What am I?

I used to be good.
 
When I was young, I used to travel into town every other day and sit with folks twice my age. I'd teach them how to read and write, we would practice penmanship and in return, I would bring back food to my aging father. I never charged them more than they were worth. Not a single person could afford lessons like that, I knew how costly my services could've been and I didn't ask for a single coin. When I left for Hollow Oak my mind was swimming with theories, with the future ahead of me, with how I would change the status quo, and avenge my father. It had only been a few days until I forgot about them. But they didn't forget about me, they sent me a letter, signed by each one of them. They had practiced their script and each signature was unique. I had changed each of their lives and in return, they kept me and my father alive for years. It took a week until they were out of my mind, hell, This is the first time I've touched my calligraphy set since then. I had made new friends, and each and every one of them was just charming, unique, and interesting enough to replace each and every single person back home.
 
When I came to Hollow Oak, immediately Fred caught my eye. We hit it off well and we became great friends. He confided in me about his mother, about his insecurities, and I was transfixed on how such a normal boy found himself in such a position. I wanted to help his mom, I wanted to make him happy, that was the only thing I would think about when I was trying to sleep. Manarot has no cure, but that didn't stop me from thinking, dreaming of ways I could fix it, to make it better and make Fred like me just a little bit more. I convinced the party to give me the periapt of health so that I could give it to his mom, and I did. Immediately, I was the most important person in Fred's life, I could ask him to do anything and he would not hesitate to oblige. The terrible thing about that is I don't think I've spoken to him since.
 
Muffins was always around when my dad wasn't. They were an asshole, but it was endearing. I could never eat, study, or sleep in peace. Muffins was on my shoulder, sitting on my paper, or trying to get at my drink. I don't think Father gave her much attention as he aged and that was something we shared. I remember when I was a teenager and I would cry or shout about whatever stupid thing upset me that day, and muffins would sit in my lap or on my chest and get me to quiet down. When I lost my dad I thought I'd lost Muffins too, and the joy I felt when I cast Find Familiar for the first time to see her appear once again in my lap I was overjoyed. Not only was it my first magical achievement but I finally had my friend back. So why did I risk it all? Why did I keep pushing her? Every time I opened my mouth I was risking her very existence just so that I could uncover just a little bit more about myself. I don't think I will ever live that down. She may find it in her heart to forgive me, but there is nothing I could do to make that right.
 
I thought that watching my own father die, at the hands of a man he considered his own brother no less, would somehow prove to me that wizards are beings capable of horrible things. I thought that it would ingrain the idea that I could be different, that I deserved the right to be better than them. I wish that were true. I spent years flipping through the pages of nonsense written by my geriatric father to try and prove that I would be BETTER. That I would not fall into the same pitfalls and traps that were set for every wizard before me. So what happened when I was given a party to protect myself and the freedom to cast the spells I deciphered? What happened when I saw a legendary artifact before me that held the power to change the course of arcanistry as I knew it? What happened when I had the potential to learn the truth about my past? Time and time again I have failed those around me. Muffins, my best friend, hates talking to me and my nails still haven't grown back. As I grip the pen to write this, pain flashes up my knuckles with every stroke. I should have known, Lucius proved it, my own father proved it, and every last goddamn wizard proved it. No matter how much you should care about someone, that insatiable desire to know just a little bit more will ALWAYS win. Every wizard is cursed from the start. I was a fool to deny it.