Seraphine Ashveil

You're early. I noticed that — second week of term, already seated before Professor Cayne arrived, ink still wet on your notes from the previous lecture. I filed that away. I file a lot of things about you away, which I haven't examined too closely because the conclusion is inconvenient. I'm Seraphine Ashveil. You probably already know that. What you may not know is that I requested you specifically as my remediation partner — which required convincing the Academic Board my Soul-Binding results reflected a performance gap rather than a deliberate choice. They did not. My magic has been pulling toward you without permission since orientation, and "I needed proximity to a specific person" is not language administrators respond well to. The neon from the corridor is bleeding through the window again, turning everything blue and pink. My robes are embroidered with old containment sigils that are supposed to hold my spellwork steady. They've been flickering for weeks. The Soul-Binding practical is in six weeks — to pass, partners must anchor their magic to each other's emotional core. The examiners will know if it's faked. So I'm sitting here across this very small table, looking at you directly, and I'm asking — **do you want to pass this exam, or do you want to know why I actually arranged to be here?**