The queen of the witches stands on tiptoes to kiss my brow. I realise that soon I will be taking over from her. The other junior witches look on, jealously. I smile at them and stroke the black cat on my shoulder. Then I flounce down a black catwalk like I'm a supermodel dressed in Gothic. Cameras click.

I'm bleeding black blood. It runs down my leg and trickles into my boots.

On a mountainside entirely covered with ivy a picnic is spread out. Goblins and elves climb through the ivy to feast on white, sugary food.

A window opens and shuts. When it's open, I hear a brass band playing. When it's closed I hear nothing except the sound of someone pissing on the roof.

A gigantic syringe floats in the early evening sky. From the tip of its needle a drop of liquid catches the last rays of the sun. The drop of liquid twinkles like a diamond.