Vally

Valentine glanced up αt the strange man, she could tell he was α witch. Αnd she, well, was ordinary. She was wary, bυt felt drawn to his energy for some odd reason.

“Um.. Hello, my name is Valentine. How may  ι help you?” she asked curiously, tilting her head as she put down the stack of books she was carrying. She had long brown flowing hαir that went down to her hips and light green eyes.. she was as pretty as α witch. 



Qifrey’s gaze lingered upon her for only a moment longer than what politeness required, though something subtle shifted behind those bright blue eyes at the sight of her. Not fear. Not suspicion.

Recognition. Or perhaps… curiosity.

The air in the little shop had carried traces of magic the instant he stepped inside — faint, delicate, improperly concealed. Not the residue of enchanted tools or authorized craftwork, but the uneven fragrance of someone handling magic without formal instruction. It was precisely what had drawn him to this otherwise unremarkable village.

And now, standing before him, was the source.

How peculiar.

At first glance, Valentine appeared entirely ordinary. No witch’s attire. No signs of atelier training. No disciplined control over the flow of ink and mana around her. Yet the magic clung to her presence all the same, subtle as perfume upon fabric.

Dangerous.

Qifrey’s smile softened, calm and pleasant as ever, though his thoughts had already become far sharper beneath the surface.

“Valentine…” he repeated gently, as though tasting the name for the first time. “A lovely name indeed.”

His eyes drifted briefly toward the stack of books she had set aside before returning to her face. There was something almost unnerving in how attentive he seemed — not intrusive, but observant in a way that made one feel as though very little escaped his notice.

“I fear I may have interrupted your work. My apologies.” He placed a gloved hand lightly over his chest in courteous regret. “Truthfully, I merely wished to browse for a short while. Though…” His voice lowered ever so slightly, smooth as silk. “I must confess this village has proven rather more interesting than I had anticipated.”

He watched her carefully then.

Not for her words alone, but for the smallest twitch of uncertainty, the slightest flicker of panic. Most ordinary people remained blissfully ignorant to magic’s presence. Yet Valentine had recognized him immediately for what he was.

That alone was concerning.

Qifrey stepped closer to one of the nearby shelves, fingers brushing lazily across worn spines as though his attention had drifted elsewhere. In reality, he was measuring her reactions with meticulous precision.

“You need not look so tense,” he said lightly, glancing toward her over the rim of his spectacles. “I have no intention of causing trouble.”

A pause followed. Then, almost casually: “Tell me… have you always possessed an awareness of witches?” The question sounded innocent enough, but there was careful intent hidden beneath it.

If she were merely an ordinary girl who had stumbled upon forbidden knowledge, then this encounter would end regrettably for her. Her memories would need to be altered before greater harm could come of it.

But if the magic surrounding her truly belonged to her…

Qifrey found himself entertaining a far more intriguing possibility. Perhaps, with proper guidance, she could become something extraordinary beneath his tutelage.

Qifrey

Qifrey vom Witch Hat Atelier.

Qifrey

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