Chapter Text
I
"To exist is a wonder."
3 minutes. That’s all Jeon Jeongguk needed to whip up one of his color spells.
Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Especially not when he may or may not be decoloring the front wall of the main college campus, in broad daylight, before his day classes start. Oh, he was cutting it short, alright.
But Jeongguk was experienced in this field, countless hours of perfecting each spell in the light of floating candles at the horrible hour of 2 am, efficiently and quickly. He was pretty good at it, if he said so himself.
But what most people don’t know is that Jeongguk needs his voice to activate the spells correctly; that was the magick of it all. Without Jeongguk’s voice, the potion in the spraycan would just be defectable potion. I mean, who wouldn’t want voice activated spells, honestly? But, sometimes, that wasn’t so advisable when he was trying to keep low at the crack of dawn and when the Wizardry Forces had darned Animaguses that could trace any sound or voice to it’s owner.
“Purpura,” Jeongguk mutters under his breath, as he rummages through his bag, in search of the spraycan that gleamed PURPURA! FOR GOOD USE! J. JEONGGUK on the label. The clattering of rusted metal clanks voraciously in the empty parking lot and echoes the witch’s heartbeat by a mile. The familiar faded letters caress his soft palms and Jeongguk emerges victorious, snatching the can out of the bag.
He hastily unscrews the cap and the slow rising of the sun vaguely registers in his mind before the bland odor of potion hits his nose and he is finally able to exhale, not realizing he had held his breath the whole time. The purple paint is the last detail in his already finished masterpiece, one of a colorful butterfly feeding off of an otherwise sepia flower. Jeongguk likes to think it represents how there are people in the world that shine more than others, and struggle against the background of a black and white population, but their luster is never dampened or faded.
Just like his newly-made non-scratch paint!
The purple substance swirls at him with a wicked gleam and Jeongguk wonders if he should greet it in return (he had always been a weird kid), but thinks against it as the 3 minutes tick away in his head. Jeongguk takes a deep breath.
Nothing really runs through his head when he sings, no worries, no ‘am I using the right color combination?’, just pure contentment. Sometimes he forgets what he song he ends up singing, but it all comes naturally to Jeongguk, the pleasant tingling in his spine, the smile that comes so easily to his lips, and the clarity the notes give him.
As the wave of emotion ebbs away, Jeongguk opens his eyes quickly enough to see the milky liquid bubble and fizz inside the rusted cavern, coating the insides with sticky residue (that he made a mistake tasting one day; and it was not a good day). The odor becomes stronger and he screws the cap back on before anyone get suspicious.
Jeongguk gives the spraycan a good shake and licking his lips, presses the nozzle to the brick wall. His hand is smooth and unwavering, and he thinks that if any of his mentors were to make the wall come alive, it would be content, just like him. A pretty, pink flush makes it’s way onto his cheeks and the butterfly comes alive before his own eyes, quite literally.
He feels it before he sees it, a great whoosh of blue and cerulean wings brings wind to his face, and Jeongguk gasps. He forgets that witches should never make a drawing whole lest they want to grant it the breath of life which is, almost always, never and is prohibited.
(Goddamn it, Jeongguk, it was one of the Ten Laws for Merlin’s sake!)
But, ever the dreamer, Jeongguk can’t help but think that it looks so much more beautiful this way, it’s great body shimmering in the waking sunlight and black eyes filled with mirth and determination. He nearly drops the can in sheer surprise before he realizes that the butterfly is struggling to fly out of the brick chamber Jeongguk set it in.
It takes the edge of the poor butterfly’s wing to smack him square on the face before Jeongguk shakes his head vigorously before fishing out his charcoal stick out of his pocket. Thank Merlin he didn’t make the butterfly enormously large in proportion, but huge enough for him to stand on tiptoe and stretch in order to draw a full summoning circle three times around the creature.
The flowers sways peacefully in the cool autumn breeze and a few of it’s petals recede back into the campus wall after Jeongguk’s charcoal circles around it’s figure. Jeongguk carefully draws a smaller circle within and four arrows on the top, bottom, and sides of the circle to symbolize the classical elements.
Charcoal makes a gritty sound on the red brick as the witch completes his pentagon, and by the time he’s finished, Jeongguk’s fingertips are stained with soot. He murmurs an incantation prayer for smaller objects, stating the butterfly’s objective and asking for it to stay in the realm of the spiritual world and to keep the line between the physical world strong and unblemished.
Jeongguk takes his spraycan and colors it in haphazardly; a result of transferring all his potions to his spraycans and adhering his spells to their command.
The summoning circle glows a luminous white and a rush of air ruffles Jeongguk’s hair, before the light slowly disappears.
The butterfly freezes in the same position Jeongguk drew it in and he slowly lowers his clasped hands. The air seems to have exhaled; Jeongguk can hear the chirping of birds and rustling trees again. He almost misses the beautiful monstrosity the butterfly brought when it was living and his heart aches as Jeongguk thinks of how he basically stole the life of another in order to save his own. He bites his bottom lip, making it bloom red, and grips the handle of his messenger bag.
The witch mindlessly thinks of a way he could bring the butterfly back to life without it accidentally gobbling up anything but the sun conveniently decides to shine in his eye, and the loud clangs from the bell tower ring in his ears.
Classes are starting.