By month five of my secret training regime, I had three things to be proud of:
1. My mana control no longer caused small explosions.
2. I could outrun a full-grown butler (don't ask).
3. I had successfully dodged my etiquette tutor seventeen times in a row.
Her name was Miss Clarimond.
She arrived on the estate one gloomy morning, dressed in enough lace to smother a ballroom and carrying a clipboard that looked like it judged people for fun. Her bun was so tight it could slice diamonds. Her heels clicked like an executioner's drumroll.
Father hired her after he noticed, in his words, "a distinct lack of noble bearing."
Translation: I chewed too loudly during tea.
Miss Clarimond was terrifying in the way tax audits are terrifying. Her voice could cut glass. Her fan-snaps were weaponized. And she believed in things like "posture drills" and "elegant breathing techniques."
Naturally, I ran.
---
While Clarimond searched every corridor and corner of the estate, I hid in attics, behind curtains, and once inside a barrel of flour. My record for longest disappearance? Three hours and twenty-two minutes. (The maid found me because I sneezed.)
But when I wasn't dodging etiquette lessons, I was training. And for the first time, I started to see real progress.
My shadow magic still flickered and fizzled sometimes—but I could hold a spell for longer than five seconds. I'd learned how to reinforce fragile mana circuits, thanks to an old alchemy book I probably wasn't supposed to have.
I also began physical training. Nothing extreme—just running laps around the garden, lifting a heavy broomstick, and stretching until I didn't groan every time I bent over. If I couldn't control magic, at least I could control my body.
After all, when spells misfired, you had to roll away before they exploded.
---
Some nights, when the moonlight poured in through the greenhouse windows, I whispered incantations to the rhythm of crickets. I practiced mana channeling until I could feel the warmth hum through my fingertips. I read historical tomes and beginner grimoires, slowly piecing together how the magic in this world actually worked.
> It was messy. It was exhausting. But for the first time, it felt like mine.
---
Miss Clarimond never gave up. She left increasingly dramatic notes on my door:
"A true lady does not sprint down hallways."
"You WILL learn how to curtsy, young lady, or I shall expire from the shame."
"This is not a game of hide-and-seek. I have bunions."
Eventually, she started hiding behind doors to catch me. I accidentally hit her with a pillow once. She didn't flinch.
The woman was unbreakable.
---
By the end of that year, I wasn't a prodigy. I wasn't powerful. But I was better.
And for now, that was enough.
> The old Celia Averna had been a footnote. A bratty extra who bullied the heroine and got expelled. This time, I'd be something more.
Even if I had to outrun every etiquette tutor in the kingdom to get there.