A shadowy figure lingered in the darkness, shrouded in the dim glow of a half moon. His voice, deep and heavy with an otherworldly tone, cut through the silence.
"Magic, she says? Historically, they laugh at the thought of wizards and witches. Conventionalists dismiss magic as mere tales for children. But a young boy... he will show them. The line between reality and fantasy is not as clear as they think. Humans and magical creatures... can they coexist? Or will one betray the other?"
The figure stepped deeper into the shadows, his presence fading like a tower.
"Wake me up when the story begins," he muttered, his words carried away by the wind.
The chair creaked as it moved up and down, open and down. The man, holding a brilliant and a book in his hands, let out a soft sigh. "Oh, you again?" he muttered, his voice thick with amusement. "Surprise, surprise. Do you want to see how this story unfolds?"
He turned a page with a quick lick of his finger and continued: "Once upon a time there was a young boy. Once upon a time there was a young boy. His parents, two ordinary people with no magic in their veins, accidentally ended up in the magical world. They created a son, and that son... had powers."
The man even stopped and looked at the page. He tapped his finger thoughtfully. "The boy had too much power. And we all know... too much power can make you..."
Before he could finish, a small black cat jumped onto his lap and interrupted his train of thought. The man grinned softly and scratched the cat's head. "Hey, little one."
The cat blinked at him, his eyes glistening with knowledge. He let out a soft meow and jumped off his lap, slinking away as the man waved his fingers.
Books suddenly flew off the shelves, fluttering around the room like startled birds.
"The story begins," the man whispered, a mischievous grin crossing his face.
The books flew out of the room, straight into a glowing portal, and landed with a soft thud on a desk. One of the books landed on a desk, and a woman's hand reached out to grab it, along with a letter tucked inside.
She read the letter aloud to herself:
"Dear Ms. Whingston,
We need to inform you that your contract has been extended, but we're not offering you the higher position you asked for. You can come back as a teacher, but that's all for now."
Ms. Whingston crumpled the letter and tossed it into a garbage bag. She put her hands on her head, clearly mad.
"Great," she muttered through gritted teeth. "This isn't over. I'll just pretend to be the perfect teacher, and when they least expect it, I'll take what's mine."
Ms. Whingston walked down the hall with a book pressed to her chest, muttering to herself. "How can they take the title away from me? Yeah, I may have manipulated the school to work with the enemy... and okay, I almost let the director turn into a rabbit and locked him in a cell. But that doesn't mean I'm a bad person, right?"
Ms. Whingston finally reached the office, where her best friend, Emily, was sitting. She threw her hands up in the air. "It's not like I burned the place down, right? They're being so overdramatic."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "You actually burned it down six times, if I remember correctly."
Ms. Whingston rolled her eyes. "I'm a changed person!"
Emily didn't hesitate. "You also kidnapped 20 teachers, forced them to spill the secrets of the Elite Rich Bitches Club, and locked the school down for three days."
Ms. Whingston shrugged, looking amused. "Honestly, I'm still surprised they let me back in."
Ms. Whingston crossed her arms, trying to defend herself. "But still, I didn't do anything to the students."
Emily gave her a deadpan look. "You turned 31 students into frogs, kicked them into the river, and told their parents they were having a sleepover. They're still searching for 16 of them."
Ms. Whingston looked a little sheepish but shrugged. "Well... I did warn them not to mess with me."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "But didn't you also—"
"Shhhhhhh," Ms. Whingston interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. "New year, new me. It's 2025. I'm a completely different person this year. I'm better, see?"
Emily rolled her eyes. "You say that literally every year. And oh wait, who's always cleaning up your messes? Me. I'm the one who has to sweet-talk the cops into not locking you up. How have they not arrested you yet?"
Ms. Whingston smirked. "Guess I'm just that charming."
Emily shot her a glare. "If you think 'charming' is the word for it... I'm just waiting for the day they finally throw you in jail."
Ms. Whingston laughed, tossing her hair back. "I wouldn't count on it."