...what? 

John isn't dating anyone (and isn't even sure who he'd date if he could, he's not really prime dating material) and isn't aware of anyone who wants to date him. Certainly not someone who would leave a bouquet of (admittedly pretty) roses on his locker like this. Possibly this is a prank? It's rather elaborate for a prank, and while there are bullies at the school (there are bullies at every school), he isn't normally the target of them, not now that he essentially doesn't have classes with them and most of them have grown up. He looks around, but he stayed after class for 10 minutes to help a fellow student with a math concept they were having trouble with, and the halls have mostly emptied out. No one that remains is giving him all that much attention, no more than usual anyways.

Part of him is curious what the roses might mean specifically, what their colors signify (though whoever put them there could have just not thought about that), but well, the card or note or whatever attached will probably explain what's going on better than Wikipedia can. He carefully takes set of objects off of his locker, pulling the envelope free, and leans the roses and in their paper against an adjacent locker for the moment, before tearing open the envelope to see what's inside. 

Dearest John,

It's so nice to finally write to you! ♡ My name is Rosy. Well, actually it's Euphrosyne, but I think Rosy is so much cuter, don't you?

I've been in love with you since last year. It's hard to say exactly when. You helped me pick up all my stuff when I clipped the corner of a hallway running late to class, and a Blake always pays her debts, so I started keeping an eye out for things I could help you with. It turns out that you spend most of your time being nice to people and the rest of your time being adorable. I've never met someone so thoughtful before in my life.

"Keeping an eye out" became "keeping an eye on", which became my new second favourite hobby, after reading but before practicing my handwriting (do you like it? I'm very proud). At first I was too shy to talk to you, and then I wasn't sure how to explain, and then I was having too much fun to stop, and then I realized I was in love and decided to wait for your next birthday to send this letter. I figured if I fell out of love, as teenage girls sometimes do, then no harm would be done and you'd never have to know, but I didn't and I won't so now here we are.

I hope you don't mind that I've been taking your book recommendations. Mercedes Lackey is great! I'd love a talking horse friend, wouldn't you? Or maybe a bird would be better. Or a cat! There's just so much potential there. I think, though, my favourite of all the authors I picked up from you has got to be Tanya Huff. She writes such beautiful romance! ♡ If I were a slightly different person I'd spend so much time daydreaming about being swept off my feet by a centuries-old vampire with hypnotic eyes and a voice like a warm velvet blanket. As it is, I'd much rather be swept off my feet by a cute nerd who can't stop helping people with their math homework.

That's how I cleared my debt to you, by the way. You tutored Linda Ellsworth while she and Jess Favreau were on the outs, and I made peace between them before Jess could get around to her usual scorched-earth policy, which would've ended badly for you if I hadn't intervened. So I'm writing this as a free agent with no obligation between us. That's going to be important later.

Anyway, the math tutoring is another thing I admire you for. You're not just sweet, you're smart. I'm no slouch in the math department myself, but I think you'd have a lot to teach me and, I hope you don't mind my saying, I find that very attractive. That time I haven't been spending daydreaming about vampires may have been spent in part daydreaming about calculus on the couch. Is that too dorky? Well, too bad. I intend to never be anything other than honest with you, and I am, unequivocally, a huge dork. If that's a problem for you, then I guess I'll just have to content myself with my daydreams. ♡

Please don't worry, by the way, about what I'll think if you reject me. I know this letter is going to be a lot to take in, and I don't need you to answer right away, nor do I expect any particular answer from you. It's okay to be freaked out or confused or not like my style. My style is niche and I know this. I have complete confidence in myself and my choices and I am ready to live life to the fullest even when that means a broken heart. My freezer is stocked with ice cream and my hard drive is stocked with Taylor Swift. I'll be just fine, I promise.

I should tell you more about myself, so you know what you're getting into. I assume you've been here long enough to understand that the Blakes are old blood around here, maybe the oldest—though personally I favour the theory that the Strands were here first, maybe even before European settlers came to Lakeview. I'm the eldest of three, so in the ordinary course of things, it would fall to me to lead the next generation. I don't know if I want that, though. I want to see the world. I want to marry for love and not politics. I want to daydream about being a pop star and write bad romance novels about cute nerds with hypnotic eyes. I don't want my whole life to belong to my ancestors' legacy.

My favourite band is the Spice Girls and my favourite flavour of ice cream is bubblegum. I don't have a favourite colour because I love all my beautiful children equally, though pastels often suit my style best. My favourite book used to be a toss-up between Matilda and Ella Enchanted, but now it's Tanya Huff's Wizard of the Grove duology—I know you've read that one because a glimpse of it is what got me onto her in the first place. Stay tuned, though, my favourite book turnover rate (excluding Matilda which has been competitive since I was three) is about twice a year. Maybe you'll recommend me something I like even better! ♡

I think the most important things in life are to know what you want, know what you're willing to do to get it, and remember that everyone is the star of their own story. I dream about changing the world but I know I don't have the discipline of a Nobel Prize winner even though I have the smarts. I'm excited about magic but I feel stifled by the Veil Laws. Speaking of which, if you haven't clued in already (don't feel bad, I know it takes lots of people a while even at Lakeview High with Jess lighting people's homework on fire in the hallways)—magic is real. I'll prove it to you if you need me to. The Veil Laws are loosely enforced around here to begin with, and you're being courted by a Blake, so even under the strictest interpretation you're exempt.

I should spill all my stalker secrets before we get to the next part. I made a rule for myself early on that I never follow you outside of school: if I hear you're going to be somewhere I don't change my plans, if I hear you have a hobby I don't try to join in, if I run into you I finish what I'm doing and go home. So I know your full class schedule and what you eat for lunch, but I never double-checked if the rumour I heard about dance lessons was true, even though it tested my will to the utmost. I also figured out, from evidence I will not commit to paper, that you might just be in the market for a girl like me with an offer like mine.

Excuse me, I'm feeling very shy about this and the only remedy is going to be ripping off the pink dinosaur band-aid all in one go, otherwise I'd spend another six pages slowly spiraling around the point.

I want to belong to you. I read ahead in my family's library and found a ritual of vassalage that lets one person swear a binding magical oath of loyalty to another, and I want to give you that; I want to give you me, wholly and completely and for as long as you'll have me. I know it's more than a little crazy of me and I have carefully considered whether I would like to be this crazy and my conclusion is that I absolutely would.

I know this isn't the kind of decision you should rush into, and you don't have to rush into it. If you want to take it slow and get to know me first, that's fine. If you want to tear up this letter and never speak to me, that's also fine. If, on the other hand, you want to jump right in with both feet, that's fine too—I've made my preparations and done all the astrological calculations and there should be at least one day a week from now until next fall when I can make the ritual work, though personally I think it's most romantic under a full moon, and the magic seems to agree—you wouldn't believe the kind of nonsense I'd have to get up to in order to compensate for celestial conditions if you wanted to try it tomorrow!

The ritual of vassalage lasts until dissolved by the master, and there's no problem with repeating it afterward, I checked. Dissolving it is easy and I plan to teach you how first thing if you say yes. I leave the decision of when and whether to own me entirely in your hands.

With all my love and heart and soul, I hope to be eternally Yours,
Euphrosyne Angharad Blake

P.S. Please excuse all this, I'm just making sure no one but you can open this letter without regretting it. Nothing here is dangerous to you and you don't have to take any special care in handling or disposing of it.

Well that's. Well that's a lot.

He eventually has to grab his stuff, and the flowers, and go find an empty classroom to sit down and read the entire thing, and process it. And there's a lot of processing going on. 

He appreciates the compliments (he thinks), though the implications (okay, outright admissions) of stalking are... concerning. And the revelation of magic even more so? He supposes that... well, everyone knows that upsetting the Blakes, or the Strands, or especially the Favreaus, is a bad idea, for somewhat unspecified reasons. And that the woods are a dangerous place to go after dark. And that... okay, he hadn't quite put it together before, but the evidence is pretty clear that something is weird in Lakeview. Magic still seems a bit farfetched (though there have been quite a few small fires in school the past few years. That could just be Jess Favreau being a firebug, and getting out of it on her family name, though), but she has promised him evidence. 

The offer she's made to him... 

He can't say he's not intrigued. Or enticed. Whatever evidence she has (from the books he reads, which she has apparently been reading as well? From his internet history? I couldn't be just the books, how much stalking has she been doing?), she does seem to have a... correct picture of the kinds of things that he's into. (Despite having complicated feelings about them...) But that's the sort of thing for storybooks and fantasies (though if magic is real, they're already a third of the way to fantasy already... no, he shouldn't be giving himself excuses), not for real people. 

And as for who she is altogether, well, she's a lot. She's a Blake, which is its own can of worms, but even ignoring her heritage, she's a lot. Extremely... girly, for lack of a better way of putting it? The handwriting and the hearts and the pink (she does she loves all her children equally, which is so much even on its own, but she clearly has a thing for pink) and the overwhelming enthusiasm is pretty clear throughout the entire piece. Is this the kind of person he wants to date (or own, which is a thought that gets him turned on and ashamed all at once), or should he steer clear? The Blakes are the least bad family to get on the bad side of, so everyone knows (and how do they know, really), and despite her assurances he's still a bit wary of upsetting the scion of the Blake family. 

Possibly, instead of trying to figure out who she is from this (admittedly very revealing, but clearly carefully constructed) letter, he should... try talking to her directly? Even if he's still concerned about everything he's read. That might give him a better picture of what's going on, a better idea of what he's getting into. He doesn't remember the incident she's describing (it wouldn't be the first time he's helped someone pick up their books, though it's rare enough), and he doesn't recognize her (unusual, though not that unusual for the Blakes, yet more evidence that something is up with this town) name, in either form, which means she's not in his grade, so he hasn't actually met her. He needs some firsthand experience with her. 

He thinks this over some more after gathering his things up as he bikes his way home, starts his computer, and composes an email. 

Rosy,

He starts, unsure which name to use at first before realizing he should probably pick the one she's chosen for herself, 

I've received your letter. And read it. I'd... like to take you up on that offer of proof you mentioned. I know that there are some odd things going on in this town, but I think I'd like to be certain of magic before anything goes any further. And besides, it might be a good idea for us to meet, and talk, given, well, everything you've said. Where and when works for you? I have homework, but I can probably take some time off to meet you if you have a reasonable time and place in mind. 

John

He dithers for a while, reading and rereading it, before pressing send and trying to take his mind off of it by working on the homework he does need to do. It doesn't work very well. 

Oh I'm so glad!! 💖

My house is probably the best place to do magic without getting in trouble but I'd understand if you're not quite ready to meet my family just yet. How much privacy do you get at your place? Would you be willing to meet there? If not, we could try the park next to the school, after school or on the weekend. It's usually pretty deserted then.

Looking forward to meeting you properly! ✨
🌹 Rosy 🌹

She put rose emoji around her name. This is... going to take some getting used to. 

He's not really comfortable meeting the Blakes (there's some nameless dread just thinking about it, along with visions of her mother sitting him down and telling him all the rules) just yet, if they think he's dating their daughter (which he might end up doing), and while his parents probably won't be home for another hour or so... he isn't sure he wants her visiting him at home either. (The stalking is still a concern, as is the parents coming home and seeing him with a girl and getting the wrong impression. Ugh.) 

(Also she responded fast. She's probably as nervous as he is. Or possibly just excited? He needs to meet her and get a better read on her.)

I think under the circumstances it might be a better idea for us to meet somewhere that isn't our houses. The park near school is fine with me. I can probably get there in like 15 minutes or so if that works for you? If not, tomorrow after school should be fine, once everyone has left for the day. 

He again dithers, wondering if he should really be offering to meet her today, but he's nervous enough about this whole thing and wants to resolve it. Somehow. So finally, he leaves it as-is, and hits send, and waits for what is likely to be an immediate response. 

15min works for me. See you soon! 🥰

Well, that's straightforward enough. Time to put his bike helmet back on, and head to the park, and nervously await her arrival (unless she's there already, who knows). 

It's not hard to tell who he's meeting. Rosy is wearing a blue gingham skirt and a light pink cardigan and her shoes are some kind of pastel rainbow situation with more vivid rainbow laces and she's bouncing excitedly even before she spots him and waves, her whole face lighting up like someone seeing their favourite celebrity.

Her outfit is not surprising. The way she waves is also not surprising, (though it is concerning). He waves (much more gently) back, locks his bike to a nearby pole, and walks over to her, doing his best to figure out what he's going to say. In the end, he has no idea. "Hi," he says to her, probably not managing to not look as nervous as he feels. (She is very cute though, though he's trying not to think too hard about that at the moment.) 

"Hi!!" Bounce bounce. "C'mon, this'll work better in the shade."

She visibly dithers over whether to take his hand, first beginning to reach for it and then pulling back, and finally settles on just turning and leading him along a path deeper into the park. She's headed for a stand of trees that does indeed do a good job of sheltering a pair of side-by-side park benches from the afternoon sun.

He feels some complicated feelings about the hand being put out and then pulled back (she's clearly nervous too), but it's probably best for this stage in their relationship (which they very well might have), even if he does want to hold it. He lets her lead him wherever he is being taken, trying not to look like this isn't a lot more than he normally has to deal with. 

When they reach the benches, rather than sit on them normally, she climbs up onto the bench and sits on it with her elbows resting on the back, so she can reach behind it where the shade is deeper.

"Watch my hands," she says, folding them together like she's holding a small and precious egg, and then closing her eyes to concentrate.

Light begins to shine through the cracks between her fingers. It's dim at first, but strengthens gradually until the edges of her fingers are starting to glow like she put her hand in front of a flashlight. When she opens her hands, the ping-pong-ball-sized orb of white light sitting cupped inside them shines a pure and dazzling white.

Then, cracks of colour begin to appear. Red, yellow, orange, green, cyan, blue, violet. The cracks race across the surface, hairline fractures widening into deep crevasses, until the whole thing fractures into pieces; and the pieces are already developing cracks of their own, red coming apart into scarlet and burgundy and rose and maroon, orange into ochre and amber and peach, and each of those shades crumbling further into even more, faster and faster until her hands are full of a glittering pile of tiny flecks of every colour imaginable. Some are deep and vivid; some are so pale they're barely distinguishable from white, or so dark they're barely distinguishable from black. There are greys here too, pale shining moonlight-silver and deep charcoal and everything in between, and all the colours between those and the purest most vivid rainbow hues, at first arranged in a rough circle by hue, but quickly falling apart and melding into a hopless mess as her fingers shift.

She bites her lip, her concentration deepening. The flecks of light rise sparkling out of her hands and into the air, to dance in the shade beneath the trees, a glittering impossible rainbow. The original shining white remains among them, the brightest of all; and there's a perfect black in there somewhere, visible only when it passes in front of a brighter colour, emitting no light of its own.

"You can, touch them, if you want," she says, softly and slowly, her brow creased with the effort of animating all those little sparkles. She takes a deep breath, and cautiously opens her eyes, and gazes up at the show with a smile of pure serene joy on her face, drinking in the beauty of her creation.

That's... beautiful. Also impossible. Also incredibly glorious to behold. For a moment, he lets himself ignore the now rather blatant evidence that magic is real and what that means about the world, and just enjoys the vision of swirling color in front of him. "That's... incredible," he tells her, and reaches out to touch one of the motes, since she said he could. He ends up reaching for one of the reddish ones, unsure if that makes any difference or not. 

The wine-red fleck of light feels faintly warm against his finger. Rosy smiles dreamily, half about him, half about her beautiful colours. Although it's definitely taking a toll on her to keep them going this long, she takes another deep breath as they whirl and dance, and then another, and then she finally lets them go. Immediately they all rush back toward her, a reverse explosion of light, and for a moment all her exposed skin glitters in every colour of the rainbow before the specks are reabsorbed. (The one he was touching hops neatly off his finger rather than go through him; similarly, all the returning flecks dodge her clothes and land on her face and hands and in her hair.)

He takes a moment to admire the end of the spell (spell!) and then flops onto the bench, his worldview sufficiently rattled. "So magic is real," he says, finally, after pausing for several seconds. 

"Magic is real!" she agrees, turning her adoring gaze on him.

Magic is real and also there's a cute girl who wants to use it to make herself into his... he doesn't know what to call it (slave? property?) and isn't about to ask. For the moment. (The way she's looking at him is very much making him want to ask about it, though.) He shifts on the bench, uncomfortably hiding nothing at all, and asks, "so how does it work? Like, what are the rules? What do I need to know?" 

For a moment after he asks the question she's still just looking at him with a beaming smile of love and devotion on her face; then she shakes herself out of it, blushing slightly, and answers.

"There's... a lot of rules, depending on what exactly you're doing and how. A lot of different magical traditions, a lot of different magical beings—my family has some fae blood, but the lightshow isn't quite a fae trick, it's similar to fairy lights but not the same. Things like that, that I can do because of who and what I am, are called innate magic. If I wanted to make a light using ritual magic I'd have to do a lot of boring work researching a spell and figuring out how to adjust it for environmental conditions, and then I'd have a light that worked however it was supposed to work according to the spell, and I couldn't adjust it on the fly like I can with my not-fairy-lights. There's other kinds of magic too but I mostly know things about my own innate magic and some rituals, because rituals are some of the safest magic around if you're careful and patient and know what you're doing, so my family has been letting me learn them for years. Is that the kind of thing you wanted to know?"

"So I could learn... ritual magic if I really wanted to? But not innate, since I'm not part fae." which by the way means fae are real, which, he's really not sure how to respond to anything at the moment. One step at a time. "What can you do with it? Besides make really pretty lightshows, and, um, binding rituals." He says the last part extra quietly and quickly, doing his best not to think about it too deeply. 

She bounces a little when he mentions the binding ritual.

"Lots of things! I know a minor luck ritual that I cast the night before tests, and a bunch of mostly useless rituals that are good for practice, like the one that just floats a small object in the middle of the ritual circle until you dissolve it, or the one that makes your shadow darker for a month—that one's really good for learning lunar cycle calculations," which she says with a teasing smile, just to make sure he remembers where else he has heard about lunar cycle calculations. "It's supposed to be cast on the new moon but you can cast it at plenty of different times if you know what you're doing. I haven't made it work on the full moon yet but I think I'm close. What else, what else... oh, I do know one non-ritual spell, but you probably don't want me to show it to you, because it's a water evocation spell for getting really clean and it only works in the shower. Well, it was invented for baths, but the version I know was adapted to showers and I'd have to adapt it back. The point is I would have to be naked and surrounded by water." She does not sound like she would object to showing him her shower spell while naked and surrounded by water. She does not sound like she would object to that one bit. Though she's definitely blushing.

None of these things she's describing sound particularly like they're good at improving the world (which is a desire that he hadn't really fully realized he had until this moment), though there's probably a lot more going on than has been mentioned. Still, it doesn't seem like the sort of thing where you can wave a magic wand and good things happen. (That was probably far too much optimism.) Though the luck ritual seems... interesting. 

Then she gets to the, water evocation spell, and she's not the only one who's blushing. He should probably learn more about this adorable girl who (wants to get into his pants) (wants to give him her her) (is making him really horny thinking about too much), um, likes him. A lot. 

If only he was sure how to ask the question. 

"So we should, um, probably talk more about the letter," he finally manages. "And the stuff in it." 

"Yes!" she agrees, brightly. "We should definitely talk about that!"

She turns around to sit properly on the bench, gazing adoringly at him yet again.

"So," she says, leaning a little closer and resting her cheek in her hand and her elbow along the back of the bench toward him, "what are your thoughts on owning me?"

"I um..." he stammers, crosses his legs (for no reason) and flails around for words for a moment: "Um. I um. I. Well. Um." 

Eventually he pauses, finds his words, and says. "I think, I think I might like to get to know you some first before um. Before we even think about that?" (He's thinking about it anyways. Images of her naked in the shower are also being thought about.) 

"Are you suuuuure~?" she asks, then giggles and shakes her head. "Okay, okay, I shouldn't keep teasing you. We can hang out like normal people. How do normal people hang out? I guess the park bench isn't a bad start. Hanging out on a park bench and chatting about," she leans a little closer, "how much I want to make you my lord and master—" She pulls back again, blushing harder. "Sorry, sorry. I just, it's hard to stop thinking about it, you know? Ask me about normal things. Or magic. Normal magic. Do you want to go on a date? A normal date? You could take me out to a movie! Are there any good ones on? What kind of movies do you like?"

John blushes and stammers (and surreptitiously crosses and uncrosses his legs) a lot.

"I, I don't know that my parents would be happy if I wasn't home doing homework when they came home," he manages. "Movie probably doesn't work tonight. This weekend, maybe? In the meantime I, um. I don't know, where are you going to college? Or planning to apply, I guess. Or wait, does that not happen, because of the magic thing? Or your family?"