Guide to Raising a Succubus

Echoes of the Past

As the golden ribbons of evening sunlight threaded through the academy's ancient stone arches, a gentle breeze carried the chatter of students across the courtyard. Among these voices, Emily's stood out, filled with a mix of determination and frustration. She navigated the winding paths leading from the main hall, flanked by her two apprentices, both eager and somewhat intimidated by the task at hand.

The task was straightforward in its premise yet delicate in execution: to awaken Professor Beth, a woman admired and whispered about in equal measure. Emily had known Beth long enough to navigate every nuance of her demeanor—the shimmer of her laughter, the cloudy depths of her rare frowns, each signaling more than mere expressions. Today, however, the challenge was to coax her from slumber, a task fraught with peculiar difficulties considering Beth's usual penchant for late-night indulgences.

The northern faculty quarters loomed ahead, their pristine white front reminiscent of a provincial chateaux. Inside, the corridors bore witness to countless footfalls of scholars long and recently departed. Emily led her little party deftly through the maze of chambers, halting before door 509, Beth’s sanctuary, and what appeared to be her current oubliette.

The assistants, one taller, the other shorter and noticeably less confident, exchanged a look as Emily stepped forward. Her approach, however, didn’t involve a polite rap but rather a decisive confrontation. With a quick, unhesitant kick, Emily forced the door to yield—a technique she had mastered under Beth's unruly tutelage.

The chamber they entered was no ordinary scholar’s quarters but a lavishly curated space, dense with trinkets and art that screamed Beth's eclectic tastes. Unicorn statuettes danced alongside whimsical creatures rendered in soft, pastel shades. Each item seemed to tell a part of a greater story, parts Emily never lingered on, not today at least, as her gaze found Beth's lithe figure sprawled across a canopied bed.

Beth lay serene, nestled within the folds of her silken sheets, appearing more like an artist’s muse than a weary mage. Yet beneath this veneer, she clung to the edges of her dreams, the whispers of past turbulence. Her silver hair cascaded around her like liquid moonlight, framing a visage untouched by the signs of last night's revelries—save for the telltale aroma lingering in the air.

“Miss Beth,” Emily began, a subtle shift in her tone threading respect and urgency, “it’s time to rise.” As minutes ticked away, her voice absorbed the warmth of familiarity, enough to stir something within the dormant professor.

With a soft sigh and languid grace, Beth responded—a hand reached into the light, an eye fluttered open, the emerald of her gaze holding a disarming innocence as it adjusted to the waking world. Yet it was Emily's familiarity with her mentor's routines that cut through the vestiges of alcohol-induced oblivion.

“Did I... was I at the Undercity?” Beth's voice, though barely above a whisper, was laded with the gravity of realization, an awareness settling in her bones like a cold draught.

“Unfortunately, yes,” came Emily's response, patient and steady, stripping away any guise of levity.

The mention of the Undercity—a notorious underworld of magic—was akin to invoking whispers of forbidden tales. Practiced storytellers might thrill at recounting its hidden dangers and arcane inhabitants, yet for Beth, reality dawned with dread rather than excitement. Her ventures into the depths beneath were rarely wise, the last of which had been veiled in a shroud of forgettable maladies. Now, the implications of her presence there sank in with a disquieting permanence.

With a grimace disguised as a smile, Beth’s memories dropped into place—each leading to the enigmatic figure of Ratona. A specter within the annals of her history, he was both hero and cautionary parable in equal measure. His blue-eyed gaze haunted the edges of her thoughts, a mix of fondness and longing masked by the fog of nostalgia.

Beside the bed, Emily stood grounded, tethering Beth to the present. Their dialog shifted from professional urgency to personal concern, Beth recounting dreams interwoven with the past's evocative tendrils. Ratona's absence, like an unquenchable thirst, had driven her to seek the clarity of wine, though her resolve often crumbled against this indulgence’s intoxicating embrace.

Consumed by these reflections, Beth redirected her attention to the tasks awaiting her. “Perhaps it’s time I find a new apprentice,” she mused aloud, her spirit reviving with the kindling of a reckless idea.

Emily raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to underestimate the whimsical nature of Beth’s resolutions. “And what will this apprentice look like?”

“Tall, charming, and... definitely easy on the eyes,” quipped Beth, her jest barely concealing an earnest desire beneath. She sought what each person craved upon the precipice of change—a tie severing the old, a fresh perspective.

Emily chuckled, recognizing the blend of jest and earnest longing. Yet, within her role as confidante and catalyst, she understood that this was Beth's way of crafting new narratives, pathways where none existed before.

Their conversation turned to logistics and mundane affairs, yet beneath the formality lingered an unstated truth. With each idea born from their dialogue, Beth moved one step farther from the shadows of her own making. Should she succeed, a new narrative would emerge, threading through the tapestry of her life with brighter hues.

In parting, Beth watched as Emily departed under the grand archway. She noticed, perhaps for the first time, the arch's intricately woven shadows, reaching out beneath the weight of centuries past. In that moment—a whisper of wind—a promise lingered; a promise of more mornings, mistakes, and moments not yet envisioned.

As Beth returned to her quarters, she abandoned the remains of last night’s indulgence and embraced the burgeoning day with a resolve that somehow, this time, her choices would light the path forward instead of simply circling her back to where she started.