learning about the foundations of an ancient magic is far more complicated than you imagined. that is, of course there are rules and restrictions, lessons and practices. sitting on the floor of the atelier, however, you struggle to internalize them.
itâs a world apart from everything youâve grown to know as real or unreal.
with qifrey around you, though, it becomes a different form of struggle. heâs seated you in his centre, between his legs, with the spell book between your own.
âhow do I do this?â you ask time and time again, only for qifrey to patiently wrap his hand around your wrist, and guide your hands through the spellâs motions.
âeasy does it, little apprentice,â he says, his free hand cupping your nape, ruffling your hair. âyouâre doing very well.â
he surrounds you for precaution, you think. as a safety measure to make sure you donât set fires or cause alarm to his other students. but as qifrey rubs your shoulders encouragingly every time you become distressed by a lack of result, or evokes some odd analogy simply to cheer you up when you turn water to sap instead of a spout, exhaling warmly against your ear, you feel something new blossom within you.
itâs a foreign feeling.
youâve never experienced it with anyone before. some of the other students have mentioned something along the lines before. butterflies in their stomach when they meet the eyes of particularly handsome witches in the great hall; a warm flush when they encounter strong magic at anotherâs hands.
you suppose it makes sense logically. qifrey has a very pretty blue eye that makes you recall the ocean, and heâs quite a strong witch with magic far more powerful than you know.
why wouldnât you feel those odd butterflies then?
