Everyone now thinks I am a witch – a member of the Apollinari House. They couldn't be more wrong since I was adopted when I was little, but they don't know that and I won't squander this advantage by telling them.
The boys have decided that they need a witch to help them fight the magical surges, and what better way to slip through their defenses and find out their dirty secrets?
Find them, expose them and get my revenge on behalf of my cousin who is lying in a deadly enchanted sleep back home. It shouldn't be that hard. The boys, after all, seem interested in getting to know me better.
But that's because I am a witch, someone they need. Which suits me just fine. Who cares why, right?
It shouldn't hurt. I shouldn't want them to want me for who I really am, to feel anything for me. That's nonsense. I'm not here to court them; I'm here to hurt them.
So why is it so hard to go through with my plan?
After all, since when do I care for them?