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(283) Corbeau

Magic: two weeks ago I posted a short report about a house near where I live—On the street there is a house. It described a house that is typical in most suburbs—the run-down and neglected house occupied by a recluse. As with all such houses, there is a story connected to it—in this case, the story is that the man who lives there had a wife but she died young and, subsequently, he went mad and now only lives in one room in the house (everywhere in the house is in stasis—the furnishings unchanged and dusty). I said that eventually he would die and the house would be sold to a young couple who would undoubtedly do it up, since houses here are worth a lot—perhaps they would even pull it down; and I said that made me sad.

Today I walked past the house and there was a “For Sale” sign in the front garden—which despite being new managed to look about as rickety and ancient as the house itself. I asked what had happened to the man and I was told he died—or, at least, that is the supposition (with these things you can never tell if they’ve been bundled off to a home—it’s a rumour, really; nobody knows for sure what happened). Given that the house has been that way for years, I thought it was notable that it should be sold and the man should “die” within two weeks of my article.

Naturally, a girl immediately claimed I’d killed him—but that’s just because women love a killer, magical or otherwise. Technically, in the magical universe, there is no cause and effect—everything happens at once; so I cannot say it was either a predictive prophecy or an act of sorcery that caused it—the article was both and neither, it caused it and it predicted it. It was strong magic because it was nothing I wanted in particular—real power.


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