=>> What you Are.
As a human.
No, as a noble. More than anything else, there is one thing.
You have magic. You are a mage. This is what you are, what defines you, even if you are flawed and imperfect.
"... I have to test my casting." You mutter.
Colbert flinches, then quickly turns a page to disguise the reaction.
Today is mostly a day off, to become familiar, aha, with the summoned creature. So while there are some people about, none really interfere when you draw wand and blast a large rock in a relaxation courtyard.
As expected, explosion.
Not as expected, you can feel how your magic is working, with your attention drawn to the.... parasite settled upon it. You'd never realized it before. But you aren't just drawing your willpower through yourself and casting. There is an additional stage.
This... extra thing. Your willpower is drawn, filtered, through that. Twisted beyond recognition, turned from what-is-yours to something... other.
And it draws just a little bit of you back inside of it, feeling heavier.
No. No good. You mustn't let it...!
You grit your teeth and sink claws into your own willpower, drawing not as you are accustomed to, but away from the parasite, dragging a bit free just as it tries to pull back. A screaming and horrible emptiness, taking your willpower and giving back useless trash that you can't use....
The edges of the world go a little grey as you raise your wand again.
The simple gout of flame very nearly drives you to your knees. It does leave you gasping for breath in the face of the sheer bloody-minded effort that has to go into keeping that thing away from your magic.
You've never even heard of something like this sort of a parasite, before. Can't even begin to imagine how it went un-noticed.
.... Except that you can. Mother is harsh, and demanding, but also kind in her own way. Many other nobles, when faced with a defective child, particularly in the wake of two children which were successful in learning magic would have simply.... one way, or another, arranged for the problem to go away.
A defective mage is such a disappointment, after all.
.... you won't disappoint-!
You gather yourself and try again.
The second spell is honestly painful to cast, willpower already significantly drained from forcing a successful casting. But the gout of water is a merciful relief.
The third, just twisting a bit of dirt into a crude shape, you were never much of a sculptor, drains you to levels that would certainly have an experienced combat mage turning into full retreat, just enough to keep themself alive until out of the battle, a nurse would advise resting to recover....
And the fourth. A gust of wind, blowing the dirt apart. You do slump to your knees, gasping for breath, in the face of the fourth spell, a combination of exhaustion and awed disbelief.
It was wonderful, feeling the movement of air answering your call. It came easier than any other, a refreshing breeze...
Air. You're... You're an air mage. Somehow, you had always imagined fire to be where you would one day find success, with repeated, stubborn fireballs.
But you are not arguing with having finally made headway, and discovered proof, even if nobody would ever believe you, who had ever heard of an invisible parasite feeding on magic, that the failure was not your fault, was never your fault. There really was, from the very beginning, an outside influence preventing your success-!
Your good mood almost cannot be put off by the sight of that Germanian sauntering towards you, spring in her step.
"I heard an explosion~" She says. "So of course, I knew it was you~<3"
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