The simple fact of the matter was, Alec Purchit never thought that he’d make it in the family business.

His great-something-or-other Grandmother had been a famous novelist, and she’d passed on her passion for telling stories to her kids, and they’d passed it onto their kids, and so on and so forth- a proverbial family tree of writers…

And Alec knew he’d never be a writer because he was sick and tired of being asked to do essays all the freaking time. It wasn’t just the regular schooling essays either- Oh No, he could DO those, in his sleep if he had to- but it was all the ‘creative writing’ things his family kept pressing him to do.

He wasn’t even sure why, when his sister, Chery, was ten times the writer he was at half his age. She already had plans for some grand adventure novel series laid out in crayon and construction paper.

He wasn’t much of a writer, but he could just TELL that it was going to be something incredible that was spewing forth from that little pup’s mind.

So why wouldn’t his family just let him live his life in peace and make his own damned decisions!?

It wasn’t like he was the first scrub in the family who’d missed that epic writing gene, so why did they care so much? Mom would say, “Just read Rachel’s books. You’ll get those creative juices flowing!”

Alec looked at Great-Grandma Rachel’s novels of mystery and he was inspired- sure- inspired to go out and actually be a detective.

He’d nearly given Dad a heart attack when he told him, to his face, “Pa, I wanna be a detective when I grow up, not a writer.”

Oh, there had been quite a lot of fuss thrown up around that sentence. Aunts and Uncles, cousins and siblings- everyone wanted to tell him how much of a mistake that was. “Woe!” They’d cry. How he’d be such a great writer instead! “Bah!” He said to them.

It finally annoyed him to the point that the only person he told he was leaving was Chery. So young, and yet so understanding. The only person in his family who never pushed him into something, and just looked up at him with a smile and said, “Go be a hero! I’ll write about it!”

And so he went to Mystryal. He wrote his sister letters, of course. Mizar and Alcor- the Islands were so beautiful! He filled pages of the events going on in his life at the academy. Oh how the words just came.

“And yes,” he had glumly wrote to his sister the morning of that fateful makeup lesson, “I realize the irony of my slacker self managing to write all about my life’s adventures, but not being able to make up a single piece of fiction.”

He’d sent the letter off through the post before heading to the makeup class, completely unaware that he’d have to write up a whole new letter just to explain how he’d somehow lucked into a Black Arms Certification class. (And also maybe work in some coded lines he couldn’t quite fit into this letter.)

Sure, Chery was probably going to kill off an expy of him in her first book for wasting a stamp, but how was he supposed to know this was going to happen!?

These were the thoughts that went through Alec Purchit’s head as he stood there, awkwardly holding an unconscious Elise Eh’yre, and waiting for her to wake up.

Well, that, and, ‘Why do all the girls in my life have to tease me so?’


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