|Once upon a time there was a youthful, yet cunning, witch that lived in a clay shingled cottage. Every day she would study diligently, thumbing through countless grimoires with cracked leather straps and sun tinted pages while practicing her incantations with outstretched arm.
One day a teller with an urgent message came calling, soaked from the raging storm that flashed luminously through the gapped wooden shutters in the galley. His grey flannel overcoat and baggy poppers hat dripped profusely onto the chipped hickory flooring as he handed me the crinkled envelope, Honorary Witches Foundational Society stamped in broad letters across.
Because of that, I quickly thanked the messenger and escorted him out with creak and click of the door without regards to the looming conditions outside. Pondering on the contents as I sat on my red and black checkered bedside I finally decided to stash it away in the side drawer of my streaked mirrored bureau, locking it with a short twist of a tiny brass key for fear of reading of my refused admittance.
Until finally, miserable and distraught from unknowing, my hand eagerly removes the lightly dusted parchment, swiftly ripping the corner down the length before unfolding the letter.
In fine feathered penmanship it read of my acceptance into the highly regarded community of accomplished practitioners of the magical arts, bringing with it an explosion of teary eyed recollections and glee. Never again feeling a want for something better or being told I wasnt good enough I made preparations to leave the breezy, shoddy, mirky confines of what once was a woeful existence of past failures and hasty decisions to move on to a greater purpose, never to look back on my humble beginnings.