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Not enough literature has been written about the cost of using the Arcane for one's own sake, the heavy toll magic takes over one's body. There is, after all, a reason why so many wizards look like wizened old sages with long beards. Their knowledge causes them to grow old and withered prematurely. Such is usually the price of wizardry.
I, on the other hand, do not grow older with each use of my powers. Quite the opposite, in fact.
To partake in a layman’s explanation, when I cast a complex formulaic spell, the mystical energies flood my body like the waters pouring out of a broken dam. But they do not rescind quite so quickly. As long as they're overwhelming me, I cannot make use of my body at all.
I cannot move on my own, nor impose my will upon any part of my body, save for my breath. My mind is foggy, my vision blurry, I cannot communicate intelligibly. I am as weak as a newborn trapped in a man's body, and behave just like one in actuality.
I learned it the hard way when I was a young and inexperienced mage. I had thought I could snuff a transportation circle on my own, and succeeded. But the counterspell left me as a babbling infant for three full days.
Luckily, nothing ill came out of this, but I had awakened to my fate. I had to take precautions if I wanted to last long in this world.
When I finally got accepted as a esteemed member of the Order and they offered me a servant, I accepted; yet I didn't ask for a nubile sex slave, nor a young apprentice, nor a mad lab assistant.
I asked for a wet nurse.
Her name is Margaret. She is spouseless, her own child died from sickness at a young age, and she has since taken care of many a noble's newborn. I cannot count how many times her care and patience have saved me, even outside of my Arcane-fueled infantile episodes.
As I soon learned, the stronger the spell, the longer I have to suffer its secondary effects. Margaret would then pick me, bring me home and care for me as if I was but a newborn. She fed me and took care of all businesses a child may create, no matter how gross and degrading these may end up being.
Sometimes, a couple of days were enough for me to recover. Other times, I would stay in that state for weeks or months. Yet Margaret would be there for me, always.
The longest episode happened when I had to close the Faerie gate on my own. For a whole year, I was left under her careful watch. A whole year…
I can't recall much of these trying times, as my adult mind was gone and my sensations were dulled. But a few sensations always came through: warmth, comfort, joy. Happiness, in a childish way. And the unmistakable taste of a filling drink like you cannot purchase in a bottle.
I don't know if these comforting sensations are what bring me back from the brink each time. I like to think they do.
Once, late at night, Margaret confessed that she liked it very much when I called her ‘mama’, and was shamefully looking forward to it whenever she heard I was ready to cast a new spell. She would later deny this and pretend she had drunk a little too much wine that night. Yet her words always stuck with me. Happiness goes both ways, so it seems.
...
I'm afraid all of this may soon come to an end.
I've made and remade my calculations for the next ritual I'm supposed to conduct, over and over. The truth is blatantly obvious. It’s an order of magnitude stronger than the Faerie gate. I don't think I can ever come back from containing such a wave of eldritch energy within my body. My mind will be washed away, drowned in the Arcane torrent. I will be stuck in my forced helplessness, forever.
I do not want to go out like this.
But I have to do it. For the good of all the land, for all the people that will die if I won't act soon. This will be the most brilliant act of sorcery ever enacted in a generation, the cloth from which the legends are made of. My name will be revered for centuries!
I have to do it. It’s the only thing to do. It’s my duty.
…
My hands are shaking as I write these words.
Margaret, if you're reading these lines - and you probably are, knowing your admirable thoroughness - I have taken care of everything, for both of us. You won't be stuck giving care to an aging body that will never show an inkling of intellect. Even if I know deep inside that you probably wouldn't mind if I asked you to.
In the safe, there are two potions, shining a green hue. The biggest vial is for me, the smallest belongs to you.
These are Elixirs of Youth. I have received them from a very good friend who owed me a favor. They are our second chances, Margaret.
It shall bring me back to an age more fitting to my mind's state, from which I will hopefully recover in time. For you, an age appropriate for a woman to start her own family, like you were once robbed of the opportunity so many years ago.
This is my parting gift for all the time you've devoted to me.
Please keep my books away from rot and dust. Knowing myself, there's a good chance I'll need them in my second life. The desire for knowledge runs deep.
It's now time for me to leave and do what the world is expecting from me.
Goodbye, world.
Goodbye, mama.
...
[The rest of the book seems blank. You notice several pages have been ripped from the tome. You decide to check the next book in the pile.]
...
Dear journal,
I can't believe I have been dubbed an esteemed member of the Order! This all went so fast! People are saying that I'm the youngest wizard to ever access the title, that I was more deserving of this title than anyone else.
This is an unprecedented honor. It’s too much for me to process how I feel within the pages of this book!
They asked me if I required a servant, as is tradition, but I declined. Mom told me she would be there by my side, taking care of everything like she always did. I'm so lucky to have such a devoted mother. I couldn't have made it this far without her boundless care and love.
Now, onwards! To greatness!