“The Halloween party?” I asked, taking their hand. “When I met him?”
The hood shook, an ethereal laugh echoing out from it. “No. We start at the very beginning. Your birth.”
I frowned, confused. “My birth? What does that have to do with Nerion?”
“Everything is connected,” the guide replied, their watery form rippling as they moved. “To understand the enchantments affecting your heart, we must understand all magic that has touched your life.”
The void around us shifted, colors swirling until they formed a scene. It was a hospital room. I saw my mother lying in bed, her face glistening with sweat but triumphant. My father stood beside her, looking down at a tiny bundle in her arms. Me.
“Watch,” the guide instructed.
My father leaned over the newborn me, his eyes not filled with the love I might have expected but with something more calculating. He pulled out a wand and began tracing symbols over my infant form while muttering incantations.
“What is he doing?” I asked, stepping closer.
“Your father is casting the first of many spells,” the guide explained. “A compulsion charm, designed to make you naturally inclined toward physical activity, particularly swimming.”
I felt my stomach drop. “He... he enchanted me as a baby?”
“The first of many such enchantments,” the guide confirmed. “Watch.”
The scene shifted, and I saw myself as a toddler, perhaps three years old, throwing a tantrum over something trivial. My mother’s face twisted with frustration before she discreetly flicked her wrist. Instantly, I calmed, my eyes glazing slightly.
“A behavioral modification spell,” the guide said. “Used repeatedly throughout your childhood whenever you displayed too much independence or rebellion. Not uncommon amongst witch families, but heavily leaned upon in your case.”
My heart raced as scene after scene unfolded. My father casting enhancement spells before my first swim lessons. My mother weaving subtle enchantments into my food to increase my focus during study time. Both of them working complex magic to suppress certain personality traits they found inconvenient. Mostly my creativity, my stubbornness, and my natural inclination toward artistic endeavors rather than athletics.
“They’ve been manipulating me my entire life,” I whispered, horrified.
“Yes,” the guide said simply. “Their magic has shaped much of who you believe yourself to be.”
Anger welled up inside me. “How could they do this? It’s... it’s abusive!”
“Many parents seek to mold their children,” the guide said, neither condemning nor excusing. “Yours simply had magical means to do so more directly.”
I watched a teenage version of myself struggling with an alchemical equation, frustration evident on my face. My father entered, observed for a moment, then subtly cast a clarity charm when I wasn’t looking. Suddenly, my expression changed, the concepts clicking as if I’d figured it out myself.
“I always thought I was naturally gifted,” I said bitterly. “But it was just them, pulling strings.”
“Not entirely,” the guide corrected. “The potential was yours. The magic merely...enhancedcertain abilities while suppressing others.”
The scenes continued, showing years of subtle magical manipulation. I watched myself hitting puberty, struggling with normal teenage mood swings. After a particularly heated argument with my parents about wanting to quit the swim team, I saw my father slip something into my drink at dinner. The next day, I was back in the pool, my rebellion forgotten.
“They’ve been drugging me?” I asked, horrified.
“Potions,” the guide corrected. “A combination of magical herbs and enchanted liquids designed to make you more compliant, more focused on their goals for you rather than your own desires.”
Tears burned in my eyes as I watched myself growing up, a puppet dancing on invisible strings. Every major decision, everypivotal moment… there they were, subtly steering me with magic and manipulation.
“What about college?” I asked. “Did I even choose Widdershins myself?”
The guide waved a hand, and I saw my parents in their study, discussing applications.
“Theodore will attend Widdershins,” my father said firmly. “It’s close enough that we can maintain influence, yet prestigious enough for our standards.”
“But he’s mentioned wanting to look at other programs,” my mother replied, looking concerned. “He mentioned wanting to go to another country to see how they study magic there.”
My father scoffed. “A passing phase. I’ve already prepared the acceptance persuasion spell. He’ll believe it was entirely his idea.”