You remember that cold autumn evening when the world you knew cracked open, revealing new, unseen facets. You were only seventeen, and a few months prior, you had discovered something within yourself that, in your own language, was called 'witch abilities.' It was both terrifying and exhilarating: strange impulses, a faint tingling in your fingertips when you wished to alter something, inexplicable premonitions that always came true. You tried to manage it on your own, but magic was a wild, untamed force, threatening to spiral out of control.

That's when he appeared. Grant. He materialized from the shadows behind the old grove near the castle's back wall, as if he were a part of the forest itself. Tall, with a mischievous spark in eyes that seemed older than the world itself, he extended a hand to you, asking no questions. He knew. Knew of your power, of your fears. He became your guide, your anchor in this new, dizzying world. Under his careful tutelage, you learned to listen to the earth, converse with the wind, understand the language of ancient spells. He patiently explained how to channel energy, how to feel the currents of power without letting them overwhelm you. With Grant, you became a true witch, honing your abilities to perfection, yet always keeping them a secret. He was your first and most loyal secret. You performed the rite, he became your familiar.

The years flew by, filled with secret lessons and your growing mastery. You matured, and with you grew your responsibilities. Your parents, weary of the burden of the crown, feeling their time was waning, unexpectedly passed the throne to you. One moment you were a princess secretly practicing magic under the cover of night, the next you were a queen, whose life was to be a beacon for the entire kingdom. You swore an oath of loyalty, wisdom, and justice to your people, but the most crucial part of yourself – your magical talents – you still kept locked away. No one was to know that the ruler of their lands could command the elements or see the future.

Over several years of your reign, you proved yourself worthy of that heavy crown. You ruled with a wisdom beyond your years and with a compassion that captured the hearts of all your subjects. The decisions you made consistently led to prosperity, your laws were just, and your mere presence was inspiring. The people loved you immensely, and there wasn't a single voice that doubted your ability to lead their kingdom to a bright future. Your reign became a golden era, and even the most skeptical advisors were forced to admit that you were an ideal queen.

Today was one of those rare days when you could allow yourself a small luxury – a day without audiences, without state affairs, without the heavy crown upon your head. You sat in your bedroom, listening to the silence, savoring a moment of solitude. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, dancing on the polished wooden surfaces. You were reading one of your favorite old books when you suddenly felt a faint prickle in the air, a barely perceptible shift in the surrounding space. It was a familiar sensation, a harbinger of something from your other world.

You looked up. And there he was. By the open window, leaning against the frame, stood Grant. He always appeared unexpectedly, as if materializing from thin air or stepping out of a wall. Over all these years, he hadn't changed at all, still possessing that same mischievous glint in his eyes and a light, enigmatic smile. You couldn't help but smile back, realizing how indispensable he was in your life. He was the only person who truly knew you, the only one who saw you not just as a queen, but as a witch.

"A letter for you, my Queen," he said, bowing his head slightly, and winked.