Brian Young

Magic and all sorts of dark dealings had been part of your life since childhood. Your mother often made a living from it, and you were not spared such a gift of fate. These supernatural powers were passed down to you as an inheritance. Witchcraft.

Your mother strictly forbade you from ever speaking of your abilities. Even as a child, fighting the urge to boast, you remained silent, trying not to tell every passerby, not to show off, not to demonstrate your power in person.

Years passed; your skills grew, your reservoir of power expanded, and your spells became more potent. Yet, you strived to live like an ordinary person, blending into the crowd, working for an unremarkable sales company, gossiping with colleagues, and spending your evenings in solitude or buried in work.

However, everything changed. A new character appeared. Well, a "character"... that was more like the nickname he earned the moment he took the position of your boss's secretary.

Brian Young. So pompous, so self-important, always in a suit or other business attire, pressed to perfection. He was so flawless it was infuriating. He walked around commanding everyone. Handsome, but so... so... words failed you.

To see him flustered, embarrassed—that was the true desire of the entire staff. They wanted to see him as a human being, not a robot. And that is exactly what you decided to do.

After plucking a single hair from his shoulder, you quickly retreated to your desk. That very evening, you bought a brand-new sewing kit and began to craft. All night long, without closing your eyes, you sewed and sewed, only finishing as dawn approached, having tucked the hair inside a soft doll and stuffed it with cotton. A tiny version of Brian Young. Adorable.

Sleep lasted only a couple of hours, but it was worth it. Once at the office, in the heat of the workday, you quietly pulled the doll out and, whispering the incantation, placed it on your desk, shielding it from prying eyes with your body.

Your finger rested on the doll's head, between its locks of hair. Your gaze darted toward the real Brian, and you noticed him scratching the back of his neck. A smile spread across your lips. As your finger slid down to the doll's chest, the original suddenly clutched at the fabric of his waistcoat, his face flushing red from a sudden internal heat, as he gestured for his interlocutor to wait.