“Turn to page 2262.”
Kimia sighed as she slumped forwards, her persistence in not being known as the girl who slept in class the only thing the only thing preventing herself from collapsing under the weight of these long drawn out potions formulae
Potions class was so terribly, terribly boring!
It had not always been like this at first, as the young witch had once greatly devoured any and everything to do with potions and chemistry and
But that was back in Timberly College, under the watchful eyes of older witches who’d assessed her magical abilities and and where her aptitudes in the future would lay.
Here, at the National University of Yan Bón Mor, her interest had faded into a smudge of leftover ink blots. There was far too much theory, and not enough hands on work that would’ve suited her farmer raised personality.
And the lectures, Dear Goddesses! She had hoped the near endless would’ve come to a crashing halt by the time she left Timberly College, but she soon found plentiful of those under Ms Hemlock, her tedious Potions Professor.
Long drawn out monologues, dull at best efforts at engaging with her students, and 10 pages essays on the difference between Potion formulae were often the hallmarks of Ms Hemlock class. She had come and studied here when the University had first open, a refuge for all witches who’d fled the draconian magical laws that were popping up all over Mylea some 300 years ago, but she had never made attempts to change the teaching methods she’d been reared in.
She would not go as far to commit a mindless killing, but a part of Kimia wished there was some way out of this class rather than hoping for Ms. Hemlock's unfortunate demise.
Her first year as a Potions student had come and went, and her grades had slipped to such an extent that her mothers had fretted whether or not she would be able to continue on with a 4 year degree. But Kimia assured her that she would, that she would not let their years of saving up money on the farmlands go to waste because she had badly chosen her degree.
It had been sold to her as a safe major, and that she would find employment by the end of her four years, but the pessimist within her felt that her life had already been set in stone as Herbal Potions receptionist.
The job she always dreamed of, she mused bitterly.
Of course, studying at YBM was not all bad, even as she was forced by commitment to pay half attention to dreary Potions presentations. She had made many friends here that were much like her, an improvement from the life of the handful witches back in Timberly College. Her social needs were fulfilled with the extracurricular interests she took part in with the friends she’d already made here, though not a potions master among them.
They’d gone down the path of studying an arts degree, safe in the knowledge that a Masters conversion in a METS (Magical Elemental Thaumaturgic Studies) would be paid for by their parents if the theatre job or degree in underwater broomstick weaving hadn’t worked out.
Kimia, by her circumstance as the daughter of lesbian farmers, was was only allowed to get it right once. And she had gotten it gravely wrong already.
She peered around, to see that most of the students were just as byt today’s lecture as she was. YBM University had started off as a women’s only university, and it had largely remained that way, despite it’s best efforts of targeting men after allowing men to join some 20 years ago. She couldn’t find a single man among today’s audience, until a freshman with soft oval eyes poked at her with a message composed from a torn notebook.
“Delivery.” He whispered as he passed her the note. Ms Hemlock, old Matriarch as she was, had always expected total obedience from her students. Even the most slight of sounds would be enough to send someone outside the classroom, and be heaped with daily exams for the rest of the term. He had crossed over no-woman’s land to give her it.
She thanked him, and soon discovered that it had arrived from Merrin, a friend of a friend who Kimia had grown friendly with in their shared commiserations of being Potions students.
Did you hear there’s a new Professor on campus? It read.
No, I did not hear, was what Kimia scribbled back.
She was normally not one to gossip in class, but she not bear another millisecond on the differences between rat poison and mouse poison. Furry little creatures with tails like that always gave her worrisome vibes, especially now that Ms Hemlock intended to dissect one in front of the class.
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She gave the note back to the freshman and whispered directions on where it should head next. Like a game of Venadian whispers one student passed it from another and scribbled something a little extra on the small piece of paper until it had arrived back in Merrin’s lap. She suddenly reddened in the face once she got it, perhaps noticing a lewd comment had been added on it’s way and, then wrote her follow up and sent it right back down to Kimia.
There was a slight jibe from someone who wanted to tease Kimia and her newfound freshman admirer, but once again she could make the original message from Merrin’s large handwriting.
He’s supposed to be a Professor of Necromancy, the Dean is going to setup up a new degree centred around it.
Necromancy, really? Kimia scribbled down, You. Must. Be. Joking!
Necromancy was a real form of magic, but it had a well deserved reputation for attracting all sorts of delinquents to it. Necromancers were the types to clean up the messes others had made, or rather clean up the others who’d been turned into a mess. YBM University, with it’s squeaky clean emphasis as the last refuge of witches and Dragon Mascots, was surely not going to have a course like that on Campus?
Ms Hemlock’s gaze seem to weigh in on her, and suddenly she felt the pull to pretend as though she was writing formulae from whatever new piece of Potions masterclass they were learning. She tried to scribble down from memory, almost like she was playing a game with herself on how much she could remember the potions equation which stretched from one end of the blackboard to another.
It was the only way she found studying Potions bearable under Ms Hemlock.
Just as Ms Hemlock’s gaze had dissipated on her, she soon felt another message arrive from the Freshman. She felt compelled to ask for him after class, and thank him for doing a such a wonderful job as temporary student Postman.
I’m not, Merrin’s response went, lots of people saw him exploring the university with the Dean in tow. She says he’ll be lecturing here next term.
Well next term is the start of Spring, Kimia thought, and I’ll be almost halfway through my degree then. If only there was a way out of this class.
If only.
Kimia first noticed something was unwell with Ms Hemlock, when the chalk piece that had been suspended in air collapsed to the floor without a word of dismissal. This was odd, as Hemlock did not let just something go amiss, nor would she let someone desecrate her lecture hall floor.
She reached for her breast pocket, and soon Kimia and the rest of the classroom saw her beginning to crumble up, and then fall, and fall, and fall until she’d collapsed behind the several centuries old wooden desk she’d requested to be with her in every class she taught.
"Professor!" Kimia screamed. And suddenly all the venom she held for the elderly woman disappeared in an instant. The others in the class screamed, but Kimia soon found herself moving down into Hemlock's personal quarters, which she had always forbade others from entering.
Her face was growing paler, the dim black mascara she’d been conservative with in the morning now heightening a strange contrast between what once was and what would be. Kimia began to press on her chest, but soon felt a a sudden warmth began to divulge itself from Ms Hemlock’s body. She knew that warmth, and did not have to proficent in the darker arts of witchcraft to know that Ms Hemlock was leaving this mortal coil. She did not want to accept that, that such a sudden death would come for someone, anyone, even possibly her.
"Someone get a doctor!"
That was when she saw the faint outline of a figure emerging from the entrance corner. She felt, not darkness, but a shadowy light drift into the room as it entered. Ms Wynne, the usually straight forward dean of the school, stood behind it like a wary hound unable to determine it’s master’s next move.
It was a man, and as he approached Kimia and Ms Hemlock’s cold, lifeless body, he waved his hand away at her.
She felt stiff magic that was as subtle as fishhooks arrive on her knitwear and yank her away to a nearby wall. It was dark and powerful magic, enough that would drive any novice mad with maladies if they were forced to try and control it. Anyone who could muster up a spell like that without even a muttering of words was not someone she did not want to get on the bad side of.
As he found himself reaching for Ms Hemlock’s body, she took time to study him. He was nestled in dark green furs that hid his largely emancipated body. Bald, aside from a intricate braided ponytail split into three parts. And then dark hazel eyes that had been reddened from years of gathering and restitching body parts, and which, once their eyes had met, made Kimia realise she’d stepped into the middle of a mess he was usually tasked to clean up.
Kimia was spooked, and hurried up the steps to find Merrin to console into. The Dean started asking question, furious that only her only Potions Professor had died an untimely death when the University was already having an exodus of staff, but soon found herself trailing after the newcomer when he held Ms Hemlock’s body in his long, skeletal hands and departed the classroom with the same spring in his step as she entered.
Kimia felt that dark light drift out once again, and soon Merrin was speaking to her in fast, hushed tones about how that was the Necromancer who’d been spotted on Campus, was he now going to take over Ms Hemlock’s now that she was probably dead?
The rest of the the class became unaware that a death had occurred in the classroom, and not even before Ms Hemlock’s body had grown cold were they talking about their other options and what they were planning for the weekend.
All Kimia felt was just an unease in the pit of her stomach as she watched him take Ms Hemlock’s body away, like a tabby orange cat dragging a whimpering mouse away to it’s demise.