In a dramatic twist that could only be described as political theater at its finest, Marine Le Pen, the spirited leader of France's National Rally (RN), took to the stage this past Sunday to rally her supporters against what she termed a "witch hunt." With a flair for the dramatic that could rival a Halloween horror film, she proclaimed from her pulpit that French courts had turned into a spooky house of mirrors where justice gets lost amidst a haze of politically motivated judgments. "Citizens of France, we are not asking to be above the law, but rather to not be below the law," Le Pen exclaimed, evidently excited by the proximity of the Halloween season and the perceived judicial trickery surrounding her party. Sporting a broomstick—well, metaphorically speaking—she led the charge against the "evil magistrates" intent on haunting her political aspirations. Jordan Bardella, the RN's young and sprightly president, joined Le Pen’s enchanting escapade, casting spells of his own. He described the latest court ruling as "a direct attack on democracy and a wound to millions of patriotic French people." It's as if he had conjured a potion filled with righteous indignation, enough to inspire millions to don their finest witch hats and march in solidarity. In a stark warning to the judiciary, Bardella claimed that the judgment against Le Pen was calculated to eliminate her from the presidential race in 2027. His assertion that the ruling was a dark plot hatched in shadowy chambers to banish the "witch" from power sparked gasps and murmurs among the audience, who were evidently unsure whether they were at a political rally or a midnight séance. With suggestions that perhaps Le Pen’s green-tinted visage had been the cause of the verdict, the two led their followers in chants of "Back to the cauldron!" cleverly redirecting the narrative from impending doom to whimsical defiance. It was hard to tell if they were rallying for political reform or casting spells to break the supposed judicial hex on their campaign. As the rally wrapped up, attendees considered whether their next move should be to rally their own broomsticks and set off to charm the voters with sugary potions or to invest in frog’s legs and new cauldrons to brew a fresh batch of populist magic. In a political landscape as tangled as a web spun by the most complicated spider, one thing remained clear: Halloween in France wasn’t just around the corner; it had come early, and its magic was all about conjuring the ghosts of lost political fortunes.