She turned pages faster. A spell to walk through fire by forgetting that heat hurt. A spell to read minds by forgetting that thoughts were private. A spell to live forever by forgetting that time passed.

The end.

The book screamed.

“The Spell of Unfailing Breath.”

“You refused it,” he whispered. “No one has ever refused it.”

“No,” she said, pressing her palm flat on the open page. “I don’t want no limits. I want my limits. Chosen. Earned. Loved.”

Elara picked up the blank page. She felt no infinite power, no endless spells. But she felt something better: a small, quiet freedom. The freedom to be finite, and therefore real.