You’re sitting in a chair in a greenhouse’s garden. The thick winter cape of your uniform is hung up behind you. Shrouded by various plants and furniture, through the panes of glass you can make out the buildings of your university, the lake, and its accompanying ruins. In front of you -
In front of you, nursing a cup of tea she soon sets atop one of the many books they've brought, is a lecturer. Not one of yours, but you have seen them in passing often. Professor ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ is tall and beautiful, pale blonde hair tied back low, golden eyes set deep behind a curtain of eyelashes; their appearance leaves you affected in a manner beyond your ability to articulate, the gentle edge of their smile coaxing you into conversation.
“Miss ▮▮▮▮▮▮-▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮?”
You’ve been meeting like this for some time now. Rather than other duties they could attend to, they've taken to hiding here in the conservatory on grounds in the colder months; it’s a secret they've requested be kept between you two, not that it occurs to you to tell anyone. When you were invited to sit with them, it didn't occur to you to refuse.
And so, once a week, you shirk your lectures in favor of conversation with a professor that does not teach you. It is unheard of for you to have the opportunity to speak to others beyond ▮▮▮▮▮▮, and each word of yours is met with esoteric anecdotes or praise. They call you erudite, learned, wonderful, setting a fuzzy sort of heat in your body -
But on this day, while idly discussing a topic the two of you had wound up on - based upon a certain proposal that a large right triangle made organically could be utilized to signal communication visible to extraterrestrial life, the same could be done through other means to signal the divine - the fever has grown ever stronger over the course of your meeting, leaving you faint as it goes on. This, at least, is unmistakable to you, and is perhaps to be expected - though it has been some time, the seasons have changed. What you have been experiencing surely must be related.
It doesn’t, however, change the state that you’re in - ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ reaches to catch you as you nearly faint, brows furrowed deeply.
“My - Miss ▮▮▮▮▮▮, are you alright?”
But you aren’t certain that you’ve heard them right.
“You poor thing -”
And as they continue, holding you close before propping you up in your chair, your confusion only grows.
“You must have been in pain. Here -”
You don’t really understand. Of course you’ve been taken care of your entire life, by your grandmother and father and the servants - despite their best interests they have always looked after you, but this is the first time that anyone has shown concern for your condition.
When they help you to return home, you are no less lost for it.
NOTES/SUMMARY: - Dia regular - Skipping class to hang out with a... teache....r.....? Who told her to skip class? - They've done this before. They have a schedule. For some reason talking to them makes her face real hot and she doesn't get it because this is a human person with a human bodyplan and not a tentacle blob larger than the observable universe so she can't possibly have a crush. - In this specific instance today, where they're talking about ???????? weird shit, she is actually, or at least also, ill. - She gets shown the barest minimum of human decency and has no idea what to do about it.
- Professor [REDACTED] does not especially look like Aradia but anyone other than her viewing the memory might notice that their voice sounds very similar to hers - like a “same actress playing different characters” kind of thing. Don’t worry about it.
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12
You’re sitting in a chair in a greenhouse’s garden. The thick winter cape of your uniform is hung up behind you. Shrouded by various plants and furniture, through the panes of glass you can make out the buildings of your university, the lake, and its accompanying ruins. In front of you -
In front of you, nursing a cup of tea she soon sets atop one of the many books they've brought, is a lecturer. Not one of yours, but you have seen them in passing often. Professor ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ is tall and beautiful, pale blonde hair tied back low, golden eyes set deep behind a curtain of eyelashes; their appearance leaves you affected in a manner beyond your ability to articulate, the gentle edge of their smile coaxing you into conversation.
“Miss ▮▮▮▮▮▮-▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮?”
You’ve been meeting like this for some time now. Rather than other duties they could attend to, they've taken to hiding here in the conservatory on grounds in the colder months; it’s a secret they've requested be kept between you two, not that it occurs to you to tell anyone. When you were invited to sit with them, it didn't occur to you to refuse.
And so, once a week, you shirk your lectures in favor of conversation with a professor that does not teach you. It is unheard of for you to have the opportunity to speak to others beyond ▮▮▮▮▮▮, and each word of yours is met with esoteric anecdotes or praise. They call you erudite, learned, wonderful, setting a fuzzy sort of heat in your body -
But on this day, while idly discussing a topic the two of you had wound up on - based upon a certain proposal that a large right triangle made organically could be utilized to signal communication visible to extraterrestrial life, the same could be done through other means to signal the divine - the fever has grown ever stronger over the course of your meeting, leaving you faint as it goes on. This, at least, is unmistakable to you, and is perhaps to be expected - though it has been some time, the seasons have changed. What you have been experiencing surely must be related.
It doesn’t, however, change the state that you’re in - ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ reaches to catch you as you nearly faint, brows furrowed deeply.
“My - Miss ▮▮▮▮▮▮, are you alright?”
But you aren’t certain that you’ve heard them right.
“You poor thing -”
And as they continue, holding you close before propping you up in your chair, your confusion only grows.
“You must have been in pain. Here -”
You don’t really understand. Of course you’ve been taken care of your entire life, by your grandmother and father and the servants - despite their best interests they have always looked after you, but this is the first time that anyone has shown concern for your condition.
When they help you to return home, you are no less lost for it.
NOTES/SUMMARY:
- Dia regular
- Skipping class to hang out with a... teache....r.....? Who told her to skip class?
- They've done this before. They have a schedule. For some reason talking to them makes her face real hot and she doesn't get it because this is a human person with a human bodyplan and not a tentacle blob larger than the observable universe so she can't possibly have a crush.
- In this specific instance today, where they're talking about ???????? weird shit, she is actually, or at least also, ill.
- She gets shown the barest minimum of human decency and has no idea what to do about it.
- Professor [REDACTED] does not especially look like Aradia but anyone other than her viewing the memory might notice that their voice sounds very similar to hers - like a “same actress playing different characters” kind of thing. Don’t worry about it.