1:37

I swear it has been a year since 1:36. I wait at least ten minutes before checking the clock again.

1:37

Is it broken? How is time moving so slowly?

The professor drones on, something about… you know what? I don't even know, so I'm sure it will be on the test. I need to stay awake, I promised Father I wouldn't waste this opportunity, that I would stay awake and make our family proud. They only give one scholarship out for each class, and it is assigned based on the results of a required standardized test. I wouldn't have continued school otherwise. Father has always wanted a mage in the family. I wanted to join my uncle in the forge and become a blacksmith.

1:39

How? literally how? School is so boooooring!

"Alright everyone, take a fireproof bason and try to start a small flame in the bason," the Professor glares at the class trouble makers, "Once you have that, form it into a shape."

Finally! I'm much better at the practicals. Taking notes and listening is just not my forte. That's why I sit closest to the material's closet.

I'm back to my desk in record time with a stone bason that looks like a slightly flatter bowl than a mortar and pestle would have. Many of the other students are struggling with their stone basons, but I'm able to place mine gently on the desk. All that blacksmith training coming in handy.

I read the assignment on the board.

> Use the cynnau spell to conjure fire. Use meditative techniques you learned last week to control its shape.

The cynnau spell. I flip through my book and skim the chapter on it again. At Father's insistence, I read all the books before school started. I'm used to working with fires in the forges, but I won't get the points if I don't use exactly the spell and technique they are teaching in class, even if I can already control fire.

Class has gotten loud, some students screaming the spell in frustration, others put too much power into the spell and blew themselves backwards. Good thing those with magical talent are generally more durable.

Cupping my hands in the middle of the bason, I imagine a flame. "Cynnau" It is barely a thought before a small flame appears in my palms. I imagine it morphing into a butterfly and fluttering away. My tiny flamerfly lightly sets down on the corner of the professor's lecturn.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Well done, Laoise, very well done!" The other kid's glare at me. Scholarship kids are never well treated. The average scholarship kid quits after the first semester, but here I am in year 3.

I start sneaking my supplies back into my bag. I'm gonna need to book it out of here if I don't want to take a beating for being the first to perfectly execute the practical, again. The teacher dismisses us at the same moment I shoulder my bag. I'm leaving the classroom before the rest of the students have wrestled their stone basons off their desks.

I hate school. I never wanted to come to university, especially not for magic.

The door to my room slams shut behind me. I lock it as it closes, a habit my mother beat into me at a young age. I don't want to do this anymore.

I'm so tired. Tired of being bullied, tired of being told what to do, tired of having to sit though classes I don't need to learn spells I could learn—that I have learned—on my own.

I sit down at my desk, and pull the open book closer. A spell to regain your autonomy. Could this give me back my life? There are five pages of warnings here before the spell is even discussed. If the spell backfires, there are unspecified dire consequences. I have the power levels, and the history with meditation to pull this off, but should I?

I'll just read it all through again, shall I? Then I'll sleep on it and do the spell next week if I still feel the need.

> Visualize what you want your life to look like. Be sure you can articulate it in a single sentence or concept.

"I want to be myself and not get bullied or hurt for it," I whisper in the silence of my room, "and then incant 'Yr wyf yn gweddïo i ti roi'r dewrder i fod yn fi '"

***

I wake up with drool gluing me to the pages of the open book. I don't even remember falling asleep. What time is it?

"It's six o'clock" a sharp voice reprimanded

"Time to get up!" another voice, this one playful. I stand up so fast I topple my chair looking for the source of the voices.

"You are going to be late if you don't get moving soon" a voice sing-songs.

"Who are you? How did you get in my room? What do you want!?" I demand in rapid fire, utterly failing to hide my panic.

"You invited us." This voice is bored, and deep.

"How many of there are you? What do you mean I invited you?"

"Seven"

"Yep, seven"

"I believe you have sins named after us. I'm Pride." the bored voice offers.

"I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming!" I collapse in the center of the room and bang my hands on my head "Wake up, wake up!"

"Not dreaming princess, I'm Lust, by the way," a slow, sultry voice replies.

"You summoned us last night with that lovely spell. In case you are too stupid to guess, I'm Wrath." The sharp voice bites out.

"We are here to teach you how to advocate for yourself and take what you want. Greed, sweetheart, nice to meet you."

"I'm starving, let's go get some food," the voice that is presumably Gluttony replies.

I run to the book on the desk and quickly reread the pages of warnings.

> If your intent is unclear or the spell is misincanted, elements from the other side will remain in your heart until clarity can be achieved and the spell completed.

Well, crap.