I appreciate the subscriber who messaged me to let me know my paid post didn’t come out as scheduled for last night—I’m not sure what happened. I’m so sorry! Next week I will begin the new posting schedule, and by the end of this weekend my newsletter with the upcoming changes will go out (double checking to make sure now). Thank you for your patience and continued readership!
This week’s format is a bit different than in the past. Instead of just a spicy continuation of the story, paid readers will instead get the full short story as well as the explicit content. I’m trialing it to see if it’s something my paid subscribers would like.
If you do enjoy this format, please drop a comment to let me know or message in the substack chat; if I don’t get feedback I will assume the changes are okay and continue in this format. I’d prefer my paid subscribers get what they enjoy content-wise, so speaking up to share your preference IS helpful and will directly shape the paid content. Thank you!
Also, Happy Mother’s Day in advance to any of my readers who are celebrating this weekend!
Talia gathered her papers at her desk, the color-coded notes shimmering back at her in their metallic inks. Students who caught a glimpse of them often snickered, until they realized they couldn’t read them. A small smirk pulled at her lips with the memory of the last student’s blunder.
“I didn’t realize professors had to color-code their notes to teach.” A female vampire snickered.
Her uniform skirt was shorter than regulation, and Krystalia avoided rolling her eyes at the sight. The beginning of every year always had several students who challenged the rules here. It wouldn’t matter, when she walked through the archway that lead into Krystalia’s classroom, she would learn that lesson the hard way.
“A vampire old enough to walk in the sun should understand the usefulness of coding their memories.” The celestial arched a brow, glancing up at the female, who stood in a gaggle.
“Poking fun at my age?” She scoffed. “Just because seraphim don’t have obvious indicators of their age doesn’t mean we can’t tell how old you are. All vampires are taught that your power levels grow with age, and young seraphim aren’t even allowed to matriculate until they can defend themselves. You’re barely more than mortal before reach 150. You probably aren’t much older than me, judging by your power level.”
Her head tipped back with laughter her friends echoed, though the sound was slightly uneasy. At least a couple of them had enough common sense to be wary of speaking out of turn to a professor. The vampire flicked glistening gold locks over her shoulder and gestured for her friends to follow. Krystalia’s smile spread slowly as she watched the girl’s back retreat, followed by the hasty rush of her friends.
“This should be fun.” Krystalia blinked, arriving in her classroom where she sat the colored notes at the end seat of the front table.
Students trickled in one by one, and Verity, the vampire who had mouthed off, screeched as she entered through the archway, her long locks yanking into a severe bun, her skirt growing to nearly full length, her blouse loosening. The enchantment on the archway doing its job from one step to the next.
“Ah, Verity. Why don’t you take a seat for me in the front here. Your friends can join you.” Their faces drained of color, further paling their already dusky complexions.
They sat at the front table as the last of the students in the small classroom trickled in. Verity stared down at the notes with a stricken expression, flipping through the color-coded pages.
“Professor, I think these are yours.” She tried to hand them back to me.
I pushed them away.
“I’d like you to read them for the class, please. We will start our semester off with this pivotal information regarding the history of the supernatural world, and the war between celestials and the beings from the underworld.” I smiled, gesturing for her to begin.
Around her, students took out paper and quills, ink pots clattering onto the wooden tables as they prepared to take notes.
“I—I can’t read this. I don’t know this language.” She whispered, her pupils blown wide.
“As I thought. It would seem that the rules of propriety and etiquette will also be a part of our curriculum.” Krystalia directed her attention to the rest of the class.
“My name is Talia. Yes, it’s a nickname, no you don’t need to know my full name. The language in front of your classmate, Verity, is a dead language. Only a handful of us were raised speaking it, and even among the Delegation, underworlders are no longer fluent. As far as I know, the written language is lost to the modern day, even to those select few who speak the language. Arahmaei happens to be my native tongue.”
Watching the class scramble to write down what she’d said was nearly comical for Talia. Verity’s eyes popped as she tried to wrap her mind around what Talia’s age must truly be. As old as she was, she’d never lost the impulsive and scornful parts of her personality that had her putting the student in her place. She retrieved her notes, prepared to start the lecture in Common, the language of the Accords.
In an echo of her memory, Krystalia introduced herself, writing Talia and Mythical Age History on the slate behind her in a metallic liquid chalk. She wrote in Arahmaei beneath it, preparing herself for the explanation of her course before she turned to face the full room.
“Good morning, class. My name is Talia, and you’re here because your families decided it was important for you to understand the history of the Mythical Age. Can anyone tell me what lang—”
“Krystalia.” The voice that spoke was male, which could have been any of more than half her class.
She scanned the room for the source of the words. No one spoke again for a long moment, though many students looked around in confusion.
“Who said that name?” Her voice was quiet, but it didn’t need to be loud in the utter silence of the classroom.
Again, no one responded. She kept her breathing slow and even in an attempt to keep her heart rate from spiking. In a room full of supernaturals, showing weakness was a horrible idea.
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