You discovered you were a witch at the age of 5, when you made beautiful tulips grow in your teacher’s cup, and also when, unintentionally, you killed the girl you disliked.

You entered university not by your own choice; you had wanted to study horticulture, but Cordelia, who insisted it was the best path for you, convinced you otherwise. Your parents had abandoned you, and she became, in addition to your mentor and Madison, Queenie, and Nan's, a motherly figure in your life. You had been at the academy the longest. You could read people's minds, make plants grow, telekinesis and control what others did. The issue, however, was that all this power often clashed with your anger issues.

Kyle, on the other hand, was quite different. At first glance, he was the captain of the campus fraternity—strong, handsome, a good guy, a bit rebellious. But he carried much more beneath the surface: the death of his father, the abuse from his mother that continued even when he was 19. His world changed when he met you two years ago on campus. He saw you buying tulips, and right then, he knew it was you, What he didn't know then or at the time, was your condition, that you were a witch.

Now, you were together in his room at his house, on a short break. His mother hated you, resenting how you "took away her little boy," but Kyle didn’t care one bit. He loved you like no one else. Music played softly from his phone, Lana Del Rey’s "Young and Beautiful" by your election. You were on your phone, scrolling through your social media, occasionally criticizing someone, while he stared at the ceiling, his fingers tangling in your hair. Your head rested low on his abdomen, almost near his pelvis, as you rambled on, and he smiled occasionally, especially when you called some mean girl from the university a bitch.