II

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Nothing.

I felt absolutely nothing.

I was in my nightgown again, sitting on the floor of my bedroom. Night had fallen. The air was frigid, and my thin clothing created a layer of ice on my skin. I couldn't feel the cold though. In fact, I was warm. I could feel a subtle river of heat winding its way through my body. I knew it was my magic.

My magic.

This morning the thought of having my own magic would have thrilled me beyond words. Having something supernatural and powerful be apart of me would have made me the luckiest girl in the world. Now, I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to get it out of me. The magic was an intruder on my once serene, hopeful life. It was poisoning my future, and I had to get it out, even if I had to cut myself and bleed it out. I pulled my knees up to my chest. I looked over at my broken bed frame. I suppose I could still lay on the bedding, I thought. The heat surged, and I cringed. No, I think I'll just stay here. I put my face in my hands. Why did this have to happen to me? Of all the bad people in Chorio, especially those far worse than me, I still was chosen to become evil. Everyone knew that those who were chosen to become villains were already naturally bad themselves. So why then was I chosen? I made one mistake, and now I must be punished for a lifetime? My gelid tears slowly moved down my face as I silently sobbed. Mother hadn't said a word to me since she found out. I could see in her face that her heart was broken and torn. Her daughter actually made it to Istoria, but she was doomed to a miserable death. How would any mother be able to handle that news? When we got home, I had walked straight into my room, changed out of my dress, and sat down on the floor. I've been in the same spot ever since. I held up my palm in front of my face. I turned it back and forth, looking at the same hand I had had for all eighteen years of my life. I clenched it into a fist. This hand is evil now, I told myself bitterly, your magic has made you evil.

I could suddenly hear a knock on our front door. I heard the sound of Mother's feet as she shuffled out of bed. I heard the door slowly open.

"We're not interested in whatever you have to sell!" my mother said harshly. "And what in heaven's name are you doing out here so late at night?" A whisper replied.

"Yeah, right. You don't fool me for one second,'' said Mother. I heard the sound of the door beginning to close.

"Wait, please! I am telling the truth!" said the stranger finally loud enough for me to hear. There was a pause. I heard more sounds of multiple feet walking into the house. The steps came closer to my door.

"Come in," I said solemnly before they had even reached the door. A few seconds later, it opened slightly. I saw my mother in her nightgown, holding a dim candle for light. She opened the door wider to reveal the person who was with her. I was only shocked for a moment before I glared at the Storyteller with all the rage I could put into one look. Mother stepped aside so the Storyteller could come in. Mother offered her the candle which the Storyteller gratefully took. Mother watched and waited from the doorway as the Storyteller approached me. The magic inside me burned more with my angry emotions. The Storyteller approached me timidly, well aware that I was now armed with evil magic which she herself had given me. She sat down on the floor with and set the candle between us. Watching the baby flame flicker placidly calmed me, and I finally addressed her.

"Why are you here?" I asked trying to hide any emotion.
"I couldn't bear the thought of you having to live as Maleficent. I just don't understand why the Writer chose someone as a good as you to become someone as cruel as her!" The Storyteller exclaimed. Mother's expression furrowed. She was still unaware of who the Writer was.

"It doesn't matter now," I lied. "I already have the magic." The Storyteller abruptly grabbed my wrist. I looked at her apprehensively.
"That's where you're wrong!" said the Storyteller excitedly. Despite her enthusiasm, her voice was no louder than the wind slipping through a field of summer wheat. "The magic is in you, yes, but it is weak." I looked up at Mother, but she seemed just as bewildered as I was.

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