Chapter Text
Shelby has been magical, of some sort, ever since her childhood. Magic is inherent, especially in Rivendell, where Elves spend eternity casting spells and making potions, but she’s been powerfully magic since birth. Mud potions that she mixed up as a child became potent, random doodles on homework would come to life.
It was because of this that she gets accepted, at the ripe old age of 18, to study at the Crystal Cliffs school for witches. At first, Shelby is excited. A whole school to learn how to control her magic, new people to make friends with(making friends at all, something that she has not managed to learn how to do yet in her small hometown).
But things very quickly turn her excitement to dread. It’s boring, for one, considerably more homework than she was ever expecting, and the other people in her classes aren’t nice! They make fun of her baggy overalls and scraped knees (even though Shelby tries not to, but the cobbles are uneven everywhere and she runs late and it’s really a bad combination) and don’t let her talk to them.
She spends a lot of time in the gardens, sitting with the frogs that populate the small pond that rests at the edge of it. One, a particularly large lavender frog, takes a liking to her and begins to take up residence underneath the brim of the very large hat that is a part of the Crystal Cliffs uniform. It is the only part of the Crystal Cliffs uniform.
Shelby learns very quickly in her classes that the frog, who she calls Tortoise, is a familiar and has chosen her to be his companion. She learns this when he sneaks in with her, under her hat, and escapes halfway through the history class.
Shelby tries to capture him without causing a scene, but a frog who very much has a mind of his own and is very large is a scene on its own, and she gets sent to the headmistress’s office, leaving behind a classroom of titters and her very small ego, lying on the floor.
The walk to the headmistress’s office, one that is long and arduous, up a spiraling staircase into a tower that rests on the tallest peak, one that is studded with geodes and has amethyst crystals floating around it, each emanating a faint purple light that allows Shelby to see as she takes each step up the staircase. With each step her stomach drops more, and she hugs Tortoise tighter and tighter until he croaks in protest.
Finally, with a stomach in the depths of the Underneath and at the top of a tower so high Shelby is sure they could see Stratos if she tried, she reaches a large door made of purple wood and reinforced with metal slats. Before she can knock, almost too nervous to, the door swings open.
“Come in,” a voice echoes from within.
Shelby takes one step through the door, then another, eyes wide at the stacks of books towering scarily high above her. Unlike the staircase up, the room hardly lit at all, with just the barest glow of a candle emanating from the back of the room. The candle, she finds, is resting on a desk similarly piled with books and papers messily strewn about. Sitting at the desk is a very old woman, one with very long, white twin braids and a massive hat, even larger than the one Shelby is wearing. She looks up when Shelby approaches, face stern.
“Miss Twig,” the headmistress says. “What is the reason you are here?”
Shelby gulps. She’s seen the headmistress before, from a distance, but has never been this close. For someone who looks very frail, she is intimidating. “Um,” She swallows again. “I-My frog, um, got out in class.” She holds up Tortoise.
“Your frog?” The headmistress stands with a speed and grace that Shelby wasn’t expecting. “Young lady, where did you find this frog?”
“The gardens?” Shelby winces at their trembling voice making it sound like a question. “Uh, the pond in the corner. He… I wasn’t trying to capture him or bring him in, but he decided he liked to be under my hat and who was I to stop him?”
The headmistress walks around the desk, to where Shelby is standing, and takes Tortoise from her arms. He flails a little but does not try to escape. “This, Ms. Twig, is no ordinary frog. Who you have found is a familiar, and he has chosen you.”
“A familiar?” Shelby asks, mostly to herself. She thinks she had an assignment earlier in the year that discussed it only in vague detail. That seems like something that’s more for students in their later years of studying.
“Yes. You seem to be a pretty powerful witch, then, if you’ve already found one.” Shelby blushes.
Two years go by without much happening, and Shelby does not speak to the headmistress for that time. She focuses on her studies, mostly potionry, which she’s best at, and doesn’t let the teasings of her classmates (which has not gotten better since their first year) bother her.
Then comes the start of their last year, one that is not done within the classroom but instead out somewhere in the Unnamed Lands, displaying that they can use their magic for good of a community. The fourth years get sent, one by one, to the headmistress’s office, to learn where they will go for the year.
The walk up the tower is just as nerve-wracking as the first time they had to go up there, if maybe a little more exciting. Tortoise sits under her hat, humming happily, and does not seem to mind the constant jolting of going up stairs. Similarly, the headmistress’s office is as packed with books and messy as the first time Shelby set foot in it. As she walks through, some of the massive towers of books wobble, threatening to fall and crush them where they stand.
“Miss Twig,” the headmistress says. She looks just as old. “Welcome. Congratulations on reaching your final year.”
“Thank you,” Shelby says, trying to make her voice carry.
“We have decided to assign you the Evermoore Forest,” The headmistress continues. “There are several settlements surrounding it, and the latent magic of the Evermoore will be enough for you to continue your craft.”
Shelby is speechless. The Evermoore is the most dangerous part of the Unnamed Lands, not just full of magic but poisonous plants and dangerous animals, all lurking in the fog. She has never dared to even think of stepping foot in there.
“Oh… umm… may I ask why?” They ask, after several moments of working their jaw.
“You are a very strong witch,” the headmistress says, face still serious. “We believe that you, of all people, will be able to harness the wild magic of the Evermoore Forest and use it for good.” Shelby stands there, frozen, feeling very much like she is being sent to her death, until the headmistress smiles for the first time. “You don’t need to be scared,” she says. “Be proud. Now, go and send the next person up.”
It’s a miracle Shelby makes it down the spiral staircase still standing. Her legs are shaking like they’ve been turned to jelly and her head is spinning. They feel faint.
“Are you alright?” The next witch waiting in line asks when they reach the bottom. “You’re, like, really pale. Do you need water or something?”
Shelby shakes her head, trying desperately to get the words out. “No, I, um, I’m going to the Evermoore. You can—you can go up now.”
The other witch pales slightly, and a murmur arises from the next few people in line. Shelby just walks away, doing their best not to wobble. They make it all the way to the frog pond before collapsing in the tall grass, hat falling off and Tortoise slowly falling with it. He croaks and places a cold hand on her cheek.
“Tortoise I think they want us dead…” Shelby moans, words muffled by the grass. “We’re going to the Evermoore and we’re going to die…”
Tortoise croaks sympathetically, and begins to climb back on top of their head. Shelby lets it happen. They lie there long enough for the sun to begin setting and the other, much smaller frogs, to sit atop her like a log.