The chair felt as soft as he remembered, and the leather was as smooth as a freshly shaved face.

The slight smell of burning wood permeated the air in the grand chamber that they were in; the fireplace was crackling softly as they watched the day turn into night through the large window.

Carmen brought the glass of wine to her lips once more, taking a sip of the maroon liquid.

"I've missed you greatly, dear," she said as she put the glass down, smiling as she looked over at Rene.

"I've missed you too, Mother..." Rene smiled as he fidgeted with his fingers, turning his gaze from his mother to the window intermittently.

She cleared her throat before she spoke. "How was your time at the academy?"

Her question had brought back both fresh and forgotten memories from the past six years of Rene's life.

"Oh well... It was, it was..." He let out a drawn-out sigh as he struggled to find the right words; his discomfort didn't go unnoticed by Carmen, though, and she gave him all the time he needed.

"It certainly was interesting..." Rene finally spoke up somewhat gingerly; again, his tone wasn't lost on Carmen.

She extended her hand and caressed Rene's cheek. "Dear... Do you need a moment?"

"I am fine, simply exhausted. I cannot seem to get my thoughts straight." Rene said as he slowly sat up from the armchair, "May I excuse myself to the lavatory?"

Carmen nodded as she swirled the liquid inside the glass with a practiced movement of the hand. "You may," she said as she took a sip of wine and focused back on the sky outside.

Rene made his way outside the chamber and focused his eyes towards the master bathroom of the manor.

Out of habit, Rene knocked on the door of the bathroom, but as expected, no response came.

He sighed heavily as he locked the door behind him, wasting no time to disrobe.

First his flare-collared blouse came off, then Rene slid out of his silky black skirt, which hung just above his knees.

He continued taking off layers till he was down to his undergarments; he folded his clothes neatly and put them on the bathroom's storage cabinet.

It wasn't traditional to find a blouse in a witch's wardrobe, but the other options were not exactly fitted for a man's figure; then again, it wasn't exactly traditional for a man to be a witch either.

Rene was aware of that; that fact had hung over his head for most of his life. His time at the academy had only made the disconnect between what he was and what he was training to be even larger.

But he didn't have time to think about it further; his mother was waiting for him eagerly, and he would hate to keep her waiting.

Rene walked to the larger mirror, which was mounted above the sink, giving him a clear view of his torso. He traced a hand along his bare chest, wincing slightly as it moved across the freshly scarred sigils he had cut into himself.

After six years of chasing the power and affinity from the beings and deities he worshipped, his body was left looking more and more like a macabre canvas covered in both common and very obscure sigils.

He had always known that his studies would have a price; the occult was never something that could be understood and harnessed for free, especially by someone who wasn't born with so-called talent and power.

He continued to trace downwards towards his abdomen, trying to make sure that the sigils weren't healing; he knew that if a sigil healed instead of scarring over, then his efforts would've been in vain.

Besides that, Rene was also checking if any of the wounds were infected; even if they were directly connected to the occult, that didn't mean that they were exempt from the ills of the natural world.

Rene looked at his reflection with the same glazed-over stare he always had when seeing himself; he wondered why he felt so strange looking into mirrors.

Knowing there was another world adjacent to the one he could see always made him feel strange; the reflection he saw always felt like it was staring back at him, as if he was staring into himself but not into his own eyes.

Hastily brushing his hair and washing his teeth, Rene tried to get freshened up as quickly as he could.

The conversation that was waiting for him was no doubt going to be drawn out and uncomfortable, and he wanted to at least look somewhat presentable after his long trip back.

Gripping the ceramic rim of the sink tightly, Rene took one last detailed look at his reflection before walking back to the cabinet on which his folded-up clothes.

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With a heavy sigh, Rene started to put his clothes back on, adjusting them to his form layer by layer.

Carmen poured herself another glass of wine; she was still awaiting Rene's return.

She sensed that he was still in the bathroom and only occasionally moving; she figured out he was probably just trying to freshen up.

If he had warned her about his arrival back home, she would've prepared a warmer welcome for him, but the best she could do in such a short period was bring out one of her more expensive wines and light up the fireplace.

She brought the rim of the glass to her bluish lips and took a sip of the maroon red wine; she felt there was something wrong with Rene, but she couldn't exactly place her finger on what.

Maybe he was simply exhausted from his travel, or maybe it was something else entirely; all Carmen knew was that there was something wrong with her son.

This was far from the boy she had sent off to the academy so he could pursue his wish to follow in the studies of the occult.

She leaned her head against her hand, which itself was resting against the armrest of the large chair. Carmen wondered if sending that boy to the academy was the right choice.

From a young age, Rene was enthusiastic about magic and even ecstatic when he actually saw it being practiced.

But she herself knew that he was far too sheltered to be able to comprehend the true horrors that could happen as a consequence of the occult.

But what was a mother to do?

She knew that she couldn't teach him the basics herself since nearly a century had passed since she herself learned them, but on the other hand, she couldn't keep him with her in the manor forever; he needed to see the world outside and needed to learn to interact with his peers.

She gripped the glass tighter as she reminisced about how she tried to convince Rene to join the studies of the warlocks.

But no, Rene was steadfast and hellbent on studying as a witch.

And what was a mother to do? She couldn't deny him the wish to follow in her footsteps; she couldn't crush his dreams before they even had time to bloom.

Her grip on the glass reached an apex as she heard the door creak open and Rene step in; she was so focused on her thoughts that she forgot to focus on his aura.

Startled by his appearance, Carmen accidentally shattered the glass in her hand, the vile mixture of blood, wine, and glass now spilling onto the wooden floor.

Rene quickened his pace and gripped her arm with his left hand while he, at the same time, whispered an incantation and put his right hand over her now wounded and bleeding hand.

With a brilliant orchid hue, the open gash on Carmen's hand was slowly closed; it looked as if the flesh itself fused back together.

"Are you alright?" he said with concern in his voice, a concern that Carmen never heard before.

"Yes... Yes, I am." Carmen nodded, inspecting her hand with a keen eye as she opened and closed it a couple of times.

She was impressed, to say the least; a witch freshly out of the academy being able to pull off a restoration spell so flawlessly was nothing to scoff at.

She smiled as she turned her gaze towards Rene, noticing how concerned he still looked; his eyes were wide open, and his pupils slightly narrowed.

"I do say, Rene... I am most impressed. I take it you specialized in vitamancy?" Carmen pointed towards the smaller armchair on the right, inviting him to sit with her once again.

"No, actually... I never really specialized in anything." Rene sat down on the armchair, looking away from his mother as he felt a deep shame within himself.

Carmen was at a total loss for words at his statement, "Nothing?"

The confusion in her tone was palpable; how could one attend the academy for six years and still not have a specialty in any school of magic?

"Rene, are you being serious?" She tilted her head in even further confusion; she knew from his letters that his studies went well, but if that were true, then how could he have never had a specialty?

Rene scratched his hand, hiding his palm from her. "No... I never developed a specialty."

He shook his head in shame as he leaned down and touched the concoction of blood, wine, and shattered glass that was still on the floor.

With just a light touch, the mixture turned into a swarm of butterflies; they were all brilliantly colored in red and white, and intricate patterns sprawled across their large wings.

Carmen's confusion shifted to one of mild amusement as she saw him use the same spell that he had always used when he was younger; she couldn't recall where he had learned it or how he could use such a transmutative ability at such a young age.

"Still with the butterflies?" she smirked as they locked eyes once more.

"Yeah..." he said as he continued scratching his obscured hand more and more; the scratching and the attempt to hide his hand from her wasn't lost on Carmen, though.

"Dear, show me your hand," she said with a soft yet commanding tone as she extended her own hand, inviting him to place his into hers.

Hesitantly he extended his own trembling hand towards her; with a careful movement, she rotated his hand so that his palm faced her.

Quickly Carmen's demeanor changed to one of worry, "Rene..."

She spoke as she ran, taking a closer look at his palm, which was cut open and bleeding, just like hers had been minutes ago.

It was not a restoration spell he had used but one of transmutation.

He looked away in shame, not sure if his mother was worried or simply disappointed; from the side of his field of view, he saw a familiar yellow-hued light.

The same light he had seen dozens of times when he got hurt as a child, "I see... It truly wasn't vitamancy."

Carmen spoke with a slight disappointment in her voice, realizing she was wrong.

"Do tell me, Rene... What did you study then?" Her tone turned more commanding; she was tired of guessing and waiting for him to tell her about his time in the academy; Carmen wanted answers.

"I... The basics, of course, for the first three years... As is customary, of course." He spoke sheepishly, still not being able to look Carmen in the eyes.

Carmen stayed silent for a moment; Rene felt as if she was sizing him up and silently judging him. "And for the last three?"

There was nearly no emotion in her voice, the same stoic and cold tone she had when speaking to people other than Rene.

"I... transmutation." He finally met her gaze, feeling as if her eyes were peering into his mind or even deeper; he felt like she was staring straight into his soul.

"Really? Why is that... You do know transmutation is only worth the time it takes to master if you already have a grasp on other schools of magic."

He felt her gaze intensify even more as she spoke. Rene knew that there was no lying now; there was no way to justify himself but to tell the truth.

"I... I never could really get the grasp of anything more advanced... except in transmutation." He trembled as he spoke; he knew it wasn't wise to invoke the wrath of his mother, even if he never saw the full extent of it.

Carmen's voice quickly turned accusatory as she spoke, her face still unreadable. "You could not, or did you not try hard enough?"

He bared his teeth and clenched the armrests tightly. "I couldn't..."

Rene said with an unfamiliarly cold and somber tone, if only she knew the things he did to try and become stronger, if only she knew what he looked like under his clothes.

Silently Carmen got up from her chair and approached the chamber doors. "We will discuss this at a later date."

And with nothing more said between them, she left the room.

Rene simply sat there; he looked out the window at the stars that now dotted the sky.

He put his legs up close to his chest and curled up on the chair, unsure of what Carmen truly thought of him now.

Rene knew what she said was the truth; transmutation was only useful if it worked together in tandem with other schools of magic. He couldn't do anything above turning minor things into butterflies and transferring the wounds of others onto himself with no ability to heal them other than waiting.

No better than any other novice witch, he felt as if he wasn't deserving of his family name.

Rene felt as if he wasn't even worthy to be called a witch.

He knew that his mother was disappointed, even if she never wanted to admit it; he had always felt she wished he was someone else.

But those were just thoughts, those were just bad thoughts that wished nothing more than to torment him.

The same thoughts that haunted him since he could remember, yet even with the amount of time he felt them, he was never fully able to dispel them.

Taking one last look at the stars with teary eyes, Rene too got up and exited the room, heading towards his personal quarters.

The only sound in the manor now was his footsteps and gentle weeping that echoed almost silently through the halls.

With a pull of the handle, he was now in his personal quarters, a large room with walls covered by shelves full of books and various crystals.

It was as if the room was frozen in time; truly, nothing had changed since he left.

Nothing was moved, and everything was just as he had left it those six years before; his bed was still made, and not even a new speck of dust appeared in the room.

He had no time to reminisce or bask in the nostalgia anymore; he knew exhaustion would only make his thoughts even more erratic.

Disrobing down to his lacy undergarments with a practiced and mindless movement, Rene fell down onto his bed and blankly stared at the ceiling.

He sluggishly climbed under the blankets and returned to staring into nothingness, waiting for the silver kiss of sleep to come to him.

Waiting for his mind to wander off into the nocturnal realm of dreams, to be anywhere but here and anyone but him.