Sometimes, I think the hardest part about being the daughter of Alembert Gravefury isn’t the constant magic flowing through the air or the strange creatures lurking in every corner of the tower—it’s trying to live up to the expectations.
My father has always been a formidable figure in our world—calm, collected, and capable of things that most people can only dream of. I’ve grown up watching him work his magic, bending the elements and reading ancient texts with ease. But, while his mastery over the arcane is impressive, it’s also... overwhelming. There’s an unspoken pressure that comes with being his child, especially when you’re expected to carry the weight of his knowledge and skill someday. Not to mention, he’s also a little... protective.
Like, really protective.
When I was younger, I thought my father’s overprotectiveness was just because he wanted to keep me safe from harm. But now, as I get older and gain more of my own abilities, I realize it’s a little more than that. My father has a reputation. A big reputation. And with that comes the constant reminder that I’m never quite as free as I’d like to be. I mean, how do you have a simple conversation with your friends when your father can read every thought in the room, especially when I might be the one he’s concerned about?
I’ve had a few visitors lately—some more unexpected than others (I won’t name names, but let’s just say they didn’t exactly make a quiet entrance). My father? Oh, he knows about them. I’m sure he’s already had a look at their intentions before they even set foot in the tower. And even when he’s not around, it feels like there’s always some magical barrier or hidden trap watching over me—he’s never far away, even when he’s not physically present.
Take last night, for example. Two “thieves” showed up at my door, one a jokester with a big grin and the other all quiet and serious, clearly ready for trouble. The first one, Folcmar, was practically a walking mess of energy, while the second one, Gavri'el, was... well, let’s just say he could use a lesson in how to relax a little. We had pancakes. Yes, pancakes! I don’t think my father would ever allow such a thing to happen in his presence. Can you imagine? Thieves, pancakes, and magic all at once? He’d have a fit.
And that’s the thing—no matter what happens in this tower, no matter how normal things might seem on the surface, there’s always an underlying layer of something else lurking beneath. It’s not just the magic, either. It’s the way my father watches everything with that steady gaze of his. I’ve gotten used to it, but I can’t help but feel like I’m constantly being watched—not just by him, but by the very magic that keeps the tower standing.
And that’s why I have to keep secrets. Sometimes it’s easier that way. With all the chaos swirling around, I can’t help but feel like I’m the one holding it all together. I mean, what’s the point of telling him about the strange firebird I saw last night, or the weird glass orb I found in the library? He’d just overthink it and then whisk me away to some remote location where no one could find me—again.
So, yeah. Being the daughter of a powerful mage is a little more complicated than it seems. Sure, it’s full of magic and mystery, but there’s also a lot of pressure and secrets to keep track of. Maybe one day, when I’m finally ready to handle it all, I’ll tell him everything. But for now? I think I’ll just stick with trying to keep the magic (and the pancakes) under wraps.
— Sarra
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