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Written by: “Irene Naridza”
IA PIC MADE BY HOTPOT: https://hotpot.ai/art-generator
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Being a boy in a family of witches isn’t really a bad thing, it’s just boring. While your sisters or cousins can practice with their grimoires and do amazing things like move objects, fly on broomsticks, or give life to their dolls, you’re stuck with your normal life and normal boy skills, not to mention being the least favorite child in the family.
It’s not that men
can’t use magic – after all, there are wizards – But it takes us twice
or even three times as many years of practice with specialized grimoires to
perform even the simplest spell, whereas women only need to be born and grow up
to master it perfectly. That has to do with some original pact made by some
ancient men and a certain Lilith.
Women hold the upper
hand here. For example, inheritance of magic: it’s essential that you descend
from a witch, not a wizard. My mom is a witch, which means I can use magic. My
sister’s children will be witches and wizards, my children won’t. They’ll be
just like any other normal humans. It’s also mandatory to have at least one
daughter per generation so the family line’s magic won’t disappear.
Honestly, I couldn’t
care less. Witches have to pledge loyalty to ‘Melicoton’ or some other entity
from whom our clan’s magic originates. I don’t know the details; they don’t
take me to those ‘Magic History 101’ gatherings. What I do know is that I
wouldn’t be interested in dedicating my life and magic powers to a
centuries-old totem anyway. Too bad for my sister.
I turned my back on
magical training and grew up like any other guy; I made friends, got into
sports, and tried hitting on a few girls. Here’s my problem: no matter how good
I was at soccer, girls didn’t even glance my way. I tried lifting weights, didn’t
impress them either. I got myself a car as soon as I had a license, even did
drifts in front of them. Still, they couldn’t care less.
Dad told me not to
rush things and even that I should stop being so pushy because ‘girls hate
that.’ Since he has no magic at all, he just does whatever Mom says. She wears
the pants in the marriage. I doubt his advice works; it’s nonsense.
That’s how I ended
up turning to my sister’s old grimoire. I remembered a conversation between Mom
and Sharon. Mom warned her to be careful with love spells, since they were
powerful and messing with other people’s feelings wasn’t right. More nonsense.
All’s fair in love and war.
You’d think a witch
would guard something that important with her life, but not Sharon. She leaves
it lying on her desk in plain sight. She doesn’t even lock her door or use an
effective spell on it. The plan was simple: wait until Mom, Dad, and Sharon went
out to visit her future university, sneak into her room, and use the grimoire.
I’d find a simple love spell to make the prettiest girl in high school fall for
me. Just in time for prom.
When I entered, I
ran into her attempt at a guardian golem, one of her stuffed ponies. It knows
me well, so instead of attacking with its cotton hooves, it bounced happily
around me. There it was. To a non-magical person, it would look like a normal
notebook with ordinary notes. But I saw a brown leather-bound book, covered in
runes and thick with yellowed pages. That was Sharon’s very first grimoire, the
one she got when her powers awakened at age seven. The most basic one, written
in Latin.
She has two others,
both more advanced. Mom says she’ll give her a fourth grimoire once she fully
masters the rest, she’s close. Mom keeps those two safe in a pocket dimension which
Sharon can access through her handbag. They automatically return there after
five minutes of disuse. But this first grimoire? Nothing was stopping me from
using it.
Mom created it from
scratch, filling it with the spells Grandma had taught her at that young age,
all easy enough for a little girl to learn. Creating grimoires for the next
generation is more of a tradition than a rule. Usually, witches and wizards are
extremely possessive with theirs, since grimoires hold their secrets and most
powerful spells. Many even enchant them so only the owner can use them.
With the ‘Univeersol
Traslator’ app ready on my phone, I unbuckled the strap and opened it wide. The
pages were filled with Latin text, some hand-drawn illustrations, charts with
general info like spell type or requirements, alphabetical classifications, and
numbered sections.
The content was
another matter. Sure, it was designed for a little girl, but this was
ridiculous; spells to dry clothes, clean stains, tie shoelaces and bows, and
other silly stuff. At least there were also few useful ones, like; healing
burns, closing cuts, or warding off beasts.
Too bad I couldn’t
just snap photos and make a digital book. Grimoire magic makes it impossible
for them to be recorded by cameras. Until you master a spell, it has to be
anchored to a magical object as an additional source of power. That whole ‘tech
wizard’ stuff? Utter nonsense invented by non-magical people who don’t understand
anything about us.
Grimoires aren’t
always necessary to cast spells; they’re more like recipe books you can
memorize; chants, rituals, potion instructions, all ready to use when needed.
But memorizing dozens of pages takes months or even years, so they’re an
essential crutch.
To cast spells, you
use your magical aura, a source of energy witches and wizards have. It works
like a muscle; it’s useless if untrained, even if you have plenty of it. Some
spells demand more energy and skill than others. The explanation goes deeper: some
require sacrifices, exchanges, special items or poses. But that’s the gist.
I kept flipping
until something caught my eye: a female figure surrounded by a glowing aura.
According to a quick translation, the text was about obtaining your ideal girl.
The chart said it only required reciting the words.
No need to look
further, this was exactly the spell I wanted. I pictured the cheer captain as
my girlfriend as I tried pronouncing the words framed in quotes: “Ens tenebrarum, exaudi clamorem meum. Da mihi corpus
mulieris perfectae, mulieris ex somniis meis.” As a boy who had
never trained as a wizard, I had little magical energy, but enough to cast a
spell meant for someone ten years younger than me.
That’s when I
realized something was off. “(Why would a little
girl’s grimoire even have a spell like this?)” I didn’t have time
for more doubts. A whirlwind of white light wrapped around me. I spun like a
leaf in the wind before landing hard on the carpet. Even the golem looked
confused, tilting its head.
The first thing I
noticed was how much lighter I felt. Then I saw my thinner arms and my blue
painted nails. Panic set in as I realized I needed a mirror. I kicked off the
heels I now was wearing, but the shock of also wearing tights and a long
sweater kept me crawling instead of standing. There she was in the mirror: not
the stoic, muscular, buzz-cut guy I knew, but a slim girl with a bun and a
panicked face.
I screamed in terror
so loud it stunned me. Somehow, I managed to crawl back to the grimoire and
frantically searched for the page. Checking the sweater pockets, I found my
phone but my fingerprint no longer worked. “Translate
I… need… translate…” I stammered in my new voice.
The golem understood
and brought me a Latin–English dictionary from the bookshelf. There on the
carpet, one word at a time, I translated the whole page. In reality, the spell
was meant to transform whoever recited it into their own ‘ideal girl’ version. I
tried reciting it again… nothing happened. I repeated it again and again until
the pressure overwhelmed me, my vision blurred, and the sounds around me faded.
The next thing I
remember was waking up tucked into bed. Night had fallen. The football posters
on the walls told me I was in my room. I relaxed, thinking it had all been a
dream, until I felt something odd on my pillow; long strands of something. Turning
on the lamp, I saw it was my new hair, it was loose around me. Pulling the
blanket back revealed the same new body, the same clothes. Even the heels
neatly by the bed. I screamed again.
Mom came in. “How did you sleep, Sally?” Arms crossed, eyes locked on mine, calling me by
the silly nickname Sharon used when we were kids. “Ba…
no… uh… ple…” I couldn’t decide
between an excuse or a plea. Neither made it out.
“Your dad and I are busy preparing everything for Sharon to start
college. I don’t have time to help you with a reversal spell.” She sat on the bed, grimoire in hand. “Since you’re done with high school and prom isn’t
strictly necessary, you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out yourself.” She
studied me, then smiled. “Not bad for a novice.”
She even raised her
thumb
“Mom… don’t do this to me…” I was on
the verge of tears. “I’m not doing anything. I
can’t do anything.” She opened the grimoire to the page. “This is a self-body-transformation spell. Spells like
these can only be undone by the one who cast them. In this case… you.” She
closed the grimoire after that.
“I already recited it again, but nothing happened.” I blurted. “To
reverse a spell, you need a specific counter-incantation, depending on what you
cast.” She sighed, checked her
watch. “It’s too much to explain now, but
everything you need is in here.” She
pulled back the blanket over me and placed the grimoire on my lap.
Before I could
react, she stood and recited a spell at the doorway. The frame glowed. I
recognized it, a door spell, linking to any other door of similar dimensions anywhere
you want. I leapt out of bed and grabbed her wrist, noticing I was now shorter.
“Mom, you can’t leave me to deal with something
I don’t understand. I can’t miss graduation. At least tell me which spell to
say. PLEASE.” She shook her head instantly. “I already helped enough. I unlocked your phone, and kept
Sharon from turning you into a frog for touching her stuff. She was furious.” She
pulled free and stepped through. I tried to follow her, but the glow faded off
the door, driving only to the hallway once again.
Resigned, I began
studying the cursed thing page by page. Suddenly my door burst open and Sharon
stormed in, furious. “Mom scolded me because of
YOU!” No surprise. Me using her
grimoire without permission exposed her carelessness. “You’d better hurry.”
She pointed at the grimoire. “I added a
safety spell. If I get too far away, it turns into granite.” She slammed the door and left.
Hours have passed;
the sun has already risen. I've been tossing and turning, sitting in strange
places, like on top of my dresser just to avoid falling asleep. I have a
special spell sheet ready. It's used to write down and use simple spells
without the need of a grimoire. Mom gave it to me several years ago, never see
their value until now. Sharon would be moving this afternoon to her college
city. I had to hurry if I don’t want to be stuck like this until her semester
break in six months.
To Be
Continued…
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If you find any misspellings or a dead link, please let me know ------------
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Link English Caption in Deviant Art:
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Link Spanish Story in Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1577813178-mag-i-gnorante-ignorante
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Link English Story in Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1577965191-mag-i-gnorant
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Link Spanish Caption in Blogger:
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Link English Caption in Blogger:
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