The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed noon, its sonorous tones breaking the spell that had fallen over the living room. Mishka blinked, realizing that hours had passed as Myrtle unravelled the intricate tapestry of their family's magical history.
"So, let me get this straight," Mishka said, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Our family has been secret magical practitioners for centuries, all while maintaining a public facade of technological innovation?"
Myrtle nodded, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Indeed. The Classens have always understood that true power lies in the ability to bridge worlds. Magic and technology, ancient and modern – we've walked the line between them for generations."
Bruce, who had been silent for much of Myrtle's tale, leaned forward. "But why keep it a secret from Mishka for so long? Surely it would have been safer for her to know, to be prepared?"