“I’m not sure, mistress. Personally, I think “Bartholomew the Exalted” sounds promising.”  

“No, he doesn’t. He looks like a walking stereotype,” Seraphina insisted as she tapped the telltale illustration headlining the application she had swiped off the signboard they visited while combing the central plaza for information, although she was hesitant to call their investigation a success. The portrayal heralded that of someone who was well past the unspoken cut-off age with an overgrown beard, tiny spectacles, and a comically unoriginal robe with stars printed between midnight blue threads. “... Maybe he is the greatest archmage that has ever walked the lands, but I’m just going to save myself the trouble of seeming desperate and move on for now,” she proceeded to crumple it up and stowed it in her backpack along, adding it to the proverbial and ever-growing pile of failed applicants.  

“You know what they say about being unduly picky, right?”  

“Look, as much as it would be fun to finally live out my femme fatale fantasies of robbing a crusty old man blind on his deathbed and luxuriating in his illimitable wealth, for the sake of escalating the plot, I think we best forgo that particular dream for the time being,” Seraphina zipped her bag and came to a stop at the apex of the stairs as she paused to outlook the cityscape; the crepuscule overtaking the horizon and washing the marmoreal streets in a deluge of gold. A cold wind eased through, harkening the oncoming night as she shivered and readjusted her hood, retreating into a narrow corridor, antiquated walls mired in sinuous, bluish overgrowth and dappled by arches betraying the outlying neighborhoods.  

“... Of course, this raises an entirely different issue. We might have been able to dupe those guards, but an actual authority figure on magic... you’d think that there would be a good chance they’d end up catching on before long,” she assessed. “You said that most witches have these hard morals ingrained into their brains that discourage any other form of magic by default, right? I suspect that, even in cases in which there was no other choice, the moment that forbidden line is crossed, your fate is more or less sealed... if I ever pleaded my own, insisting that it was between signing off my soul or death...” 

“There are no exceptions to their rules,” Malphas elucidated. “... That is what was decided after the civil war... the Holy Consortium had stipulations, otherwise they would have already taken the extermination of your kin into their own hands if the Embassage did not follow through... and our empyreal overlords would happily wipe out a country or several to drive in their point if they ever caught the Embassage slacking, I fear. Even when there are indeed grayer zones involved...”  

“... It’s a tale as old as time, then. I supposed I should have already made peace with the fact that this is no simple dream. It could be that some part of me wanted to be optimistic and treat this like a fresh start... but it’s never going to be that easy, I’m afraid,” Seraphina regarded with a mirthless chortle, studying her traipsing feet as they shepherded her mindlessly into the profundities of the townscape. “... I know that the initial awe is only a temporary reprieve... but when I finally wake up, I will likely find myself back where I started... alone, scared... preyed on by the vicious tigers prowling the streets.” 

“... Lady Seraphina, so long as I am not overstepping... may I inquire about your circumstances?”  

“... No, I don’t mind,” at which point, they had turned up on a dead end, so instead of backtracking, Seraphina instead gave her aching back the benefit of the doubt for a moment and dropped their cargo. Malphas sprung from her shoulder and hovered before her as she stepped back to recline against the wall, cradling the grimoire as uncut bangs beshadowed her gaze, neck drooped. “... I don’t suppose it’s some new invention here in Veritas, right?” 

“No, of course not. There are thousands of people like you... and perhaps even more who feel as if they must hide. While magic on the body is frowned upon beyond healing, that subcategory of magic can only be taught to a certified cleric of the Church of the Ascendant, therefore it is relatively unpracticed in common witch society. But it has evolved in recent times, and now many can achieve their idealized selves.”  

“There’s no magic where I’m from, but things have advanced there too… that being said, all the extra steps involved can be... expensive, nor is it readily available to most common people. I happen to get the short end of the stick after I was... disinherited,” Seraphina washed down the rancid aftertaste that sprung up in her throat when she thought of the dry, cracked blood in her hair when she camped out on the bench in the park the subsequent few nights.  

“... My immediate support system was not... supportive, to say the least. I spent the remainder of my teenage years in a shelter and gradually worked my way up until I was able to ascertain a somewhat consistent line of income, but... it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing from there. I... I suppose I never really made an effort to be respected by others,” Seraphina admitted as it was less of an explanation and more so a realization as her grip around the book clamped tight, and she had to take a moment to reprocess, her throat threatening to lock up.  

“... It isn’t merely because... I wanted to present differently, but I... over time, I began to question my worth as a person in general. I never once complained or even begrudged the fact that I was consistently beleaguered and beaten down by the people around me because I never saw the appeal in defending my values. I was raised in a quiet home wherein I was expected to quietly follow orders and comply with the false delusion of peace my family had perpetuated to detract from the fact that none of us were satisfied with our lives... and those lessons ultimately stalked me into adulthood, so much so that I never bothered to suture that hanging gap between myself and the rest of the world… 

… I had... grown content with the idea that there was no such thing as goodwill in this world... and I’m sure that had this not happened, I also would have accepted that I could do nothing else but fester alone in that house until the walls rotted off their hinges and caved in on me. So, to an extent... I understand... wanting to conform for your safety but deep down, I know... I know what I truly want... is to discover the person I want to become.”  

Seraphina relocated the book to sit under her arm while she let out a prolonged sigh. “I’m not... used to getting that off my chest. I’ll admit I feel a bit lighter than before,” she cast a weary smile at her familiar as she anchored herself against the wall with a hand. “I didn’t mean to go on such a tangent, though.” 

“... It is fine... Seraphina. I feel as if it would mean more to you if I forwent the honorifics. And for the record… there is nothing that you need to convince to others that they should not have already been able to see on the surface. It is they who failed you.” 

“... Thank you, I… this name I chose... and yes, I may or may not have ripped it off of the protagonist of a book I read when I was young, but... it is... it’s the first and only choice I’ve ever made for myself. I didn’t realize how euphoric it was to be acknowledged by somebody... it makes all those years of reticence seem pointless,” Seraphina sniffed and brought a thumb up to expel the wetness that had threatened to spill over the corner of her eye and adamantly shook her head. 

“Sorry, I... I’m thankful for this opportunity regardless... a proper chance to turn over a new leaf... even if there might be a few hiccups along the way, I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt... this fulfilled. Like my existence has some merit, after all,” she shifted her hand absentmindedly across ancient brick. “... In spite of everything, I’m glad I never chose to give up... or else I never would have learned what the future held.”  

At which point, Seraphina unintentionally ran her palm across a hidden mechanism— an invisible magic rune— that was chiseled into the wall, magic flashing when contact was made and she promptly backed away, defensively clinging to the grimoire while Malphas took charge on her shoulder. She followed evolving lines as they streamed together to form the silhouette of a doorframe, fretwork ornamented by intricate runic carvings and supported by a three-dimensional doorknob that was ever so tempting. Curiosity indeed overran her like a tidal wave as she invited an unspoken question in the form of a slantwise look onto her feathery familiar. “... I do not detect black magic if that is what you are concerned about. But if anything seems awry, I will inform you immediately.”