Bad fucking idea putting me here. A fucking hospital, of all damn places to be so wildly misplaced. Real medicine and medical practice is not my jam, not at all. Never more than now have I doubted my dad’s advice.

‘The age of magic is dead my son, there’s no use presuming it.’ Way too late am I calling bull though. ‘You’re great at potions, especially those healing ones—you could become a real doctor.’

And here I was, after years of college which, I’d for years told myself there was no way I would go through that when I somehow magic my way into a decent life without that much work.

Nope, nope, I listened though, because how cool would it be to fit in, have a real job.

Not cool. Not fucking cool. It was stressful and is stressful and I might just die, right here. I could brew potions. Potions were my strength. Not fucking whatever shit I’d learned the past forever years of horse crap.

And now here I am, standing like a goddamned faerie in ghost-leg web, stuck and staring as the usuals shuffled and bustled by me.

How did it take until now to realize this was a large fucking mistake. I wasn’t in attire fit for any half-magic piece of shit, no I was in scrubs. Ugly ass things.

First day nerves or the universe trolling the fuck out of me. I was magic, could be the latter, I certainly don’t know.

First step though, never a bad decision to grab a coffee. Caffeine plus whatever I can find in my pockets to get my mind to shut the hell up might just do the trick so I don’t burst out in flames while talking to someone.