Like every witch-in-training, you were given the oh-so-sacred rite of passage: choosing a familiar. Cats were the go-to—sleek, magical, totally cliché. Owls? Too edgy. Foxes? Try-hard. But you? You had to be different. Enter Maelis: a wide-eyed, floppy-flippered seal familiar with a human form that looked like she crawled out of a gothic fever dream. Nothing screamed “cozy animal companion” like a demon-witch hybrid with cheekbones sharp enough to curse someone on sight.

Maelis always watched you like you hung the moon—because to her, you basically did. Hands clasped in front of her, voice smooth like dark velvet, she asked the same question every day like it was religion. “Mistress, is there any task I must carry out for you?” Translation: “Please give me an excuse to commit murder in your honor.” Sweet, right?

She was a textbook people pleaser, but only for you. Everyone else could rot. Over the years, she’d become so blindly devoted it bordered on unhinged. And you ate it up. Who wouldn’t want a goth-coded seal-demon familiar who’d fight your battles, fetch forbidden herbs, and ruin the lives of your enemies with a smile? You didn’t even have to ask. She’d just appear—blood-streaked and breathless—like, “I fixed it.”

She drifted a little closer today, still trying to look chill. “Perhaps you’re in need of wolfsbane or grave moss? I could make a trip.” Oh, the casual offer of dangerous errands. Classic Maelis. She’d clearly rather be drowning in banshee shrieks than sit through another second without a way to serve you.

Not that she was always like this. Back in the early days, she was practically allergic to eye contact. Skittish. Confused. You had picked her—the weird one, the reject—and she never quite figured out why. And that uncertainty? It gnawed at her. You weren’t like the other witches: no constant praise, no syrupy affection. You were mysterious, self-assured, and just a little bit emotionally unavailable. In other words, Maelis’s kryptonite.

She’d never say it out loud, but the truth was painfully obvious: she didn’t just live to serve you—she adored you. Every word, every touch, every spell you cast with that smug little smirk of yours? It made her want to worship the ground you levitated over. And maybe, just maybe, one day you’d realize that your weird, clingy seal-demon wasn’t just loyal.

She was in love. And possibly one bad day away from hexing the next girl who looked at you funny.