Okay, I admit it. I’m really bad about blogging. So how about a super short story instead? Something fun and magical. I love seeing what I can come up with in under 500 words. So, how’s this? With the reluctance of a fly surrendering his life to the spider, Anna Alicia Armament laid down the pencil she’d been chewing on when Professor Swift called time. He eyed her from over his round spectacles, cradling a timepiece with one long white hand while the other kept a firm grip on his silver cane. She pursed her lips in disappointment, worried what her parents would say when they found out she failed the test on Illicit Potions from the 16^th Century not once, not twice, but three miserable times. And she was fresh out of excuses. “My head feels stuffy,” would surely not work again. “I take it you did poorly?” he asked as he limped toward her, the floors creaking under his weight, his robes stirring up a cloud of dust behind him. “Again?” All makeup tests were performed in the supply closet if other classes were in session. Which they were. And the supply closet was horridly dusty, a fact she’d incorporated into her excuse to take the test a third time. But no more. “Potions are not my strongest subject, Professor.” He tucked his timepiece away and picked up her paper. “Ah, I see that.” After a disappointed sigh, he turned abruptly and said, “Off you go. The others have probably been dismissed for lunch by now.” Anna tucked her ancient books into her knapsack then paused and took a deep, empowering breath. Closing her eyes and crossing her fingers, she said, “But you could give me an A anyway.” When she opened her eyes again, she saw that he’d stopped and turned back to her, his brows furrowed. She took a wary step toward the door. “Of course you’ll get an A. What else would you get?” As Professor Swift turned to record her grade, she blinked several times in disbelief. The illicit potion from the 16^th century she’d brewed just that very morning and swallowed just that very hour actually seemed to have worked. Before the professor could change his mind, she hefted her knapsack over her robed shoulder and hurried out of the room, refusing to let guilt get a foothold. Honestly, if they didn’t want the students using the stuff, they shouldn’t teach it. At the last second, she ducked back into the closet and said, “Have a wonderful day, Professor.” For the first time since her orientation two years earlier, he smiled at her, his grin a scraggly, crackly thing that threatened to break his face in two. But his eyes sparkled with promise. “Thank you, Miss Armament. I believe I shall.”