perfect." A female voice, thick with emotion. "What are we going to call her?"
WAIT. WHAT? NO.
"How about Bonnie?" the man said. "Bonnie Bennett, our daughter."
OH HELL NO.
"It sounds beautiful," the woman declared, bending down to kiss my brow.
HELL. FUCKING. NO.
"My little witch," she whispered against my ear.
Witch.
…Well. Maybe.