While magic users talk about how much they enjoy the company of every witch and wizard they meet, there wasn’t one of them that wouldn’t turn their “best friend” into a garden gnome if it meant an extra bit of power. Every “gift” was really an opportunity to mess with a “beloved” enemy. Two hundred years ago, Marielle had sent Uthar a box of bookworm hydras that destroyed half his library before he killed them all. So when she got a “gift” from her “good friend” Uthar, she was suspicious.

She didn’t need to open the red box and see what was inside. But that was part of the game, if she didn’t open it, she was either a coward, or not worth being taken seriously. So she abided by all the basic precautions. Wait two years before opening. Let an expendable apprentice touch it. Carefully feel for subtle magic waves and wafts from it. Smack it with an iron pipe. And after all that, the box was clear of any detectable traps or enchantments. She opened it and found...nothing. A sure sign that some magic had been inside, and had long faded. There was something sad about it, really. Uthar must be losing his touch.

With a sigh, Marielle put the box on her display shelf, with all the other trophies she had collected from wizards in the past. In fact, she already had some from Uthar, relics from one hundred and fifty years ago. Those had also been a disappointment: a set of four golden bells. But at least they looked nice. She thought about it and since it was getting cluttered on the shelf, decided to put the bells into the box.

Had she been paying closer attention, Marielle might have noticed that the bells and the box’s latch were made from the same metal. That they carried the slightest magical resonance; the same magical resonance. But she didn’t, and upon dropping the metal chimes into the chest, their magic rejoined their long-lost companion piece, amplified, and then, activated.

“Impossible!” Marielle shouted, recoiling in horror as a lash of golden magic coiled from the box and wrapped around her legs. “No!” She cried, pulling with all her might as she fell to the ground, sending the golden bells flying. She managed to claw herself a few feet away, but didn’t escape, because she dragged the red box with her.

Another burst of magic, this one cascading around her in a faerie godmother shower of light transformed Marielle’s clothes into a colorful jester’s motley, including a frill collar and silk gloves. The golden bells had rolled back to her, bouncing up to become part of her costume, each one adorning a freshly sprouted cap’n bells. Now, whenever she made the slightest motion, she jingled and jangled.

Marielle crawled again, reaching for her wand upon a nearby table, “I will not be reduced to a--” She began, and just as her outstretched fingers grazed her yew wand, magic yanked her backward, pulling her into the red box. “Nooooooo!”

Magic twisted her legs into a coiled spring and she gasped as it attached Marielle to the box and made her an inseparable part of it. She became the box, made of wood, with two hinged doors and a golden lock. She ran her right hand along the top of her right lid, and felt the smooth wood beneath her gloved fingers, and felt her silk gloves grazing her wood.

Boots trod into Marielle’s home. She gasped, looking up as Uthar rounded the corner and came into her living room. “I hope you don’t mind. I felt your wards fade and came to check on you. My, you’ve sure found yourself boxed in, haven’t you?”

“Uther, by the Moon’s light, I will... I’ll...” she said, faltering. Time was running short, the magic she had wielded and commanded for eight centuries was betraying her and leaving her as she became an object of ridicule. It was well known by witches and wizards that objects couldn’t cast spells.

“You’ll do nothing but sit on my shelf,” he said, voice firm with finality.

Marielle’s stomach twisted as she realized what a fool she had become. Or more accurately, what a fool she always had been.