Sela Kailani watched the last car disappear down the road. The crowds were gone, their screams and laughter fading into the night. Now, her work began. She moved among the pumpkins, each one placed with deliberate intention—a circle of remembrance. Tonight wasn't about honoring memories; it was about drawing on them. A low hum escaped her lips as she traced patterns in the damp earth, the Ferris wheel a silent sentinel above. The moon pulsed crimson, mirroring the energy gathering within her, ready to weave a spell from echoes and shadows—a ritual for those who knew how to listen.