Can’t say I’ve ever had an easy life growing up in the Midwest, and that was before I killed all those priests. It was an accident, or at least that’s the excuse I force down my brain every time that memory comes up, not sure my god-fearing, wholesome all American rural community would see it that way though.

Doesn’t matter, accident, no accident, two dead, twenty dead, I’m off to pastures new. The Agency of Cult Sensitivity, weird bastards with pentagram tattoos, magic powers and government sway, never heard of them before but apparently they just opened up a college for freaks like me. I’m scared and I’m not afraid to admit that, you would be too if you saw just how many burning crosses were popping up in the local news with your name carved into the wood. Can’t run though, wouldn’t get very far, sink or swim I need to do this. I have no choice, I need to learn to be a better monster so I can at least say I tried before they kill me.

If only I knew a spell to go back in time so I could slap my childhood self for ever wanting to be a wizard...