Maybe you broke a vase. Maybe you took a whole town hostage. Maybe you, like me, melted your parents’ flesh off their bones and allowed your home to be consumed in the blaze, leaving your delicate thirteen-year-old body untouched.
Doesn’t matter what you did. You’re officially an orphan. No coven, no tribe, nothing. You’ve crossed a line, and there’s no going back. Welcome to the Academy of the Black Arts, fellow witch. Get comfy, cause you’re never leaving.
But don’t worry. I’m here, and being the good person I am, I’m going to teach you everything you need to know to survive your first year. Trust me, you’ll need it.
Before we begin, let’s get some backstory out of the way. My parents never wanted me. I saw it in their disgusted eyes every time I fell into their line of sight. Felt it in every icy stare. Wept until I had no more tears as they sold off every single trophy and medal I had just so they could afford more drinks for their parties.
I don’t know how it happened. If the textbooks are to be believed, and they usually should be, a witch’s power comes to maturity in adolescence. The strongest begin somewhere at eleven or ten, though the average is fourteen and fifteen. Basically, the earlier you begin, the stronger you’ll be.
The first big “incident” (and the one that started all this) happened on my thirteenth birthday. My parents hosted this huge party, filled with dozens of people I didn’t know. It was a new town and they wanted to warm up their relationship with the neighbors. I got one slice of the cake and that was that.
I hated them. Hated watching them, so happy. It was my birthday, right? So why was it that everyone felt great except me? I could hear the blood pounding in my brain. The music blared in my ears, like cymbals crashing all around me. Humans jumped and danced all around me. Talking. Talking. Talking. All while I sat in silence, until I could bear it no longer.
The police didn’t know what to make of it. All that was left were fifty corpses ripped apart on a near-atomic level. The house was gone, leaving pieces of wood and ash in its wake. They didn’t know what to do with the naked thirteen-year-old girl covered in soot and smoke.
I made it easy for them. I ran off. Life was good, all things considered. The first day I got this guy to give me free snacks. It was pretty simple. I just asked for a cake, and he gave it to me without even asking for money. I was planning on stealing it, but that was a lot easier. So it went for the first few days. Steal. Sleep. Steal. Sleep.
Until, that is, they came. With those pale vampire hands and those eyes that just never seemed to have a speck of white in them. Their lips were flat and thin, noses hooked like a vulture’s beak. They brought me to the Academy, where you’re probably going right now.
So now that we’ve got all that stuff out of the way, let’s get into your first day.
You’ll be expected to get to the Academy on your own. Don’t bother trying to run. Last guy who did that was dragged off into Satan-knows-where and hasn’t been heard of to this day. Trust me, I’ve asked. Don’t try calling the police either. For all I know, they’re in on the whole thing.
You’ll be given an address. It changes each year, probably to avoid witch-hunters.
Oh yeah, that’s another thing I should warn you about. Be careful when getting to the Academy. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Only those who have been completely abandoned get to the Academy, so you don’t have to worry about keeping secrets from your family. You never know who might be listening.
It’s not just human hunters. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. You’ve got vampires (some ancient feud or something), faeries (beings of nature who consider us abominations), and a lot more. It’s complicated, but be careful, okay?
So, let’s say you’re one of the (very) lucky people who made it to campus. Congratulations. If you’ve made it this far, you might actually have a chance at making it through in one piece (more or less. Look, I can’t make any promises, alright?)
Now the real game begins. Every year, the students get a list of rules to follow. It’s the same for everyone, no matter which grade they’re in. Trust me, you want to listen to these rules-some remain constant each year; I’ll be covering those in other posts- but the vast majority are all variable. Either way, doesn’t matter.
Whether it’s asking you to streak buck-naked through campus or throw someone into a fire, just do it. Don’t ask questions. Don’t try to act smart. Unless, of course, you fancy being dragged into a parallel hell-scape to be tortured by ancient demons for knowledge you have no way of acquiring.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s focus on one thing above all. The Burning.
I don’t know when the tradition first came up. Probably around the same time the school was founded (1600s, I think). Beginner witches needed someone to guide them, and since covens were spread far and wide, the Academy of the Black Arts was founded. One of the basic rituals needed for induction is the Burning.
Any prospective student had to be tied to a stake. There’d be some flammable material at their feet, and someone would light it. The stake was fitted with a protective incantation to steer clear of any damage to the flesh, but it didn’t hold back pain. If the witch-in-question survived the burning without a single scream, they were accepted.
Scream, cry out, or make any other indication of agony…well, no one knows. None came back
The tradition’s long-dead, obviously, but the ghosts just won’t listen. They don’t know the magic in the stake’s long-gone, and no one knows how to start it up again.
They won’t tell us either, no matter how much we try. Either they don’t want to believe the magic’s gone, or they just don’t care. Either way, if someone tries to get you into a secluded spot, run as fast as you can. Doesn’t matter where. Just run.
I remember when I was about to be Burned. I’d just gotten to the Academy. No home, no family, no friends. So is it really that surprising that I followed the first friendly face I could? I can’t even begin to describe the labyrinth I had to walk through.
When I got to the chamber, it was pretty dark. Cold too. I swear, I could feel the frost-bitten fingers brushing against my nape. The blackness was rippling all around me, and for a moment I could feel it closing in, its velvety texture preparing to hold my corpse.
Fuck it. I ran. Didn’t bother apologizing as I bolted straight through a mass of writhing shadows, didn’t even look back as they all screamed and laughed and cried for me to come back. Didn’t even stop running as the flames ran up my spine, scarring my flesh and forming horrific blisters on my skin.
I spent weeks in the infirmary, my whole body wrapped in bandages. In the end, it took fifty different spells just to keep me alive, and another whole course of foul medication mixed with even more rituals to clean up the scars. Even that wasn’t enough. That’s why I wear long-sleeves, even in the heat of summer. Why I can never go to the pool, or spend time in the sea, because the salt would burn me to the point of insanity.
But that didn’t matter. I survived, and if you follow my instructions, so will you. Well, day one, at least. Good luck little witch. You’ll need it.