Date: Unspecified
Time: Unspecified
Location: Kingdom of Scotland, Lothian, Edinburgh, Palace of Holyroodhouse
Children? After spending most of my childhood raising my younger brother, I had grown to despise them—the noise, the dependence, the way they quietly consume your life until there is nothing left that belongs to you. I had never intended to marry. The thought of bearing children had never crossed my plans except as something to avoid.
Yet the witch's words settled in my bones. I did not dismiss them. Instead, I stepped into witchcraft. If fate had a script for me, I intended to read it. And if possible, edit it.
To my annoyance—and eventual satisfaction—I possessed an exceptional aptitude for it. Incantations came easily. Ritual structures made sense. The geometry of cursework felt almost intuitive. Where others struggled for years to stabilize a spell, I required days. Where scholars debated theories, I saw patterns.
