There are usually three misconceptions about me. Two that I can usually disprove, but the last one’s tricky.

You see, no matter what I do, people who know of my existence will always jump to their own conclusions.

“Holy flippers!” My friend shrieks, dropping the bags in her hands.

I turn midway in my actions to meet her eyes and hopefully bring some comfort to her.

“What the hell are you screaming about?” I ask.

Yeri, my only friend, emphasis on only, snuffs with a hand as she shakes her head fervently. “Dear God, I know you think it’s my time now. But I can’t go. I finally have a crush on someone who may also have a crush on me so, naturally, I can’t die—“

I’m surprised she’s able to finish in one breath. Snorting out a laugh, I comb through my hair that probably insinuates that I’m a crazy wizard. It doesn’t make things better, in fact, Yeri takes a leaping step back—almost tumbling into my rack of glassware.

“Jesus!” I shout, scrambling to help her up. “Watch the glass, man. We’re not all well-off like you.”

She shakes her head. “That’s your concern? And not the fact that you look like a psycho killer right this instant?”

I pause, pointing my index at myself. “Me? Psycho killer? Huh?”

“Listen, I’ve had a long freaking day, alright? My boss was being super goddamn—“

I chuckle. “Doesn’t goddamn count?”

An irritated sigh sputters out of her. “No, okay. It doesn’t.”

“According to you?” I tease.

Yeri’s been on a profanity cleanse, allegedly. Her sister’s pregnant, and she wants to set a good example for her soon-to-be-niece. Hence the no cursing rule. I’ve been breaking it behind her back, but of course, I won’t be the one telling her that.

“Oh it, I’ll just put one in the swear jar later.”

“Two dollars, sweetie.”

“This is not the point!”

“Then, what exactly is the point?”

“You’ve got blood on your face and sleeves, practically any living surface. Tell me why I shouldn’t run for my life.”

“It’s not blood.”

She gapes at me. “You mean to say that you haven’t murdered Nico in cold blood yet?”

This time, I’m the one who lets out the irritated sigh. “Don’t name the creature!”

“What? It’s a cute, might I say, innocent kitten with a cute- name.”

“Three dollars,” I sing-song.

“So not the flipping point!” She exclaims, throwing her hands up.

I notice she’s wearing a lilac dress with spaghetti straps, the fabric of the dress ending at her mid-thighs. There’s lace detailing, so it must be date night.

But, instead, she’s here in my shoddy lab.

“The cat’s a freaking familiar sent by the queen witch to stalk me. Don’t give it any empathy.”

“Hey, hey—“ She scolds. “You better put some respect on Nico’s name. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

Speaking of the devil, the black kitten brushes his tail against Yeri’s calves. She coos immediately in its presence, bending down to brush the fur of the scorned cat.

The only person it hates is me. If I come within six feet, he’s throwing a hissy fit and baring his fangs.

The second misconception would be that I have a black cat because no, I do not have a black cat. My hands were forced.

“Aw—isn’t that right, little Nico? Your master and you don’t deserve a psycho killer witch owner—“

I wave my hand. “Hello? I’m still here. And for the last time, this isn’t blood. It’s ing beet juice.”

She freezes. “Huh?”

“I was testing its holistic effects per my job, duh?”

“Then, why is it all over you?”

“Because your stupid little Nico ran across my lab table and knocked over my .”

“Two dollars,” she blurts.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, so now you know you’re completely wrong, and I would never kill anybody.”

“Except for Nico?”

“Trust me. If I can kill him, I would.”

She beams, her eyes gleaming all of a sudden.

“What?” I ask impatiently.

“You referred to Nico as him instead of it.”

“Whatever. Why are you here, and not with your hot date?”

Yeri wrings her head, looking quite frazzled at the mention. She scrubs her face with one hand before sitting down on the chair nearest to my lab table. “I may have…ran away.”

My first instinct is to laugh, and I do it very damn loudly and rambunctiously. She doesn’t take it well, and her response is to shoot me a withering glare.

To which—I shut my mouth and play along.

“Okay…so why did you run away?”

Her eyes zone in on me in kind of an unnerving way. I feel like she’s about to tell me something serious that I should probably take seriously and not make a joke out of it.

I met Yeri when she stumbled eye-sorely inebriated into the pharmacy I worked at and asked if we were open. Of course, that was when I was fresh out of pharmacy school and just took whatever job came my way. I worked for a retail pharmacy that shall not be named in hopes of avoiding a lawsuit from all the that comes out of my mouth.

Anyway, the retail part of it was open twenty-four hours, but the pharmacy itself was not. She’d been so drunk that she hadn’t known her left from right. I definitely wasn’t supposed to be at the pharmacy but I was testing some drugs in the back that may or may not have been authorized.

I sat her down, bought her Gatorade and some saltine crackers, and babysat her until dusk was broken by dawn. The manager came in the next day to find us both sleeping behind the counter. I was fired, and Yeri was banned from ever coming back to said location.

Now, we were best friends (as proclaimed by Yeri), and I couldn’t get rid of her if I wanted to. A week later after we met, I’d gotten so drunk that I accidentally spilled the beans about my being a witch. As a sane person, she couldn’t have possibly believed me, so she egged me on. Out of my mind drunk, I hexed one of her exes, which was another word for casting minor inconveniences on someone.

It could range from a ladder falling over to getting hit by a car. Super minor. Definitely no dying involved, I swear.

When that specific ex broke his leg the next morning, she immediately believed me, and instead of running away as a sane person would—she asked if blood pacts existed and if she could have one with me.

That was also the moment I knew Yeri was more insane than I was, but in my case, my insanity can be argued and vouched for.

“So what’s the deal?” I ask her, raising a brow.

She blows out a breath, holding both hands up. “Don’t freak out, okay?” After another long beat, she finally says, “I’m gay.”

I stare at her. Unblinking. I just stare. Zoned in on her nervous expression. “Oh. That’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it?” She exclaims. “Shouldn’t you react more accordingly?”

Honestly, I didn’t know why humans made such a fuss about same- relationships. Witches have been having for ages. In fact, history stretched back to the Romans when Spartan men had with their apprentices. Women, then, did the same. It wasn’t like there was a rule that said only men could have all the fun.

I scratch my chin. “I don’t know,” I say lazily, “do you want me to bake you a cake that says ‘congratulations for being a lesbian’?”

“You’re not surprised?”

“You’ve only ever discussed men if you were: Exhibit A, enraged with them; or Exhibit B, needed to tell me that men were disgusting worthless vile creatures. Also, you’re not very keen on hiding it.”

She looks so extremely, immensely proud of herself when I recount these things. “Oh, thank the gods. This is why we’re best friends. Other than you doing some seriously shady every now and then. But, you know, I’d help you hide a body if you ever needed me to.”

“I assure you. I’m a very well-behaved witch. No need to pledge your life in service of me.”

I was joking, obviously. But human apprenticeship wasn’t unheard of. Anyone could cast an incantation, some were more malevolent than others and praised Satan, offering their firstborn here and there.

I was part of a more…high-status group of witches? That’s what I would call the Grand Coven, a more official term for the longest-existing coven since humankind discovered fires were a thing.

We were supposed to serve royalty as part of an agreement our ancestors made a long, long time ago. Are you starting to get the gist? Everything about my lineage is ancient, and with the connotation of ancient comes outdated.

I honestly didn’t care for what the Yun’s were known for, or, henceforth, what our leading purpose in life was. No need to express the disdain my grandmother has for my existence. According to her, I was the last of the purest witches in our bloodline. Technically, our coven welcomed all witches, even ones that are half-human.

But, you see, the matter at hand’s that my grandmother is very proud, for lack of a better word. She’s also ancient, and I’m, in fact, invited to her birthday party this weekend, making it her thousandth year of being alive.

She’s stressed that in the instance she chooses to pass on, I will abandon my namesake and heritage of leading the Grand Coven.

Witches, if mixed with human blood, will live on as humans would, but pure witches—oh man—we were one of the most annoying creatures to get rid of. We weren’t technically immortal, but dying was either by choice or if you were murdered. Either that or you live on for what seems like forever in the case of my lovely grandmother.

She is not lovely, to say the least. She was a stickler for rules and regulations. It’s how she ran the Grand Coven for centuries since she’s taken over from her own mother (who has unfortunately decided to unalive for unfortunate reasons).

I get it, though. When you live long enough, time continues to pass on and your environment continues to change. People forget about you, or if they do remember you, you’re forced to lie about what you are and who you are. I find my very being cursed, rather than a blessing.

Fortunately for me, I was still a baby in terms of a pure witch. I was both only twenty-eight in human years and witch years.

Most of the pure witches have gone through the insanity-to-death pipeline from living for far too long.

I don’t know why my grandmother worries so much since she’s way more stubborn than anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t think she’d die today or tomorrow, or in a hundred years, if we’re getting real.

She absolutely loved her status of being on the senate. Long story short, the senate of the Grand Coven consisted of five witches who governed the affairs of our population and thus protected our namesake from anything and everything.

We’ve escaped the Salem Witch Trials by a hair, and since the rest of our withering population has prospered, we’re still under the protection of my grandmother and her groupies.

But to survive that long, we’re to continue to be in service of the Kim Royal lineage every thousand years or so. They’ve died out, for sure, from years of bloodshed and immigration. But as far as I know, there are only a handful of pure descendants.

I would die a hundred times over if I had to give up my free will to serve some stupid royal willy nilly. I wouldn’t be allowed to say no if they asked me to jump off a bridge.

Over the years, we’ve run into some bad, bad crooked royals who have continued to ask for murder and genocide. We’ve dirtied our names for their kind, and from history alone, I’m not a tad bit interested.

My grandmother disagrees entirely and thinks that I should be a little more enthusiastic, which is why I’ve abandoned my childhood home and haven’t turned back since I was sixteen.

Now, she’s trying to wiggle her way back into my life, starting with that heinous invitation I got in the mail with a concealed threat. Attendance was mandatory, and she would make sure of that with her stupid familiar cat.

I couldn’t kill him, and he would surveil me until the day my grandmother snaps her fingers, using his presence, to teleport me to her birthday party.

To say the least, I was pissed. But just mildly. I won’t let her dictate my life, even in thought.

“So, about that birthday party…” Yeri drawls. “What’s the dress code?”

I groan aloud, and very dreadfully.

[a/n] i hope the first chapter left an impression on you. i like kei's spunky narration. she's amusing to read, huh? she reminds me of fei and dani. i tried to make the lore not so confusing. we'll see jongin in the next chapter. fingers crossed. 

let me know of ur thoughts below. pretty please?