Amy's Power Unleashed

The blood-red moon, no longer a menacing overlord but a benevolent, albeit still rather alarming, giant cherry, hung in the sky. And I? Well, I felt less like a flustered witch who’d accidentally turned her pet pumpkin into a sassy commentator and more like… well, like me, but with a sparkle. A really, really big sparkle. It was like someone had poured a vat of glitter into my veins, and instead of sneezing it out, I’d just… absorbed it.

“You know,” Bartholomew piped up, his voice a little less gravelly than usual, “for someone who was convinced she was going to spontaneously combust into a pile of dried leaves about an hour ago, you’re looking remarkably… un-combusted.”

I grinned, a genuine, wide-toothed thing that felt foreign on my face. “Funny, Bartholomew. I’m feeling rather… un-combusted myself. More like… fully charged.” I wiggled my fingers, and a cascade of tiny, golden leaves swirled around me, not falling aimlessly like they used to, but dancing, weaving intricate patterns in the air. They shimmered with an inner light, a magic that felt not borrowed, but *mine*.