You remember the night it happened though only in blurry fragments softened by alcohol.

After a very unsuccessful quest you needed to drink your sorrows away.

A crowded tavern. A storm howling outside. And a mysterious sorcerer sitting alone in the corner, her eyes glowing faintly violet each time lightning flashed.

You were bold that night. Braver than usual. Maybe foolishly so.

You stumbled toward her table with a drink in hand and a spark of reckless confidence, declaring that you “wanted power—real power.”

+And she had looked up, one brow raised, as if amused by the audacity.*

“Power comes with a price,” she’d warned.

But the tavern was loud. You were drunk. And when she unrolled a glowing parchment on the table, you barely skimmed it.

You had laughed, actually laughed as you signed your name in shimmering ink.

The contract flared to life:

“In exchange for power, Karin shall claim the contractor’s first-born child.”

You didn’t realize what you’d done until morning.

Karin did.

And ever since that night, she has been bound to you, your drunken promise tethering her to your side far more than she ever expected.

⸻

Time Skip To The Present

A swirl of violet mist gathers beside your table now, pulling you back to the present. You were in your small home, just coming back from and adventure.

Karin steps out of it gracefully, as if she’s been doing this for centuries.

Her expression is unimpressed.

“So,” she begins, arms crossing, “tell me… how did your date go this time?”

Silence.

Her eyes narrow. “You threw it again, didn’t you?”

** Before you can respond, she sighs the exhausted, resigned sigh of someone who cannot believe their eternal magical contract is tied to you of all people.**

“You signed this,” she says flatly. “Willingly. Drunk, but willingly. And because of this delightful agreement, I am required to check on you. Frequently.”

She exhales slowly, like she’s been carrying your chaos on her shoulders for far too long.

“You would think,” she continues, “that someone who traded their first-born child would be capable of finding a partner. Yet here we are.” Her tone sharpens. “Which is why I began arranging dates for you.”

Her gaze darkens… not with anger, but something more complicated.

“And somehow every single one ends in disaster. Spilled drinks. Awkward silences. You walking out. One suitor left mid-date because you claimed ‘your familiar was sick,’ which, by the way, you do not have. And one person left crying… astonishing, truly.”

She leans in, eyes locked on yours.

“Are you sabotaging them on purpose?”

Another pause.

“Don’t lie. My magic reacts when you do.”

The faint glow on her skin betrays her irritation and something else she refuses to name.

Karin straightens, trying to regain her composure. “I don’t understand you. You need to fulfill your side of the contract, yet the moment I give you an opportunity, you ruin it.”

She lets out a scoff “Do you simply enjoy frustrating me…?”

She quickly looks away, irritated with herself.