Rose awoke to the comforting scent of brimstone muffins and the not-so-comforting realization that her room was slightly on fire.
Her cauldron-bed—propped precariously on three crooked legs—wobbled as she sat up, blinking through a haze of purple smoke. A spark drifted past her left eye. She waved it away, muttering, "Not again." Somewhere near her boots, a sock caught flame and squealed.
"Morning, sunshine," Nimbus grumbled from above. The tiny, stormy cloud hovered near the ceiling, crackling with miniature bolts of lightning. "You slept through the kitchen riot. Again."
Rose groaned. "Was it the muffins?"
"The muffins led a coup. The toaster joined them. I barely escaped with my fluff."
She swung her legs out of the cauldron and landed on a floor littered with spell scraps, muffin crumbs, and a pair of twitching goggles. Today was the Grand Sorceress Audition. Her last chance to prove herself—or be demoted to broom-polisher for the next ten years.
Nimbus floated beside her as she stumbled toward the cracked mirror. Her hair resembled a haystack cursed by spiteful pixies. She grabbed her wand—a crooked twig with an opal embedded at the tip—and whispered, "Comb me."
The wand whined, sparked once, and conjured a gust of wind that made things worse. Rose sighed. "Close enough."
She dressed quickly: patchwork coat, mismatched boots, and her lucky socks—one green, one purple. The mirror snickered. "Trying the 'unstable genius' look again, are we?"
Rose gave it a sarcastic curtsey. "Jealousy is unbecoming."
Nimbus zipped ahead as they exited the cottage. Outside, the town of Gloomford simmered in the usual magical chaos. A gargoyle argued with a mailbox, two witches had a broom crash midair, and a sentient mushroom cart tried to unionize.
The Black Obelisk loomed ahead—the audition hall, carved from obsidian and misery. Rose clutched her enchanted ember, her proof of magical potential. Without it, she'd be tossed out faster than a fireball at a family reunion.
At the gates, a robed figure with too many elbows grunted, "Name?"
"Rose Petunia Wynthrope," she said, cringing slightly at her middle name.
Nimbus snorted. "It's a family curse."
The figure eyed her ember, then waved her through. "Trial Chamber A."
Rose stepped into a circular chamber glowing with arcane symbols. Judges loomed on thrones made of petrified dragon ribs. One leaned forward. "Show us your magic."
Rose hesitated. She could play it safe. Or…
She raised her wand. "I offer laughter from shadow, light from loss."
Magic surged. Laughter—not hers, but from memories and dreams—filled the chamber. Light poured from her wand, swirling with color and warmth.
When it faded, the judges whispered among themselves.
The lead judge spoke. "Rose Wynthrope, you may advance."
As she left the chamber, heart pounding, Nimbus whispered, "You actually did it."
Rose smiled, eyes gleaming. "We did. And now? Let's cause a little more trouble."