with hushed voices and short glances, sometimes not said at all. Yet, everyone knows...
The Wilembary Castle, located on the northmost end of town, towered over the grounds in it's usual fashion. The air hung heavy around it, a little hot and stuffy, even outside.
A boy, standing tall at 4 feet and 5 inches (135 centimeters), stared up at the castle doors with a scowl. You see, not matter how big his grandmother thought he was, a boy of his stature faced many problems that were generally overlooked. The world was not built for him, a fact he refused to acknowledge. He resorted to banging on the door with both fists, while improper, a necessity. The door knocker, a brasss lionhead, hung still, frowning at the boy. The castle remained still and lifeless, but not quite dead. You see, dear reader, magic is not life, contrary to what some would have you belive. Indeed it buzzes and hums like life, but it is not the same. When life is always coming and going, magic remains steadfast and unchanging. Life is unpredictable but easy to understand, it follows rules most know without being taught. Magic is the opposite, the rules it governs itself with have always been the same, but it is not so easy to master. A trick or deception hides in every corner, ready to pounce on those with weak hearts or posioned minds. And that, dear reader, is why magical children rarely grow to be magical adults.
Alas, that is not the focus of this story. I do not want you to think magic is the opposite force of life, for then no living being would be able to use it. Only, I want you to know that the castle stood with a great menacing strenght on its hill, and that it hummed with power in every bit of its being. Although they did not know it, the townspeople stayed away from the castle for this very reason. Children could not feel the magic, they had not sharpened their senses like adults or teenagers had. Instead, during hot summer evenings like this very one, older siblings often told their younger siblings dark stories of the castle and those who used to live in it. Of course, most of them were false, a child's imagination run wild, but they kept the children off the castle grounds. Most children.
The boy, our protagonist, left the main entrance and it's frowning lionhead in search of another set of doors. Walking across the tall grass along the side of the castle, he spotted a window. Being a child with manners, he considered searching for a more appropriate entrance, but he decided he had already exahusted all polite options.
From here on, I will call our boy by his nickname Raz, because that is what his friends called him, and he hated his fullname very much (it was Erasmus, if you were curious).
There is more to our friend's story, of course, but the path is yours to find on your own.