Why Does The Protagonist In Back In A Spell Use Magic?

Magic in 'Back in a Spell' feels like the protagonist’s second language—one they’re forced to speak before they fully understand it. Unlike typical chosen-one narratives, they don’t stumble into power by accident; they actively seek it out, almost desperately. There’s a scene early on where they’s scribbling half-learned runes in a notebook, not because they wants to save the world, but because they’s tired of feeling powerless in small, everyday ways. Maybe their boss dismisses them, or their family underestimates them, and magic becomes this quiet middle finger to all of it. It’s raw and unfiltered, which makes their journey so gripping.

Later, though, the stakes shift. The magic starts costing them—sleep, relationships, pieces of their humanity. That’s when you see the real turning point: they’re no longer using magic to prove something. Instead, it becomes a bridge to connect with others who’ve felt just as isolated. The spells evolve from chaotic bursts to deliberate, almost artistic gestures. It’s less about the 'why' and more about the 'who'—who they’s becoming because of it.

The protagonist in 'Back in a Spell' wields magic for reasons that feel deeply personal and relatable. At its core, magic isn’t just a tool for them—it’s a way to reclaim agency in a world that’s constantly trying to box them in. Early in the story, you see them struggle with mundane frustrations, like societal expectations or unresolved past trauma, and magic becomes this visceral outlet. It’s messy at first, almost like a rebellion, but as they grow, it transforms into something more intentional—a way to heal, protect others, or even rewrite their own narrative. The spells aren’t just flashy plot devices; they mirror their emotional journey, like when a chaotic fire spell early on reflects their anger, and later, precise enchantments show their newfound clarity.

What I love is how the story doesn’t romanticize magic as an easy fix. The protagonist falters, burns bridges (sometimes literally), and has to confront the consequences of their power. It’s this balance between empowerment and accountability that makes their relationship with magic so compelling. By the end, you realize it’s not about the spells themselves but what they choose to do with them—whether it’s mending broken bonds or finally standing up for themselves.

The magic in 'Back in a Spell' isn’t just a plot device—it’s the protagonist’s lifeline. From the first chapter, you get this sense that they’re clinging to spells like a safety net, whether it’s to escape their past or to fill some void they can’t name. There’s a vulnerability to how they wield it, like when they botches a simple charm because their hands are shaking. Over time, though, you watch them shift from using magic reactively (to defend, to hide) to proactively (to build, to love). The turning point for me was when they casts a spell not for themselves but to comfort someone else—it’s this quiet moment where power becomes purpose.