In a distant land, there is a woman, sitting at a table with a lit chandelier above her. She sighed, and lit a small candle, with a small treat for someone."Y/n, today is your birthday. If only you knew and had lived long enough to know who you are," she said, only to blow out the small candle, "You would've been 18, and still the greatest thing I've brought into this world."
A dark voice from behind her calls to the woman, "A̷̧̼͓̞̫͇͕͇̠̗̦͇̟͎̪͉̬̩͚̖̤̺̠̥̿͐͐̄̎͑̀̎̊̄̒̄̓̀̎̈́͋̓́̈́̃̇͌̎͂̀̃́͐̈́̅͛̍̏͊͐͑̃̚̕̚͘͝͝ṟ̴̢̨̨̢̘͖͇̭̜̭̳̻̰̺͓̤̫̲̤̥̗͎̺͙̝̫̺͖̰͎̹̬̲̜̖͚̎̄̈́͗̎̇͐̀̃͆̾̒͌́̌̚͘̚̚͝͝e̴̡̧̡̡̨̢̨̼̖̩̬̻͓̖̹̩̟̻̱̫̗̦̖͓̹͖͖̻̻͓̖̜̼̥͓͖͓̠̻̜͌͒̓̂̇͌͛͋̈́̾̉̀̇̇͜͝ ̵̡̛̯̭͙̜͕̪͕̞̮̪̲͂̋̋͆̌̽͛̇͗́͘ÿ̵̢̡̧̡̧̨̼̦̪͙̫̱̝̯̮̳̘̖̣͕̭̯̥͎͙̲̙̰̤̪̫͚̳̙̙̜̹͍̟̹̞̟̙́̓̅̿̊̑̍̒̓̈̀͋͆̍̎́̆͆́̀́̀͘̕̚͜͝ǫ̷̡̢̡̡̧̛͎̟̤̣͕͖̬͓͔̤͔̗̼̻̝̘̖̖͇̥͚͎̹̺̱̥̟͎̺͍̝̹̘̬͈͊͒̿̈́͂̉͗̉̃̓̑̏́͊̀̓̀̑́͂̚͘͝ͅu̷̢̡̨͇̞̙͙̞̺͙͇͉͚͕̰̤̠̙̹̳̺͉͓͉̖͓̣̩̥̥̲̪̹̲̯̞͈͉͍͔̭̺̻̥͔̰͒̊̓̊̄͌͌͊̉̀͆̆̈͛̾̉͌̀͐̀̅̐̑̽́̉̑̉̊͊̌̈́͛̌̋́͋̚͠͝͝͠͝ ̵̨̦̳̠̘̙̹͉̙̙̪͉̞͕̦̜̦͍̝͈̭̥͖̬͚̗̲̬̦͍̯̻̩̫͎̤̹͋̎̈́̑͒̂͛͆̕͜͜͠t̷̨̢͙̟͕̳͚͙͍̺̝͖̖͍̳̗͎̝̘͙͇͇̘͙͇͉̰̙̘̪̯̮̲̙̬̯̼̥̪̤̫̭̲̅̐̉̈́͂̀͜͜͝h̴̢̧̡̝̠̭̙̦̥͖̝̝̳̜̩̖̱̭͙̹̞͔̬̔̊̈́͂̄́̂̋̌́͘͜͜i̶̛͍͈̱̞̳͔͔̳̝͌̅͐͂̈̄͌͆̌̌̊̃̾͆̈́́͗̓̈́̎̾͗̚̚͝ͅn̸̡̢̫̟͇̼͇̤͈͖̲̖̲̍͌͗̎̎̃̌̽͑̈́̎̀̅͋̈̽̈̇̈͑͒̓̄̽̓̀̈̽͑̀̀̽̈́͂̊̏̈́͊̓̆̊͜͜͝͝͝k̸̨̡̧̡̨̧̩̯͔̼̣̰̠̰̳̞̲͖̤͈̞̙̲̜͚͓̭͉̩͓͎̳̫͕͈̟̘͚͚̅̇̿̿̊̓̒́͗́̾̀̓̓͑̿́͑͂͘͜͝͝ͅi̴̢̡̧̨̢̛̺͈̩͉͖̮̹̰̥̫̠͔͍̰̬̝͍̳̤͓̹͕̞̟̠̫̪̺̞̺̮̙̠̥̥̫̟̩̻̩͇̅̇͊͐́́͐͋̈́̀̒͋̾͋͛̈̽̄̎͗̎̑̈́̾͘̕̚̕͜͠͠ͅņ̴̛̠̪͔͎̹̤̄̈́͒̊͆̈́́͋̈́͘g̵̨̢̧̧̩͈͇͈̠͈͕̥̲̜̟̯̖͚̣̹̦̮̭̹̤͇̖̟̘̰̬̈́̋̽̀̈̈́̒̌̆͋̂́͂̓̆̓͂̔̋̋͊͐̿̈́̌́̓̾̊̚̕͘͜͜͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ ̵̨̨͕͖͕͍̞̭̗̮͍͉̥͉͉̻̖̺͓̙͖͕̘͎̱̲̬̙̩̝͙̟̝͊͒͌͂͂̌͘͠ͅͅa̸͓͕̻͔̫̞̹̻̟̺͈͉͇͕̤̱͉͙̟̹͚̭͎̠̣͎̞̤̳͇̳͉̱͕͔͂͆͂̊̏̇̒̈́̇̏̂̑̂̉̉̉͛̉̎̌̀̀̒̕̚̕͝͝b̶̧̨̯͕̻̱̤̰̹̬̥͖̙̩̔̓͆͌́̏̋͑̔̒̚̚̚͝ͅơ̸̢̛̭͍̞͔͔̮̜͚͓̘͙̝̝͍͓͔͕̪̜̩̙̙̪̺̱͙̙̫̣͌̓̄̓̃̍͌͆̎͆͗̾̉̄̾͂̊͒̇̈́͗̐̅̄̓̊̍̃͗̾͌͐̊̓̄̅̈́́͛̓͐̕͠ͅû̸̧̡̝͙̯̺̬̼̮̻̤̥̭͓͙̗̥̞͙̳͇̩̠̣̪͓̪̻͙̪͎̟́͊̆̌̑̀͊̍̅̾͐̿̓͂̃́͛̄̀̈́͗̒͆̇̿̏̈́̓̀̃͛͘̕͘̕̚͘͜͜͝͝t̷̨̢̨̟͖̫̱̟̭̪͎̠͓͈̥͉͎̭̩͖̙͕͇̮͉̜̠̦̖͖̲̖̖̠̳̭̣͔͓̊̀͋̋̈́̍̉͆̌̈́̕͝ͅ ̶̢̛̛̰͔̯͉̰̔̂͛̆͑͆̇̈́̔̅̊̀́̑̆͑̈̈̀̍̓̊̽̏̓͌̑̋̇̋̋̿̊̃͆͐͒̅́̈́̕̚̚͝͝͝͝͠ͅt̶̨̢̢̧̛͎̘̠̼̣̜̫̻̰̜̗͔̫͕͙̦̬̞̞̱͕̠̜͖͎̩̳͔̺̺͕̬̤̽̍̈́͋͗̐̃͆͆̈́̾͛̉̈́̉̌̏̊̋͑̽̉̈́̃̏͋̿̂͆͋͋̕̚̚͘͝͝͝ͅͅͅh̷̢̧̧̡̧̞̩̼̝̠̙̞̟͖̠̟̭̭̦̦̞̳̘̭͇̟͓̗͓̤͇̥̤̮͕̼̟̯̘̥̣̖̒̎͐̂̓́̔͐̈́͗ͅͅͅa̶̧̜̝̠̞̱̖̣͖̘̻̳͕̬̱̺̬̪͈̞̼͔̳̯̠͔̪͖͌̈́̄̿̑̊̂͛͗̿̈́̓̆́̅̿͂̽̿̑́̓̍̃̀̇̄͐͋̓̃̾̐͒͂͗͘̚͘͘̕͘͜͝͝ͅt̶̨̡̛̞̩̠̮̮͎̣̱̜͙̘̤͍͔̭̬͈̯̥̱̙̓̍̍̿̓̓̕͘͠ ̵̧̢̨̨̤̺̼̦̻̥̠̗̺̫̮̬͕͎͎̖̮͕̭͔̞͕̬̑́͗̌͌̎̋̃̈̋̉̌̏͑̂́̾̃͌́̑̏̈́̒̈̾̎̂̊͋͘̚͠͝͝͝b̷̛̛̗͎͑̃̈́̄̑̍̄̌̓͑̆̇̊̀̕͘͘͝ơ̴̗̱̬̫̼̭̖̼̣̞̺̙̞̆̋̀͑̓͒̀̇̇̒̆̄̊̾̊̓̈̆͗̇̍̂̀̊͑͑̔̔͛͘y̴̧̛̛̜̦̭͈̙͉̼̼̳̼͎̩̣͚̣̣̝̫͖̐̉̅̒̓̅̍͑̄̀̈̑͊͛̀̌̍̋̌̏̃̌̄̀͛͗̋̎̃̉́̀̂̓̾͛͑̽̀̏͒̌͘͘̚͘̕̚ͅͅ ̵̨̢͕̠̲̻̮͚̤̠̞̭͍͚̻͎̟̬͕̦͙̮̭̹͓̯̥̭̀̑̽̓̾̐̀̊̾̑̚ͅw̶̧̧̨͍̜͈̘̦̠͖͕̭̖͓͈͖̺͈̥͔̲̫͔͈̺̪̩̞̦̙͍̫̗̥̜̫̳̞̪̖͎̯̹̋͑̈́͐̍̐̈́͘ḩ̸̢̢̡̪͕̩͖̖̠̮̹̫̭̠̬̲̬̝̹̰͈̖͚̫̟̫̱̒̋̇͗̾̀̓̐̀͒̒͛̍̈́͂͑̋͆̔̃̽̆͆͒͜͝ǫ̶̨̢̢̰̣̟̩̙̳̤̮̱͙̖̱̠̳̦̭̻̰͇̗̹͙̼̹͔͓̭̟̰̫͇̗̖̰̤̻͓̼̝̫͎̓͂͊̆̒͌̎͂̑͛̀͒͒͋̈̏̍̀̆̿̈̃͑̈́͆̐̕͜͠͝ͅ ̶̧̡̧̢̧̧̛̳̦̩͇̫̻̟̟̖̟̳͕͈̮̪͚̲̲̫̤͉̳̭̱̱̺̖̰͉̫͇͕̩̽͊̃͒͌̌̾́͒͊̈d̵̢̛̛͍̭̞̤̻̦̥̯̗̝̟̻̞̒̃́̌͗̓̀̽̉́͗̅͒̑̌̓̈͊̄̒͐͊͗̂̀́̒̀͋͊̅̔̇̕̕̚͠͠͝͠͝ĭ̶̢̨̧̨̧̼͕̙̥̝̰̠̗̺̟̤̗̫̬̺̤͍̦̹̝͙̪͓̟̯̝̬̤̻̺̱̲̪̩͚̠̘̥̱̞̆͛̾͒͑̌͜ͅe̴̢̧̢͇̠͇̙̣̤͙̤̘̝̭͈̬̗̼̬͔̣͖̭̘̙̯̲̥̰̤̬̰̬̤̞͋̀̽̃̎̃͋͆̋̀̏̂̿͊̋́̌̏̓̆̈́͗̇́͗͑͋̿̈́̾̇̒̓̅̀̈̒̕̚̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝d̵̡̨̦̠͓͔̘͇̟̖̞̯̈́́̿̄̔͌̍̅̔͂͊̈́̈̌̌̒̿̂̍̀̉͗͌̀̓̃̇́̚͘͘͘͠ͅ ̶̢̧̛̜̞̭̝͇̪͓̰̭͍̳̘̠̼̲̺͈̲̯̲͔̼̗͔̮̳̱͕͕͈͈̣̟̪̙̳͓̝̔̐͆̑̿̃̄͐̆̌͋̐̏͌̋̿͌̽̾̽͗̀̏̊͑̿͌̋͂̀̈́̽̅́́̃͌̓̀͐̚̚͠͠͠ͅͅͅą̶̨̨̢̢̛̛̛̛̛̟̜͖͚̦̼͈̟̠̰̳̼͎̞̮̳͓͙̦͉̗̳͓̟̘͔̹͊͑̀̊̎͒̌́̈́̍̀͂͆͐̌̄̽̾͑̋͌̒͂̾̀͗͌̈̍̀̔̉̒̊̇͂̋̅͘̕͘̕̚̕͜͝ģ̷̢̨̪͕̹̫͕̺͎̻̫͎͓̟͖̹̟̖͚̱̺͓͍̆̃̀̈̎̒͛͑̾̀͆͋͑̔̍̒̾̀̈́̓̎̄̂̎̈̈̀͗͊͒̋̄̽̽̓̑̂̎̀̈́͐͝ä̶̡̡̨̨̢̢̡̢̛̛̞̭̝̯̣̗̭̱̱̭̦̘͇̬̝͔̰͍̠̭͚͚̼̪̠̯̖͔̣͉̱́̐̔̄̄̍͊͛̊͛̍̋̏̓̅̅̋͒̉̕͝͝͠ͅĩ̵̧̡̨̧̧̨̛̩̣̭͎̣͙̮̹͙̻͈͙̘̻̱̯͙̮͔͕̝̟̘̥̹̩̦̟̳͕̟͓̣̥́̔̈́͋͒͋́͑̇̏̎̌̇͆̉͊̆́̽̓͊̍̋͌͝͝͝͝͝ņ̶̡̨̨̨̞̰̭̳͇̟̱̭͇̳̝͉̭͕̹̤̝̩͚̜͖̪̞͎̼̺̙͓̆̈́́̏̐̉̓͊́͂̿͋̏̂̄͊̾͆̂̉̍͂̈́̽̈́̒̕͝͠ͅ?̴̢̭̗̞̮̤̙̙̰̮͔͈͚̝̯̖͕̼̩̙̬̮̝̯͖̮͕̥̞́̿̃́̃́̈́̀͋͛̓͋̎͂̾̾̒̓̌̓̏̃̎͑̔͘̕͘͜͝͝͠"
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The Origin of Magic (Male Reader x Black Clover)
FanfictionYour life that you had to live was hell, quite literally. Neglect, both physical and mental abuse, starvation, and finally outcasted. The Hell that you lived was bad, but one day, was unusually... better. Not that you didn't like it, it was just...