“How dare you!” Vanessa screeches.
Those were the first words out of her mouth when it was no longer sealed by magic.
Bluebell was in the middle of beginning the first lesson: what the class will be all about.
Vanessa’s interruption stops her before she can even begin, so she turns to quirk a brow at the seething woman.
Normally I’d feel a little awkward at witnessing such a tense exchange, but I know who our professor is. The rest of the classroom is not as fortunate.
Every student in the room, save the nine-year, quiets instantly. He just quietly sighs before returning to the papers in front of him and shutting out the exchange entirely.
“I am a Ulysis! Daughter of High Councilor Alaxander Ulysis! You can’t speak to me like that!”
Oh, a Councilor’s daughter? Gods, everyone’s a Princess.
She isn’t actually a Princess, of course. Not really.
But she may as well be. The High Council rules over all of Tyrania, making her practical royalty.
Even so, I know that regardless of how things go, it’ll work out in Bluebell’s favor.
“Some puffed-up second Tier who thinks they have power just because you’re a Professor? How about I report you to my father and the Headmaster? We’ll see just how long your tenure lasts!”
Bluebell hums thoughtfully, her lips quirking ever so slightly.
“Mm. You may certainly try.”
Vanessa’s outrage visibly grows, little wisps of fire wafting off of her hair and shoulders before vanishing a breath away from her body as she huffs and puffs.
“This class is absurd,” she snaps. “The Realm of Mana isn’t some mystical living force that responds to feelings.”
She all but spits the word ‘feelings’ out, as though it were disgusting to even voice.
“The Weave does not behave consistently,” Bluebell continues smoothly. “It contradicts itself constantly.”
Vanessa scoffs loudly. “Only because people insist on mystifying things they don’t understand.”
Bluebell’s smile widens.
“Oh?” she asks lightly.
Vanessa lifts her chin. “Mana follows rules. Predictable ones. If your theories contradict themselves, then your theories are simply flawed.”
She seems almost like a petulant child as she speaks, noble nose upturned and arms crossed just so.
I compare her noble facade to that of Bella’s for a moment... and then snort in amusement.
Not even remotely close.
Her gaze snaps to me, then, and I groan internally.
I studiously ignore her, focusing instead on Bluebell, only to find her gaze slowly shifting to me. A thrum of anticipatory terror runs down my spine at the glint of amusement sparkling in her eyes as they meet mine.
I twitch my head, shaking it ever so slightly in the universal language for ‘no’.
She outright grins now, exposing her fangs.
Then she turns back to Vanessa.
Oh, gods, what is she up to.
“Very well then, Miss Ulysis,” she begins. “Since you seem quite certain in your understanding, perhaps you’d care to assist me in documenting this semester’s anomaly study?”
Vanessa scoffs. “As if I would stay in a class that spouts mystic nonsense.”
“And yet this class is hosted by the most well respected Academy in the world...” Bluebell muses. “It’s almost as if there’s something you don’t know.”
Vanessa glares balefully across the room.
“Fine,” she snaps. “But if this class turns out to be a waste—”
“Excellent!” Bluebell claps, interrupting whatever empty threats Vanessa was about to spit next. “And since Miss Emilia seems to find this discussion so amusing, she may assist us.”
Vanessa seems about ready to explode, but I can’t be bothered to pay her any more attention.
Instead, I want to scream as I'm unceremoniously thrown right in the path of a flaming train wreck.
Bluebell addresses the class then.
“You may all be wondering what I am referring to when I say ‘documenting this semester’s anomaly’, but worry not! It’s actually a theoretically straightforward—”
The nine-year scoffs, his head still bowed as he peruses his papers.
She pretends not to hear it.
“—experiment focusing on wild mana zones emotional resonance and the effects it has on how the wild mana interacts with its surroundings.”
I’m sorry, what?
A few students immediately begin whispering amongst themselves, and I catch the moment one of the older students outright winces.
“Normally I would seek out volunteers to help me with testing and documenting the phenomena, given the danger involved,” she says breezily. “But Miss Ulysis and Miss Emilia have graciously presented themselves for the task. As such, that will act as their semester exam.”
Vanessa seems as though she’s taken great offense at being called a willing participant, but surprisingly stays silent.
Meanwhile, I can’t help but feel this overwhelming sense of foreboding.
“The rest of you will be required to assist me in devising the tests necessary for the experiments themselves. We will be doing an exhaustive study, so every idea is a good idea,” she says. “But first...”
She waves a hand, and a small illusion appears above her head, displaying a breakdown of what this class will cover.
“...We’ll go over what parameters matter, how they are measured, what devices and enchantments we’ll need, and cover similar experiments run in the past so you have some idea of what to expect.”
Several students nod along in understanding, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that I’d just been paired with the single most insufferable woman I’ve ever met.
Bluebell waves a hand again, and the illusion fades away into motes of mana.
“Your exam will be to come up with three measurable tests by the end of the semester. Miss Ulysis, Miss Emilia, and I will personally administer these tests, and if just one of them gets a reaction... you pass.”
Murmurs of “That’s it?” and “That seems simple enough...” abound, and my ears twitch with agitation as I fight back the urge to throw something at her.
Bluebell just smiles, delight clear as day on her face.
“Just try not to cause any explosions,” she says, then pauses.
“...Unless they’re interesting.”
***
I hobble into the dorm nearly half an hour later than expected, mentally exhausted in a way that feels intentionally crafted by malicious fae professors.
Bluebell had kept Vanessa and I behind after class to discuss “expectations for teamwork,” “professional conduct,” and “maintaining open-minded academic dialogue.”
Which I take to be the overly wordy way of saying:
“Get along.”
The moment the dorm room door closes behind me, I let out a long suffering groan.
Bella glances up from the couch immediately.
“Welcome back,” she says softly. “I took the liberty of preparing your dinner—”
My attention catches instantly on the plate waiting beneath one of the polished silver covers resting on the low table nearby.
Then it catches on Bella herself, small notepad and pen in hand as she studies away the time in the living room.
Not her bedroom, where she has a desk and chair and privacy.
For a moment, my thoughts stall out entirely.
She’d waited for me.
Even if she hadn’t waited specifically for me, she still went out of her way to make sure I ate.
The realization lands strangely hard. Not because preparing food is some grand gesture, but because it isn’t.
It’s small, and simple, and thoughtful.
And incredibly, incredibly sweet.
Warmth blooms in my chest.
I drift toward the couches slowly, my exhaustion suddenly feeling much lighter than it had moments earlier.
Bella watches me approach with mild concern.
“...Rough class?”
“You have no idea,” I mumble.
I stop beside the couch, hesitating for a moment.
I know what I want to do, and that’s exactly the problem.
The idea itself sends nervous energy tumbling through my stomach, but every attempt to retreat from it feels wrong in a way I can’t quite explain.
I already know how I feel. At least well enough to stop pretending otherwise.
I like Bella. A lot.
Enough that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to think clearly whenever she smiles at me for too long, and my chest does embarrassing things whenever she quietly takes care of me like this.
Enough that I’m starting to want things.
Terrifying things. Things that come with attachments and even more expectations besides.
The memories from our walk to class earlier drift through my thoughts. Her blush. Her teasing. The way she’d looked at me.
Gods.
I subtly lean on Charisma, searching for... direction. Confidence.
The answer comes almost immediately.
Boldness.
Not recklessness or forcefulness... just movement.
It hints at something I know already, deep down. Something I’ve been quietly hoping wasn’t the case, if only to save myself the need to muster my courage.
If I don’t take a step forward, Bella probably never will.
She’ll flirt, and blush, and dance her little dance around all my emotions...
But she won’t cross the distance herself. Not first, anyways.
And honestly? That’s okay.
I can do it for us... even if it doesn’t turn out well.
Just a small step.
That thought rings through my head, urging me onward.
With a silent prayer to the gods, I throw caution directly into the nearest abyss.
Instead of taking my usual seat across from Bella, I simply collapse sideways onto the couch beside her.
...And then keep going until I’m sprawled fully across her lap like a dying animal.
A dramatic sigh escapes me as I wrap my arms loosely around her waist.
She freezes instantly, every muscle in her body locking up beneath me. I hear the sharp inhale she tries—and fails—to hide.
Meanwhile, I’m suddenly very aware of how warm she is.
And how good she smells.
Flowers and spice drift through my senses softly, nowhere near as overwhelming as they’d been during my estrus, but still distractingly pleasant. Equal parts alluring and comforting in ways that I find impossible to explain away.
My tail curls lazily against the couch cushions as a pleased little purr escapes me before I can stop it.
Even if she pushes me away and calls this whole thing off... this was worth it.
Absolutely, unequivocally worth it.
“E-Emilia?” Bella manages weakly.
I tilt my head enough to glance up at her, finding a sight fit for a storybook.
She’s completely flustered.
Bright red spreads across her cheeks while her hands hover uncertainly above me like she has absolutely no idea what to do with them.
Gods, she’s cute.
Charisma nudges at me again.
Move.
So I do.
Before I can lose my nerve, I gently grab one of Bella’s wrists and guide her hand upward until her fingers brush against one of my ears.
She goes perfectly still.
Then her fingers twitch experimentally through the soft fur, and she makes a small strangled noise above me.
I’m too busy melting into her lap to care.
Her fingers continue moving slowly, hesitantly at first, before gaining confidence as they stroke through my ears and hair at my steady prompting.
Then I let go, and she continues all on her own. Then her nails dig in at just the right spots, with the accuracy of a Tier Four Ranger, and my mind goes blank for a moment.
The purr that tears out of me this time is immediate and significantly louder.
Oh, gods, she’s dangerous.
Every pass sends another wave of warmth spilling down my spine.
I let out another happy sound and tighten my arms slightly around Bella’s waist without thinking.
The hand petting my ears nearly jerks away in panic before forcing itself to remain calm.
“You’re purring,” Bella whispers.
“Mhm.”
“You’re also weaponizing it.”
“Mhm.”
“That seems deeply unfair.”
I crack one eye open just enough to look up at her.
“You can stop whenever you want.”
Bella looks incredibly conflicted by the suggestion, so I intensify my purring smugly.
Several minutes of expert pampering later, Bella abruptly clears her throat and carefully disentangles herself from beneath me with fits and starts.
“I-I believe,” she says with immense dignity despite the redness still dominating her face, “that you should eat your dinner before it gets cold.”
Then she flees.
Not the kind of controlled noble saunter she usually employs.
No... she literally speed walks away, absolutely refusing to so much as glance back.
Then her bedroom door closes much faster than strictly necessary, completing her retreat.
Silence settles over the dorm for a moment.
I remain sprawled bonelessly across the couch, staring at the ceiling while satisfaction roils warmly through my chest.
One small step...
Then a head slowly rises over the back of the couch behind me.
Cari’s grin is the single most suggestive thing I’ve ever seen, and that’s including the women at Tails and Temptations.
“Just let me enjoy it for a moment longer,” I whimper.
“Tell. Me. Everything.”
Authors Note:
Hehe, I've been having a blast playing out the interactions between the Emilia and Bella now that her Estrus isn't muddying the waters for her.
This is a bit of a ramble, but...
I always knew Emilia had the courage to speak her mind or act when it mattered. She knows who she is, even if she doubts herself sometimes. We saw bits of that before too, like when Krissy confronted her about expectations after their night together.
I enjoy writing that side of her a lot.
I’m looking forward to polishing Book Two up, because someone once pointed out that I’d softened Emilia emotionally in a lot of scenes. I didn't see it until then.
Not that she lacked doubt or uncertainty, but I think I leaned too hard into those feelings instead of letting her still be herself underneath them.
At the time, I just don’t think I fully knew how to write that balance yet. Now, though... I think I can :D
You guys are the best <3