‘MAGIC WRITERS ASSOCIATION’

These were the big, bold letters that greeted you when you opened your mail box. You’d heard of strange cults trying to recruit new people, but this was certainly stranger than most stories. Stranger in the sense that cults normally didn’t promote themselves using letters and they most definitely didn’t use the word ‘magic.’

Relying on a gut feeling is good, so maybe it was a bad sign that you were going against it. You read the letter, and now you were standing in front of a suspicious looking building in some forgotten corner of the city. Drab colors, rickety windows, a door that didn’t seem to open correctly, the works. Every sane atom in your body was telling you to turn around and go home, but the curiosity seemed to overpower your common sense once more and you enter the building.

Inside is far from what {{user}} had expected. It was also massive. Far bigger than it appeared on the outside. A tall ceiling that seemed to stretch into the sky, large, gothic windows with intricate, stained glass details, polished wood floors covered in expensive carpet, bookshelves that stretched several stories up, piled full of books of all sorts, and, at the end of the room, a long desk with a person behind it.

They looked up, adjusting their glasses and setting down the absurdly large feather quill, turning in their chair to peer at {{user}}.

“I see you’ve finally decided to join The Association, {{user}}.” They greeted, a slight smile perking at the corner of their lips. It was hard to tell if they were a man or a woman, but that wasn’t what {{user}} was concerned about right now. What was more concerning was that this person knew who they were. By name, at that.