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The Pink Mage
She sat in the center of a magic circle, pink chalk dust on coating her hands and knees. She’d tied her long, curling hair back in a loose, bushy ponytail. A bright purple bow held the barely controlled hair more or less in place. At the least, it kept enough of it out of her face and workspace, even if the ponytail trailed on the ground behind her kneeling body.
She’d discarded her outer robe, its wide sleeves having the unfortunate tendency to brush away the designs she was very carefully drawing on the floor with her chalk. It now hung dejected over a chair in the corner of the room, the heavy black fabric with its pink buttons and lace decorations waiting patiently for her to finish this step.
They called her a foolish child. They laughed at her curls and her ribbons. They rolled their eyes at her questions and dismissed her dreams. Always, they asked what business a girl like her thought she had attending the College of Magic.
She tried not to think about them too much as she crawled around her circle, putting down the finishing touches and double checking the runes.
Traditionally, the College of Magic had been a man’s space. It had barred its doors to all women for generations. Only within the last twenty years had any women been allowed through their hallowed doors. Only within the last twenty years had any woman hoped to learn the craft of mage.
But there were expectations of a female mage and they were doubly true of a female student. Dress like a man. Dark clothes only. Short hair or hair tied up in tight, utilitarian ponytails or buns. No frills. No lace. No heels. Make up should be natural, the colors subdued.
A female mage should have a taste for horse races and sporting events. She should have only a passing interest in dance or theater, and she certainly should have no interest in participating in either.
After all, only a frivolous, airheaded woman had interest in colorful clothing, or long flowing hair, or dance. A proper mage had no time to consider fashion. No time to waste on a woman’s hobbies. They must remain dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. They must prove that dedication at every turn.
She wiped the chalk off on her dark pink skirt as she stood, looking over her handywork with pride.
The parcel she had been expecting...
She’d discarded her outer robe, its wide sleeves having the unfortunate tendency to brush away the designs she was very carefully drawing on the floor with her chalk. It now hung dejected over a chair in the corner of the room, the heavy black fabric with its pink buttons and lace decorations waiting patiently for her to finish this step.
They called her a foolish child. They laughed at her curls and her ribbons. They rolled their eyes at her questions and dismissed her dreams. Always, they asked what business a girl like her thought she had attending the College of Magic.
She tried not to think about them too much as she crawled around her circle, putting down the finishing touches and double checking the runes.
Traditionally, the College of Magic had been a man’s space. It had barred its doors to all women for generations. Only within the last twenty years had any women been allowed through their hallowed doors. Only within the last twenty years had any woman hoped to learn the craft of mage.
But there were expectations of a female mage and they were doubly true of a female student. Dress like a man. Dark clothes only. Short hair or hair tied up in tight, utilitarian ponytails or buns. No frills. No lace. No heels. Make up should be natural, the colors subdued.
A female mage should have a taste for horse races and sporting events. She should have only a passing interest in dance or theater, and she certainly should have no interest in participating in either.
After all, only a frivolous, airheaded woman had interest in colorful clothing, or long flowing hair, or dance. A proper mage had no time to consider fashion. No time to waste on a woman’s hobbies. They must remain dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. They must prove that dedication at every turn.
She wiped the chalk off on her dark pink skirt as she stood, looking over her handywork with pride.
The parcel she had been expecting...
