Guide to Raising a Succubus

A Gentle Mentor

Amid the hushed excitement of the apprentice selection, whispers danced through the hallways: "Professor Linda must be a gentle soul."

The anticipation was palpable as the tension mounted, heightened by the far-off howl of wild wolves—a sound potent enough to unsettle even the bravest of aspirants.

Despite the fear, those eager to prove themselves pressed on. The townspeople shared a belief that such encounters were orchestrated trials by the academy, an unscheduled test of mettle. The murmurs of this conjecture grew loud among the candidates, spreading a competitive urgency through the ranks. Magical implements were drawn, spells whispered into the twilight air, as the students prepared for what they deemed an examination of their readiness.

But in the throng, one figure stood apart, immobile—Jonathan. His focus was unwavering, centered solely on the wolves. He alone understood the gravity of their presence, recognizing the enchantment coursing through their frames, an ominous sign of the challenge they presented. Even as chaos unfolded, his attempts to sound a warning were drowned by the clamor, his arm brushed off as distractions swarmed.

Clarity fought through Jonathan's disarrayed thoughts. Rushing into combat would mean revealing his true nature, a grave risk given his precarious standing among humans. He recalled the counsel given by those he trusted, "With great care, Mr. Jonathan, maintain your guise among humans, lest circumstances force you back."

Gripping his hands tighter, he balanced on the precipice of morality and self-preservation, seeking a solution that would avert catastrophe without exposing his secret.

Yet, the wolves allowed no time for ponderation. Sidestepping the initial barrage from the novice magicians, they retaliated with brutal efficiency. In a breath, a man lost an arm, a woman her leg—blood painting vivid, savage snapshots in their minds, a reminder of the harsh reality. Fear overtook resolve as survivors fled, forsaking their injured compatriots to the mercies of the beasts.

However, instead of pursuing the fleeing students or feasting on those left behind, the wolves held their ground, moving with a purposeful grace. They paused only when they discerned one who remained unmoved—a dark-haired young man, advancing with an unhurried pace cloaked in mystery and calm.

As Jonathan neared, one wolf noticed a deepening hue in the youth's eyes, an anomaly both curious and intimidating. The sensation of danger grew as puzzlement overtook the wolf—a realization it grasped only in hindsight. By then, the enchantment binding them was inescapable, a testament to a powerful magic beyond their comprehension.

A shared lamentation arose from their throats, understanding settling upon them—their plight was sealed by the grip of a force unparalleled in their encounters with humans, fear reflecting in their eyes as Jonathan's spell held them fast.

Meanwhile, Professor Linda brushed aside the applicant lists provided by Annie, drawn instead to reports of the wolf attacks.

"Two more wolves, I hear?"

"Yes, two," Annie confirmed.

"Were there any injuries?"

"Three: a man named Adams, who lost an arm, and Pete, who sustained minor wounds to his abdomen, along with his wife, Phoebe, who lost a leg. Fortunately, our healers managed to stabilize the grievously injured, yet restoring lost limbs remains beyond our means. Our overtures to the convent for assistance met with refusal."

Linda's tone was cool, pragmatic. "That convent seldom extends aid to commoners." Rising, she selected a bottle from the varied collection lining her cabinet, orange in hue. "Send this," she instructed.

Accepting the potion, Annie recognized its potent healing properties—a testament to Linda's mastery, though insufficient for limb regeneration, a feat governed by ancient decrees.

Amid these practical logistics, Annie turned to a more curious aspect. "What's peculiar, you see, isn't merely the injured... but the wolves themselves."

"Yes?"

"Their bodies, found slain and buried behind the academy—they were dispatched with precision, and only their hearts were removed."

"Only the hearts?" Linda's query was more musing than driven by certainty.

"That's right, Lady Linda. Any thoughts?"

Linda shook her head, her thoughts aligning with Annie's. "Perhaps a magical creature, but my knowledge has its limits. I'll need Professor John’s insight."

John—esteemed professor of transformative studies—might unravel the tangled implications of the wolves. There was an undercurrent of humor in her musing over prospective inquiries, a twinkle in her eye as she teasingly mentioned, “Or, should the Magical Creatures Protection Society come to arrest me, I might ask them along the way."

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not really, no one’s demanded anything of me for a month, which implies I haven’t stirred much trouble.”

“Lucky you,” Annie remarked dryly, “Don't get too complacent.”

Linda returned Annie’s cheeky grin, deftly turning the topic as she lifted the candidate list once more, her fingers tracing over the images of the hopeful young men. Her selection was instinctive when she paused at one familiar face.

Annie leaned in, her prediction of Linda’s choice impeccable. “That's Jonathan. Handsomer in person.”

Despite her assistant's anticipation of praise, Linda's interest in the candidate was cooler, more analytical, "Charm is but a surface. What else is known of him?"

Annie hesitated, grappling with her mentor's probing perspective. "Even if you address me with such maturity, I won't forget you've only ever dated Robert. But, maybe it's fear—the charm of some delightful, youthful beauty—swaying your traditionally steadfast heart?"

Annie's insights into Linda were not misplaced, wresting pride and admiration from flaws to the teacher she revered. Yet, they pierced the vulnerability beneath her courage—a fierce loyalty that often bordered on folly. Even amid betrayals by Robert and Sarah, Linda never uttered words of condemnation, citing nostalgia and forgiveness.

"Think about it, Linda," the venerable Headmaster Manning once advised, "You should seek finer company. Perhaps I could introduce a few."

Linda had laughed, sweet but reluctant, at the implication. Her laugh resonated awkwardly with the unasked question swirling tumultuously inside: Why three? Linda mused, Robert's certain understanding of such worldly bravado contrasted sharply against her singular devotion—exhausted through her single chapter with him.

In pondering her path against Robert's cavalier conduct, Linda encountered begrudging admiration intertwining with disillusionment—a marvel at how divergence in cognitive architecture allowed beings such disparate perspectives. Whereas his relentless dalliance persisted unabashed, her solitary commitment languished in fatigue.

Annie perceived Linda's extended fidelity as endearing, yet truth ran deeper and was laden with complexities Linda seldom shared—to preserve the sanctity of a connection others misconstrued.

Resolving such unmapped intricacies, Linda resumed her review of Jonathan's image, voice resonating unexpectedly warm, "Should I just sleep with him, Annie?"—a contemplation of intimate relations as perhaps being more straightforward than emotional entanglements. Maybe Robert's secret lay here.

Misunderstanding Linda's musings, Annie had a bemused smile, "You're an adult capable of decisions, after all."

Annie's earlier worry for Linda now shifted towards concern for Jonathan's fate.

As darkness enveloped the town, Jonathan ventured into the familiar bustle of the Champaign Tavern. Within its welcoming embrace, his childhood friend Aiden tended to the evening throng.

"Escaped your sisters at last?" Aiden teased, setting a broad-shouldered pint before him.

Jonathan returned the jest with a wry smile, "Not completely. Stability still eludes me."

Aiden, without prompting, understood the unspoken—Jonathan's ongoing struggle for control. Aiden scratched his head, deftly transitioning to juicier news, "And what of your plans with the professor?”

"Registered for her apprenticeship," Jonathan replied, aiming for calm as he slid onto a stool, their ensuing dialogue conducted beneath low-lit beams and rising moon.

"You’ll manage, no doubt. But mark my warning—she's not the goddess you might imagine."

Jonathan savored the ale, wrinkling a brow at Aiden’s foreboding tone. The word 'goddess' seemed unfitting, his visions of Linda imparting lessons or guiding with wisdom felt more accurate.

"What do you mean?" Jonathan probed.

Aiden elaborated, with awkward candor, "This marks her third round of apprentice searches post-professorship. Each interval spans five years… imagine the age by now?"

Jonathan applied his fingers, drawing forth arithmetic carefully, amusing Aiden.

"Relax, the point isn't arithmetic."

Confounded, Jonathan parried, "And you're saying?"

"Only that she's aged," Aiden stammered, expectation unmet by Jonathan's oblivious reply, "And so?"

Aiden crumpled under the futility of explaining women's age to his friend, recognizing the fruitless endeavor. Perhaps Jonathan’s esteem for Linda transcended conventional perception altogether.

"So, what's your picture of Professor Linda?" Aiden inquired, curious to tap into Jonathan’s expectations, aware his friend’s assumptions might diverge from reality.

Meticulously, Jonathan unfurled a long-nurtured portrait, vivid from the nostalgia of imaginative afternoons spent pondering Linda from distant quarters, "I see a gentle woman—regimented, healthy, strolling thoughtfully each dusk under trees. Her poise captures student admiration, sharing lessons or personal tales. Glasses hint at fading sight, yet her gaze remains firmly absorbed in the world’s splendor. She envisions the planet expansively, travels slowly but intently."

Such conviction stunned Aiden into silence. Moments before offering a laugh, Jonathan's sincerity stilled his mirth—the youthful mage improbably crafted Linda’s serenity as a vivid grandmotherly figure. How would Linda's erstwhile lover, Robert, take this depiction? What stories would Jonathan stumble upon next?

Aiden withheld insight one might casually extend, preferring to let events unfurl naturally.

Instead, he simply slid the frothing ale across, smiling, "Here's to you. May you soon meet Professor Linda."