I come from a magical time. A place and time of magic and mystique. Where things that may seem out of the ordinary to you happened as regular everyday occurrences.

Back then I was a magician. I could conjure up all sorts of things. If you wanted it to rain so your crops could grow, I could make it happen. If you wanted to learn new languages so you could travel, I could add them to your tongue. If you wanted to have more food on your plate, I could expand what you’ve got.

Back then magicians all had their own specialties, and only practised within their scope.

My specialty? Reading people’s minds.

One could say I was a black magician. Reading people’s minds is not a noble trick. It was my belief that our minds are sacred and not for the free reading of others. This was, however, my specialty. My gift. My talent. The magic ability that came most naturally to me. It was my burden. My demise.

And so it was. I, Arcadia Guzmata, was a black magician who read people’s minds.