**LEXI**
Birthdays mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. For some, it’s all about tearing into shiny wrapped gifts or gathering every single friend they’ve ever had for a big, noisy party. For others, it marks a milestone, the year you’re finally old enough to drive, to drink, to leave home, to start something new. No matter what, birthdays usually represent change, and change is almost always anticipated. You see it coming, you plan for it, sometimes you even chase it down. But for me? Turning twenty-three feels less like a beginning and more like an ending. I’ve almost finished my nursing degree. Three exhausting, sleepless years, so one more to go and then it’s time for the so-called real world with its waiting and endless job applications, awkward interviews, and first-day nerves. That’s a problem for another time. Today is Sunday, and on Sundays, especially when it happens to be my birthday, I have absolutely no intention of being productive. My grand plan? Stay wrapped up in bed like a burrito, maybe binge watch something mindless, maybe eat cake. No resumes, no planning, no stress. Just quiet. At least, that’s the plan. I roll over, nestling deeper into the cocoon of blankets, when the most horrific screeching sound tears through the air. My body reacts before my brain does, jerking me upright, heart thundering against my ribs. What the hell was that?!
Blinking hard, I scan my room with bleary, half-asleep eyes. Nothing seems out of place, my cluttered desk, the pile of laundry in the corner, the soft glow of morning light peeking through my curtains. Then it comes again, sharper this time, accompanied by a loud, deliberate tap tap tap against my windowpane. The glass rattles in its frame, making me flinch. What in the world is going on?! I stumble out of bed, feet tangling in the sheets, and stagger across the room toward the window. On instinct, I snatch up a sneaker from the floor. I’m not entirely sure what for, am I planning to throw it? Wave it around like some kind of ridiculous weapon? Whatever. The point is, something is banging on my window and ruining the peace of my birthday morning, and I am so NOT okay with it. I yank the curtain open and squint into the flood of early sunlight. My frown deepens. There, perched primly on my windowsill like it hasn’t just shattered my eardrums, is a massive black bird. It sits with eerie calm, glossy feathers catching the light, sharp eyes locked on me as though it knows exactly how close I was to launching a shoe at its head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I groan, tossing the sneaker back to the floor and stomping back toward my bed. I flop down with theatrical defeat, burying myself under the pillows. My alarm hasn’t even gone off yet! it has to be before eight, and that is way, way too early to deal with nature’s alarm clock. But of course, the stupid bird doesn’t care about my suffering. Almost the second I settle in, it unleashes another round of piercing screeches, each one accompanied by the sharp tap-tap-tap of its beak against the glass. The sound drills straight into my skull. Two minutes. Two whole minutes of agonizing, nails on chalkboard screeching later, I snap.
“That’s it!” I growl, dragging myself back out of bed. I march over to the window, fully intending to scare the feathery menace away. But as soon as I get close, it quiets down again, tilting its head at me sweetly. Suspicious. Too suspicious. That’s when I notice it. Clutched tight in one claw is… a piece of paper. No, not just paper, a folded letter. My brain stutters. Who in their right mind sends letters by bird? That’s not a thing. Maybe it stole it? Birds collect shiny things, right? Maybe this one has taken up mail theft as a hobby. Still, curiosity prickles at me, outweighing my annoyance. I inch the window open with the careful slowness of someone diffusing a bomb.
“Easy there, birdie, just… don’t attack my face.” I mutter under my breath. The instant there’s enough of a gap, the creature barrels forward with a rush of wings. I yelp and duck as it swoops into the room, circling overhead like some feathery hurricane. My heart slams against my ribs. It’s definitely enjoying this. Oh yes, this demon bird knows exactly how much it’s freaking me out, and it’s loving every second! Sharp claws, gleaming beak, sure, it’s just a bird, but those little talons look like they’d make short work of my skin. I crouch and throw my arms over my head as it makes another pass, feeling the whisper of air as it swoops low enough to ruffle my hair. Finally, the bird drops the letter onto my floor. Then, as if to drive home its point, it sweeps directly over my head, so close I feel the wind of its wings against my neck, before darting back out through the open window. I rush after it and slam the glass shut with far more force than necessary.
“Absolutely not. Not again.” I glare after it. For a moment I just stand there, breathing hard, adrenaline still buzzing in my veins. Then my eyes fall to the envelope lying innocently on the carpet. It could be nothing, it probably is nothing. It’s most likely something stolen, something random. But I’m too curious to leave it alone now. I scoop it up and collapse back onto my bed, holding the letter carefully between my fingers. My pulse is still racing, but a spark of anticipation slips through the fog of irritation. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s junk. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s something interesting. It had better be worth the freak out that bird just gave me, because there is no chance I’m falling back asleep now!
The envelope feels heavier than I expected, the paper thick and luxurious, definitely not the kind of cheap junk a bird could have plucked from somebody’s letterbox by mistake. I run my fingers over the surface. Smooth, weighty, expensive. The only time I’ve ever touched paper like this was at a wedding, when some distant cousin sent out ridiculous embossed invitations with gold filigree. I flip it over, expecting nothing, and then freeze. There it is. My name. Alexis Elle. Written in the kind of elegant, flowing script you only ever see on calligraphy TikToks or in old movies. For a moment, all I can do is stare. So the bird really WAS a messenger bird. And the letter really IS meant for me.
“Great, but why send a demon-bird-from-hell instead of, I don’t know, the postman? Or an email? It’s the twenty-first century, people.” I mutter under my breath, although I’m more curious than angry. I rub the last of the sleep grit from my eyes, half worried I’m still dreaming, and carefully ease the flap open. The paper is too nice to rip. It feels almost… sacred. A faint smell of ink and something sweet, like pressed flowers, drifts up as I slide the contents free. Something metallic clinks onto my blanket. A key? And not a boring modern one either, but old fashioned, ornate, the kind you’d expect to unlock an ancient chest or a castle door. Its surface gleams silver, polished but clearly aged, the pattern on the top intricate and curling. A delicate chain threads through the loop, long enough to wear around my neck. I swallow. A necklace. A key. What in the actual hell? With trembling fingers, I pull the folded sheet of paper free. The script matches the writing on the envelope, flawless, elegant and completely intimidating.
*Congratulations Alexis Elle,*
*You have been accepted into the Institute for Magical Beings and Creatures for this academic year.*
*Please present yourself at the Academy gate no later than 9am on Monday the fifteenth of February.*
*Please find enclosed your room key. Food, clothing, and all other necessities will be provided. Please only bring the items which you cannot be without.*
*We look forward to meeting you and working with you.*
*Signed,*
*Ms Sherry Istvan - Principal*
I gape at the letter, read it again, then drop it onto the floor as if it might burn me. A second later, I’m scrambling to pick it back up, reading every word like maybe the message will change if I check enough times. Spoiler, it doesn’t. The Institute for Magical Beings and Creatures… I know what it is, everyone knows. It’s the most prestigious magical school in the country, the kind of place that people with real power and magic go. And the number one rule is no non-magical creatures allowed. And me? I’m… human. Normal. Ordinary. At least… I think I am. But even if I wasn’t, even if there was some tiny shred of weirdness about me, I never applied! You don’t just get into the Institute. There are waiting lists that stretch generations. People sign their babies up before they can even crawl, just in case. The rest? They buy their way in with enough zeroes on a check to make my bank account cry. And yet here it is. A letter with my name on it. An acceptance. A key. Panic crawls up my throat. My pulse hammers. This has to be some kind of mistake. Taking a deep breath that doesn’t help even a little. So I do the only natural thing.
“MUUUUUUM!”
