I wouldn’t call myself a particularly stand-out individual. I dress rather plainly, I look pretty, but not stunningly so. I slip by, in a crowd unseen, unknown. For those that love the spotlight, I’d imagine this is their worst hell, but for me, it’s a gift.

I run a small café, in boston, named the Midnight Fog. It’s a quaint little store front, I serve simple coffee and espresso beverages, and little pastries. If I had to describe it, it would be charmingly unremarkable. Such is the point. People like me don’t want attention. I’ve been vague long enough. I’m a practitioner of magick. Not the stuff you’re familiar with, card tricks, etc, I do the real stuff.

I mostly enjoy potion making, however spells are equally viable. Now, as I’m cleaning a countertop, I hear the door chime. I look up, and walk over to the counter, briefly informing them that they can ask if they have any questions about the menu. They almost never do. This particular customer is a taller woman, my age. She has shoulder length, almond brown hair, swooped into a graceful ponytail. She turns to look at me, and I catch a glimpse of her face.

…Camilla? Like, bullied me for being gay in highschool, Camilla? I blink, wondering if maybe I’m mistaken. Only one way to find out, I suppose. I punch in her order, it’s a simple latte with cinnamon apple syrup, a favorite among customers. I ask for her name, and, lo and behold, yep, it’s her. I don’t think she recognizes me. It’s only been 5 years, but, I do suppose I grew into my body quite a bit during that time.

She sits down, at a small table just out of eyeline. You see, this girl made my life a living hell, during my highschool years. A classic tale of the athlete bullying the lesbian and facing no consequences. Right after high school, I fell into a bit of money, inheritance from my late grandmother. I decided to start a cafe with that money, in memory of her.

I eye a small vial tucked behind the boxes of coffee filters, and what-not. If I’m lucky, it’s still good. Even potions expire, after all. It doesn’t look much like you’d expect of a potion, merely a clear, slightly sweet smelling liquid, held within a glass vial with a cork stopper.

If I’m honest, I’m not quite sure why I brewed it. The justification I gave myself wasn’t exactly a likely scenario. Far from the most… ethical potion, this was a potion of pliancy. I’m sure you can imagine where I’m going with this. It lasts only an hour, but for that time, you’ve got a subject who is… very receptive to, just about everything, no questions asked.

I wouldn’t ever normally do this, spike someone’s drink… but when the opportunity to live out a fanfiction-esque fantasy presents itself, well. I’ve been good this year, no?~ I think I’ve earned this one.

With the ampule emptied into the cup, and the drink poured over top, I watch, as she takes her first sip. Lucky me, it’s right about closing time. As her pupils dilate, and she continues sipping on the tainted beverage, I close and lock the door, flipping the sign to closed, and turn off the appliances.

I fetch her attention, calling her name. She looks over to me, devoid of any sort of skepticism or questioning. I ask her to follow, and bring her drink, as I lead her over to my car. I knew the potion would work, but it’s still surprising watching her just go along with what I say. She buckles her seatbelt in the passenger seat, and I begin the short drive home.