The Cost of Desperation

Magic doesn't choose the worthy. It chooses the desperate. I discovered this truth at seventeen

when my younger sister collapsed during dinner. The doctors gave her three months.

Every spell I tried from my grandmother's grimoire failed. The healing charms did nothing.

The protective wards were useless. I was watching her fade away and magic, the thing I'd studied

my entire life, was absolutely worthless. Then I found a forbidden page hidden in the binding.

A summoning ritual that required something no other spell asked for. Not ingredients.

Not perfect pronunciation. Just pure, raw desperation. The kind that makes your hands shake

and your heart scream. I performed it at midnight in our basement. No candles.