Pinky Swear

Chapter 6

An adventure awaits.

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"Collector! Look!"

You shove the flyer into their face, to which they scrutinize with great curiosity, "Covention? Wuzzat?"

"The Covention! A convention for covens that's coming this weekend to Bonesborough!"

The Collector grins in interest, "Oooo! Do they have games there?"

"You bet!" You chirp, shooting them a wink and a finger gun, "And the best part is that they'll be holding coven inductions! With official branding! And since I qualify, I can finally get my healing coven sigil!"

The Collector's smile drops.

Your shadowy friend hastily moves to peer over your shoulder, inspecting the flyer once more. But this time, there is more urgency in the way they read the leaflet than curiosity.

"Uhhhh, maybe you should wait." They say, laughing nervously, "Or even better, maybe you just shouldn't go at all! Besides, pffft, that place sounds kinda boring anyway. Their games are probably lame—"

You dismiss them, "Don't worry! I'm not worried about entertainment."

"But—"

"I'm just gonna go in to get branded, and then I'll be hoooome free!"

"NO!"

You jump at the sudden raise of volume in your friend's voice, head snapping in their direction out of shock. They were so loud, that even Emile— who was sleeping soundly on top your desk— is startled awake. The Collector looks a little surprised by their own outburst as well, and is quick to try and recompose themself.

"I-I mean, maybe you should wait on it a little longer! You know? Think about it; if you get your sigil, then you won't be able to do any other kinds of magic for the rest of your life! Are you really ready to give all of that up now?"

You've known The Collector for the better half of a year, long enough to know that right now, they were acting  off. And despite their good point, you were concerned about your friend's sudden flip of moods.

"Collector... that was... are you okay...?"

Before he can answer, the doorknob to the staff room turns. The shadow beside you disperses in the blink of an eye, and from the doorway, the white-masked head of your mentor peeks in.

"(Y/N)? Is everything alright?" Ms. Cutburn asks, stepping into the room fully, "I thought I heard a shout."

"O-Oh! Yes, Head Witch Cutburn." You stutter, "I was just— ummm—" Your eyes dart around the room to find something to use as an excuse. Your palisman locks gazes with you, "— scolding Emile. He was nibbling on my homework, h-haha."

Ms. Cutburn looks at Emile questioningly. The centipede looks at you, and you discreetly flit your eyes between him and your papers sprawled onto your desk. Emile gets the message and begins to coyly nibble on the corner of a worksheet.

Way to go Emile! Way to sell the story!

You scoop him up and wag an exaggerated finger in his face, "Nuh-uh! No compost for you, young man!"

Ms. Cutburn chuckles at the scene. As she walks over to one of the cabinets, she notices the Covention flyer on your desk and perks up.

"Oh, (Y/N)," She points to the paper, "Are you going to get your sigil this weekend at the Covention?"

You look at the leaflet, The Collector's words ringing in your mind. They had a good point. At first you were set on getting your brand but... now you weren't so sure.