Alright, story time. You guys are going to love this one. It’s about the time I had an intruder who was way more stubborn than any of the others. And I mean really stubborn.
So, I’m in the kitchen one afternoon, making my usual batch of pancakes—because yes, pancakes are the key to my heart—and I hear the usual noises outside the tower. Scratching, scraping, maybe a thud here and there. I figure it’s just the wind or another wayward critter... but nope. This time, it’s a person.
I walk over to the window, peek outside, and there he is—this burly guy clinging to the side of the tower like it’s a normal Tuesday. I roll my eyes. Really? Who tries to break into a tower like this? You’d think they’d have learned by now that it’s not that easy.
Anyway, I open the door, and I find this guy standing there on the balcony, clearly thinking he’s won. His chest is puffed out like he’s just climbed a mountain or something. I don't even ask him how he got up there; I’ve seen it all at this point.
“Hi,” I say, really not in the mood for whatever he’s about to say. “What do you want?”
He gives me this smug grin, like he’s some big deal. “I need your help.”
“Great,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “Help with what?”
“I’m looking for something,” he says, straightening up like he’s giving me some important mission. “A special potion. You probably wouldn’t know about it, but I’ve been told it exists. My friends swear by it.”
At this point, I’m not impressed. I’ve dealt with so many people sneaking in here, looking for all sorts of magical nonsense, that I barely react anymore.
But then, he goes on, “It’s a magic turning potion. It’s supposed to show you which way you’re supposed to go in life.”
Okay, now I’m interested. “A what?”
“A turning potion,” he repeats, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “It shows you your path, helps you figure out where to go next. I need it for my carriage.”
I blink, staring at him. “You’re telling me you want some potion that magically tells you which way to go... for your carriage?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! My friends told me about it. They said it works wonders, especially for people like me who get lost all the time.”
I have to pause here, because, what? “Listen,” I say, shaking my head, “I don’t know what your friends are on, but that potion doesn’t exist. I’m pretty sure of that. If it did, don’t you think someone would have written about it by now? Or maybe I’d have heard of it?”
“No,” he insists, his expression turning stubborn. “I’m telling you, it exists. They even said it can make your carriage turn on its own. It just, you know, helps you find your way.”
At this point, I’m fighting the urge to laugh. This guy really thought a potion like that existed? But instead of just brushing him off like I normally would, I decide to see how far he’ll go with this ridiculous claim.
“Look, I’ve been around magic my whole life. I’ve never heard of a potion like that,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice calm. “And if it was real, don’t you think I’d know about it?”
He just shakes his head, completely ignoring me. “No, you don’t understand,” he insists. “It’s not just magic. It’s special. It shows you the way. My friends told me it’s real, and it’s supposed to be here.”
At this point, I’m done. I roll my eyes and step forward. “So, let me get this straight. You break into my tower, expecting me to have this magical ‘turning potion’ for your carriage?”
“Yeah,” he says, looking completely serious. “Seems reasonable, right?”
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Listen, I’m telling you right now: no such potion exists. I don’t have it, and no one does. So, if you’re done wasting my time—”
That’s when I decide to just go for it. I cast my usual memory spell to get him out of my hair. Normally, a little tap on the forehead, and they forget what they were doing here. But not this guy.
He doesn’t even flinch.
“What was that? Did you try to put me under or something?” he asks, completely unfazed.
I blink. “What? You—what? Why didn’t it work?”
I stare at him, baffled. My memory spells always work. Always. Except for this guy. It’s like he’s immune to magic. I don’t even know how that’s possible.
“Okay, fine,” I say, throwing my hands up. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way then. You want to chase after some potion that doesn’t exist? Fine. But I’m not going to help you.”
He wasn’t having it. Nope, this guy insisted on staying. In fact, he started pacing around, all the while muttering about how he wasn’t leaving until he got what he came for.
At this point, I was already getting annoyed. I mean, really? You break in, and now you think I’m going to just stand there and let you raid my tower?
I tried to be calm and rational. “Listen,” I said, “I really don’t know what you’re looking for, but you’re in the wrong place. You’ve got to go.”
And then, like the complete genius he was, he pulled out a knife. As if that was going to intimidate me. I didn’t even flinch. Instead, I just flicked my wrist, and the vines from the garden outside came crawling up the walls, curling around his ankles.
“I said go,” I repeated, a little more firmly this time.
He looked at the vines, his eyes going wide. And I kid you not, he actually tried to pull the knife on them. As if that was going to help.
I might’ve laughed a little. “You’re really going to fight plants?”
But he kept trying, pulling at the vines, which—of course—just tightened around his legs. Now, the guy wasn’t completely bad. I mean, I get it. People get desperate. But really, if you think you can fight a tower full of magic, you’ve got another thing coming.
And that’s when I decide, enough is enough. I show him the door and make it clear that his little quest is over. I’m done with his ridiculous claims and the stubbornness that’s just too much to handle.
But you know what? This guy wasn’t like the others. Most of the time, people either panic or get the hint when I tell them to leave. Not this one. He was so sure of that stupid potion, I almost respected the tenacity.
I take a deep breath, knowing I can’t keep playing nice. This guy needs to leave, and he needs to understand that no magic turning potion is going to fix his “carriage problem.” So, I snap my fingers, and the vines help him quickly back outside and to the ground. He hits the ground with a soft thud, looking absolutely confused as he scrambles to his feet, trying to catch his breath.
I can’t help but roll my eyes.
He looks up, and I see that stubborn glint in his eyes again. Without a word, he starts to climb back up, his hands reaching for the edge of the balcony like a determined fool. I don’t even give him the chance to get halfway up. I call the vines again, and with a swift jerk, he’s pulled right back down, landing hard on his back in the dirt.
His jaw clenches, and I can see the frustration building. I wonder, just for a second, if he’s starting to doubt himself. But nope—he’s up on his feet again, brushing the dirt off, and—of course—he tries to climb the tower once more.
I watch with mild amusement as he reaches up, his fingers nearly brushing the ledge, when wham, he’s yanked back down again. The vines stretch taut, pulling him to the ground once more with a soft grunt.
I shake my head, starting to get bored of this little game. But the guy’s not done. He gets back up, determination written all over his face. He starts climbing again, his boots scraping against the stone.
I don’t even hesitate. The vines shoot out, wrapping around his waist and yanking him off the tower again. Down he goes, his arms flailing as he lands on his back with a sharp exhale.
This time, I let him stay on the ground for a second, just watching him. He’s winded, clearly frustrated, but there's no sign that he's giving up. The determination in his eyes is both ridiculous and, for some reason, admirable.
He tries again.
And again.
And again.
Every single time, I pull him back down. He gets a little slower each time, but he never backs down. His clothes are torn, and his hands are scraped, but he still looks at the tower with this ridiculous, unwavering belief that somehow—somehow—he’s going to make it to the top and find this nonexistent potion.
Finally, after the fifth or sixth time, he falls to the ground once more. His body is slumped, and for a moment, he just lies there, staring up at the tower as though it might suddenly offer him the answer he’s looking for.
I’m done. “Listen,” I say, crossing my arms. “You’re not getting anywhere with this.”
He grunts and pushes himself to his feet one last time. “I’ll get it. You’ll see. I’ll find the magic turning potion. My friends told me about it—”
I can’t help it. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
As I watch him stomp off, still muttering about this magic turning potion for his carriage, I couldn’t help but wonder—what would it take for people to realize that some things just don’t exist? It was like he thought I was the one who was wrong.
But nope, some people just won’t listen. Ever.
— Sarra
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