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seemingly impossible (but not untrue)

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Nothing good came of becoming involved with the impossible; Felicity Smoak had first-hand experience of that. Her magical heritage and the fact that she was a witch meant that she was well-versed with the impossible at this point in her life, which was probably why she thought that nothing good came of being a witch.

She’d rejected her powers and abilities for most of her life, ever since her parents, Donna Smoak and Noah Kuttler, had been murdered in Nigeria when she was seven. She’d attempted to distance herself from the world of the creatures, acknowledging and accepting the existence of witches, vampires, and daemons, but never purposely engaging with any part of the supernatural community.

Occasionally, Felicity’s magic slipped out; she’d never managed to get control over it due to avoiding practicing, and so her powers reacted to her instincts now more than anything else. An anxiety disorder she had, as well as a condition where she produced excess adrenalin, made that particularly tricky to deal with sometimes. But for the most part, she was excellent at pretending to be human.

Turning away from witchcraft, Felicity had fascinated herself with the study of historical science, writing two award-winning books, gaining a doctorate and being awarded tenure at Yale. The small coven who had taken her in, which now only consisted of two married witches by the name of Nyssa Raatko and Sara Lance, who had been her best friends when she was a child, would have preferred her to devote her life to the magic arts of enchantments and spellcasting, but they were still supportive of her. Although technology and computer science interested Felicity, it was alchemy, the ancient study of transmutation of chemical matter, that she was drawn to.

It was as she was conducting research about alchemy in the seventeenth century influencing modern science for one of her latest papers, in the Bodleian Libraries at Oxford University, that Felicity unknowingly, and very much accidentally, cast herself back into the world of magic, into an age-old enigma… unwittingly placing herself in significant danger.

Ashmole 782.

Well, how was she to know when she called up the archaic manuscript that it had been missing for hundreds of years? How was she to know that its reappearance, and more importantly her role in the book’s discovery, would result in the chaos that followed?

The moment Felicity had touched on the cover of the book that for some strange reason, refused to open for her at first, she’d known it was bewitched. And yet, like the curious idiot she was, she’d closed her eyes and silently asked it to open - not realizing at all that what she might be doing was using magic - and the manuscript had seemingly relaxed, and sighed, beneath her hand.

That should have warned her off reading the book immediately. Of course... Felicity couldn’t resist.

She’d started making notes about three folios being removed, and describing the first alchemical illustration she came across. It was as she noticed with a flicker of surprise that the manuscript was a palimpsest - writings had been hidden with some sort of invisible ink, although due to the magical nature of the book, more likely a spell - that a heavy density had settled over the room. The lights had begun to flicker ominously as a gentle, but biting cold breeze swirled around her feet. The ground seemed to start trembling and Felicity had stared in horror and shock as the words of the manuscript writhed and rose of the pages, snaking onto the palms of her hands.

She’d snapped the book shut with a shuddering breath, ever aware that while the Libraries were not busy today, there were still humans around, and any magic at all would make them uneasy. Despite the book being closed, Felicity could still feel the power thrumming underneath that leather cover. Nyssa and Sara’s reminders about how she should keep a hold of any bewitched items to study them further rang in her head, but Felicity had wanted nothing more than to be rid of the manuscript as quickly as possible. She wanted nothing to do with magic. By opening Ashmole 782, she’d breached that promise she’d made to herself, to maintain a wall separating her magic and her studies.

She’d finished up for the day and handed Ashmole 782 back to Curtis, the librarian currently manning the front desk, to be taken back down into the bowels of the Libraries with the rest of the manuscripts she’d been making notes on.

That was the beginning. Felicity’d had no idea at the time.

The next day she met Oliver Queen.

He was the one who caused her to realize that the normal life she’d been so desperately searching for her whole life was crumbling to ashes. Because while Felicity Smoak was a witch... Oliver Queen was a vampire; a vampire concerned with the Ashmole manuscript. A book that many witches, vampires, and daemons had been looking for, for a very long time. A book he’d personally been searching for, for centuries, but Felicity had somehow found by simply calling it up one September afternoon. There was a mystery afoot. She and Ashmole 782 were at the crux of it.

Nothing good came of becoming involved with the impossible… now Felicity had no choice but to delve into the dark shadows that enveloped it.

It begins with absence and desire.
It begins with blood and fear.
It begins with a discovery of witches.