The Price of Magic

The Flamel's estate, like many other Victorian mansions, was opulent with stretches upon stretches of land. The gardens were well-tended, and though you could often spot strange birds and creatures lurking in the woods on the border of the estate, there was a distinct lack of magical creatures within the mansion wards. Non-magical creatures, however, had not been barred from entering the estate.

Cyrna's second day in the universe started with a sharp rap on her windows. Half-asleep, she mumbled something incoherent and pulled the covers higher over her face. And then she heard it—that horrid metallic screeching sound. With a mumbled complaint, Cyrna emerged from the cozy warmth of her bed and walked towards the window where she saw the fluffiest ball of white. She winced again when one of its paws scraped down the glass.

Cyrna opened the window. "Hey—"

Wide blue eyes peered at her from within the cloud of fur and she couldn't help but melt. Then it let out a startled hiss, edged backwards,

And tipped right off the windowsill.

Lurching forward, she reached out—only to miss.

Cyrna slammed her palms against the sill in frustration as the kitten tumbled down. She had always liked animals, especially fluffy ones. And this one was the cutest.

She was unwilling to let it die.

As if her new body was reacting to her emotions, her mind pulled out a memory:

It was dark around her. And she could feel herself trembling, her body shivering from the cold as she tucked her legs to her chest. Laying down on the makeshift bed, she fervently prayed for the cold to go away. A cough welled up in her throat and she succumbed to the painful hacking that had gripped her these past few days. She would have tried to pull up the thin bedsheets, but her fingers felt numb; unresponsive.

Really, she was just so tired. As she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she thought once more of the warmth from the human that had carried her into the dark room, and strangely enough, the last thing she heard before her eyes closed in slumber, was the quiet whisper of the air as it stirred and held her in its warm embrace.

She could still feel it—that lingering warmth. As if a veil had fallen from her eyes, her body remembered, and she perceived, as if in a dream, beautiful silver strings dancing around her. They curled around her outstretched hand like a snake waiting to strike. And somehow, she realized that all she needed to do was ask. Ask and desire and then—

The silver strings obey.

Her magic welled up, the strings gaining focus as they plunged towards the falling creature. Strong gusts of wind suddenly appeared, gently catching the kitten and settling it onto the ground.

Cyrna felt faintly relieved. "Don't do that again!" She called down, obviously not expecting a response.

But the kitten turned to look at her, their eyes clashing before it scampered off into the meadows.

Blinking, she thought, I did magic again.

She sank tiredly onto the floor, the magic exhausting what little energy she had recovered under Perenelle's care. A headache soon wracked across her head, but she disregarded it and dragged herself to the washroom to start her day. Blearily, she ran through the motions, patting her face dry with a towel as her mind wandered back to the new memory.

The distress, the resignation Laufeia, and she—experiencing the memory second-hand—had felt… Cyrna shivered, staring sightlessly at the mirror.

Pale white skin. Unnaturally so, to the point where it seemed almost translucent in the correct light. Sunken cheeks. Cracked lips. Raven-black hair that fell messily over her shoulders. Chipped nails. She flexed her fingers and watched with a strange sort of fascination as they responded… these fingers that belonged to her, yet did not feel like her own…

It was these hands that could pluck and fiddle with the strings of fate. She could do that, but she wouldn't—why would she when it was guaranteed that the Light would win? Why do anything when her safety was guaranteed by her inaction? What if more died because she had tried to be the good person and save someone slated for death? Would her intent justify her consequences—because surely their deaths would then be hers to bear. She was the only new variable in this world, after all.

That responsibility was too dreadful.

Cyrna would not bother with fate. She had neither the courage, nor the desire.