I will not start this story with the words 'Once upon a time', and this tale will not end with a 'happily ever after'. For this tale does not begin in a mythical land 'far, far away', but in the average city of London. And the lines of good and evil are not always so clearly defined. Rather, we find ourselves dabbling in the ever indefinite shades of grey.

But I'll let you judge the shadows for yourself.

So, my story begins, as many do, with a letter. A letter written on yellow parchment, with green ink, to be exact. A letter, sealed with thick red wax, bearing an intricate coat of arms.

My story begins at age eleven. To most, eleven is still an age of childhood. The cusp of adolescence, but still maintaining a level of innocence. For me, it was not so much as cusp, as it was a cliff. A sixty foot cliff I had no business standing atop of.

It was no wonder I fell.

I suppose all beginnings come with an introduction, with some form of explanation. As it gives me a platform to launch off of, I'll start with something basic. My name is Emily Parker. Far from a singular name, in fact, it's one of the most popular in Britain. But I could hardly be called ordinary. I don't think it would be fair – or logical - to call anyone with magical abilities ordinary. I promise I'm not insane, nor are you, for you've heard correctly. My name is Emily, and I am a witch.

Now, whether or not I'm a talented witch, I cannot say. I'll leave that for a reader to decide. But I will make one promise.

My story is far from boring.