Mirabel flips through the pages of the newspaper. “As I said, I didn’t have any concrete plans for what to do. I just thought to myself: I’ll figure it out as I go. But in reality, I just didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to stop and face the whispers lurking in my head. I always felt like a misfit. Like a piece of a puzzle that had been put into the wrong box. Never finding its place.” She looks at the job offerings of Rowanill. refurbisher, act illusionist, stable hand. “I’m not really good at that, I’m not a cognizance witch, definitely not interested in cleaning manure…” she thinks to herself as she reaches the end. She leans back to her chair, looking down at the paper. “I was told in the orphanage that the best medicine for feeling down was to smile. A smile makes the gloom go away they always said. So, I did. I smiled. But sometimes I felt like the smile was beginning to wear out…” Her jaw jitters. “What if I couldn’t carry my weight? What if I was meant to be a failure? A pathetic excuse of a wit- “. Her thoughts are interrupted by a voice outside. “Mirabel! Are you awake yet?” Erika yells.

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