Melisa sat cross-legged on her bed, the Old World dictionary Zephyra had given her spread out before her like some ancient, mystical tome. Which, to be fair, it kind of was.
[Alright, let's do this,] she thought, cracking her knuckles. [Time to make some magic happen. Literally.]
She handled the book with the reverence of a priest touching a holy relic, terrified of so much as creasing a page. The last thing she needed was a pissed-off Zephyra on her case for damaging a priceless artifact.
"Okay," Melisa muttered, flipping through the pages. "Mind... influence... persuasion... come on, give me something good."
Her tail swung back and forth behind her as she scanned the pages, occasionally pausing to jot down a promising word or phrase.
She loved this. This part of practicing magic was more addictive than any drug to her.
