The witch's rebirth

My name is Gene Roxanna Armini Yoit—but you can call me Gray. Everyone does. And let me tell you, I am having a spectacularly horrible afternoon.

I've been reborn. Again.

As if life wasn't already complicated enough, I had to make a deal with the devil. And worse? I won. You'd think that'd be cause for celebration, right? Wrong. A boatload of regret hitched a ride back with me. Turns out, bending reality has consequences—consequences governed by a whole set of laws I now have to live by.

Arriving over a thousand years in the past wasn't exactly the reward I envisioned. But hey, I suppose it's better than oblivion. The problem? I'm weak right now. So weak that I can practically feel the dust settling in my magical veins. Digging through the fog in my mind, I latch onto the most recent thing I remember. College.

Of all the memories to resurface, why that one?

I fought hard for normal. I craved the cookie-cutter American dream, the white picket fence, the dog... you know the spiel. Didn't happen. Never would.

The real kicker? I wouldn't even be in this mess if I hadn't gone home for tea. Yeah. Tea. With my aunts.

You wouldn't think something as innocent as tea could derail a life, but apparently, I'm just that lucky. The strawberry jam and almond scones were calling my name, and like an idiot, I answered. That's how I ended up face-to-face with the devil.

Now here I am—back where it all began—sitting miserably at my aunt's table, enduring a conversation I'd rather drown in hot tea than hear.

They decided it was time for the talk.

Yes. That talk.

At twenty-five, you'd think I was beyond this, but apparently not. My aunts are persistent, and by persistent, I mean relentless. The problem? The talk isn't entirely irrelevant. Not for me.

I've never... you know.

My magic won't allow it. Touch a guy, and I shatter mirrors. My first date ended in minor explosions at a quaint Italian restaurant. Six people got hurt. Romantic, right? After two more catastrophic attempts at a love life, I resigned myself to eternal celibacy. It's safer for everyone.

"I really don't need to hear this. I'm almost twenty-five. Things were different in your time."

"We're not that old," Aunt Morgan says indignantly.

I raise an eyebrow. Not that old? These women were alive when Atlantis still existed in this dimension. Now it's just the capital city on the other side.

Morgan narrows her eyes, already sensing the comment forming on my lips. "Don't start."

"Don't start what?" I feign innocence.

"We need to know if you even have a clue," she says, folding her arms like a disappointed headmistress.

"I know what sex is, Aunt Morgan. I've seen enough of it with Diana." I groan. "Are you even listening to me?"

Morgan's expression softens. "My dear, bonding isn't just sex. It's the intertwining of souls. It's irreversible—gratifying, yes—but permanent. It's not something one regrets or rushes into blindly."

That part of the conversation sticks with me. But the way she says it now feels different. There's an edge to her smile, a flicker of something else beneath the surface. Not sarcasm. Something closer to... sorrow?

Strange.

Morgan's always had the gift of foresight, but surely she isn't seeing that far ahead. Right?

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