The library was quiet, the only sound the scratch of my quill against parchment. I had stacked several thick psychology books on the table in front of me, their spines cracked and pages worn from countless studies. I leaned back in my chair, hands resting behind my head, and stared at the ceiling.
Why am I like this? I wondered. Why do I feel so possessive of Luna?
I flipped open one of the books, scanning the section on attachment and jealousy. The words seemed to echo in my head, explaining thoughts I had tried to ignore. Obsessive attachment. Fear of losing someone. Projected emotions. My heart skipped. So that's me.
I scribbled notes furiously, jotting down my thoughts, my feelings, and the ways I could try to control them. It was… uncomfortable. Admitting it to myself hurt more than I expected. I had always been proud of my intelligence, my genius, my magical power—but this? This was messy, human, and terrifyingly personal.
The quill hovered over the page as I thought about Luna. She was talented, smart, and, yes, beautiful—but she was also her own person. And the truth I had been avoiding hit me like a jolt of Fiendfyre: I couldn't control her. I couldn't manipulate her. I shouldn't even want to.
I pressed my fingers to my eyes, taking a deep breath. So I need to… manage this. Learn to be a good mentor. Focus on her growth, not my feelings. Protect her, yes—but ethically.
I opened another book, this one about emotional regulation and self-control, and read about jealousy, possessiveness, and healthy boundaries. The more I read, the more I realized that my attachment wasn't a flaw in Luna—it was a flaw in me. And fixing it would take effort, introspection, and honesty.
Fine, I muttered to myself. Then that's what I'll do.
I set the book down, eyes landing on my notes for the next lesson. Advanced elemental magic. Weaving fire, wind, and earth together. Luna was talented enough to handle it. I would teach her, challenge her, guide her—but I would also remind myself constantly: she is her own person, not mine to possess.
A quiet smile tugged at my lips as I imagined the next lesson. Teaching, guiding, and watching her grow was… enough. Maybe even more rewarding than the selfish desires I had been clinging to.
I leaned back in my chair, quill ready, feeling a small spark of clarity. I can control magic. I can control spells. But I can't control people. And that's okay.
The library felt lighter somehow. The books, the candles, the quiet hum of magical energy—it all seemed to reflect the thought I was clinging to. I could be a better mentor. A better person. And, maybe, in time, I could even tame the storm of my own heart.