With a bated breath, Nadine Pleasant unfurled the fraying string neatly binding the stack of her family's envelopes together. Her hands worked the string loose, its crimson fibres snapping under the tension. The envelopes beneath shifted, their edges rough against her fingertips. Her chest tightened with soundless anticipation, an icy slither caressing the back of her neck as she sorted through the stack, her movements careful but deliberate. Paper rasped against the paper, whispering secrets to one another until one envelope in particular, stopped her cold. There, in alluring cursive script, was a letter addressed to her.
This letter - A fragile, trembling thing within her grasp, could mean everything.
Daringly, her fingertips grazed the surface. Trailing over the brief indentation left behind by the tip of the quill that had so brazenly ebbed her name in depth-less black ink. Glinting in the ocher light cascading in through the kitchen window lay an undisturbed wax seal. Neatly binding the folds of the envelope together. Its gold face, lavished with the imprint of a celestial sun and moon nestled within a weaving, labyrinthine pattern.
Nurturing the envelope open with utmost care, Nadine braced herself against the counter. Holding the piece of paper close to her chest as her lashes fluttered closed. Drawing a painfully needing breath as the letter was unfolded, and she scoured the content within.
Le Sanctuaire Ésotérique,
Institut des Connaissances Arcaniques et Célestes.
Dear Miss Pleasant,
Following your recent interview, Le Sanctuaire Ésotérique has extended an official offer for you to join our faculty of Arcane Realities.
The interview showed your remarkable talent in the magical arts and your rare insight into perception and reality. Your unique approach to the subject will be a valuable addition to our faculty and student development. Our commitment is to provide the highest quality education.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Le Sanctuaire will entrust you with teaching the Art of Illusions—an essential branch of magic that requires both subtlety and mastery. You will guide students through the fine balance of deception and perception, teaching them how to mold reality itself. Aside from teaching, you'll have access to our exclusive library of arcane knowledge and can collaborate on research in the Department of Arcane Studies.
We will induct you into our faculty and provide you with all the necessary resources for your role, beginning on January 1st. We will prepare accommodations for you within the sanctuary and provide a stipend to support you during your tenure with us.
We have no doubt that your time with us will be a mutually enriching experience, fostering growth in both yourself and our students. We await the contributions and whimsical teachings you will bring to Le Sanctuaire Ésotérique.
Kind Regards,
Professor Lilya Marsh
Chair of the Department of Illusions and Arcane Studies.
Le Sanctuaire Ésotérique
It felt as though time had paused, suspended between a single tick and an overdue tock, caught in the same breathless anticipation gripping Nadine. The stillness was absolute, broken only by the faint rustle of paper as her eyes darted over each word, each elegant curve and flicked flourish of the cursive script before her, pulling Nadine deeper into its calligraphic clutches.
Le Sanctuaire Ésotérique.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow, trembling breaths as the words pressed themselves into her mind: an invitation to step into the folds of a world she had only dreamed of. The most prestigious institute in the country had chosen her — as a Master of Illusions, a guide to the deceptive arts she had spent her life perfecting.
And yet, standing there in the golden wash of the kitchen light, her fingers gripping the edges of the letter as if it might vanish, she could hardly believe it. For someone who had built her life around crafting illusions, the truth of this moment felt impossibly unreal.
The celestial seal glinted faintly on the counter where she had set the envelope aside, its labyrinthine imprint a silent reminder of the door she was about to walk through—a door she could never close again.