Page 149 of Magical Mischief

Deep but shrill.

Soft and hard in the same breath, like glass singing under pressure. Like the trees whispering their secrets all at once through wind and root.

And the words,oh, the words, wrapped around me like silk, gentle and cutting, lovely and certain.

Maeve Una Bellemore.

My name reached inside me. Not spoken, not forced—butknown. Each syllable like a hand brushing my cheek, familiar and unyielding.

You are the Headmistress.

The word fell like a bell toll.

Not sharp, but inevitable. I felt it settle in my bones.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The air wasn’t heavy, exactly. It wasintentional. Like if I shifted, even a little, I’d miss what was coming next.

This place has endured its darkest hours. The walls remember the screams, the silence, the slow forgetting. And yet, we remain.

The walls did seem to shift slightly at that. Not with weight, but with memory. As though a thousand moments were etched into the mortar and stone.

We have shielded Stonewick as best we can. Still we hold. Still we try. But the time for waiting has passed.

A warmth bloomed in my chest—something more solid than magic or fear, a steadiness that spread slowly, like sunlight rising over snow-laden ground.

The Wards stir. You have felt it. You have seen it. Life returns. One breath at a time.

I nodded because yes, I had felt it. The pull in the Stone Ward. The flicker in the Flame Ward. The wings of the Butterfly Ward stretching at last. The pulse beneath the maple trees.

And now, so must we. We dream of students.

The word didn’t land lightly. It crashed softly, like waves again and again.

Students.

Not children, though some may come. We dream of those who thought it was too late. We dream of the weary, the seekers, the changers. The midlife witches, who do not yet know their second beginning is yet to come.

Images flickered behind my eyes with men and women with tired hands and curious hearts, stepping into hallways they thought were only for the young.

Opening old books. Touching new magic.

Laughing like they used to.

Like me.

The voice wrapped around my ribs like breath.

They will come. And you will lead them. But not alone.

There was comfort in that. Though the next words sent a chill down my back.

This role carries sacrifice. You will lose what cannot walk beside you. But you will gain more than you know.

I didn’t ask what I would lose. I already had an idea.

You will shape the future. You will carry the past. But more than that, you will hold the threshold. You are the door, Maeve Una Bellemore. You are the key.

I opened my mouth, and though my voice was thin, it didn’t shake.