Antics at the Arcane Academe: Pt. 02

For context, it is advised you read "Antics at the Arcane Academe: Pt. 01" prior to this tale.

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Disclaimer: All witches in this story are 18 years of age and older, for that is the age of admission to the Academe. This story contains elements of mild fantasy, embarrassment, and some reluctance.

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Mirror mirror on the wall

Pride doth go before the fall.

Beauty, power, vanity,

Who are you without these things?

The autumn sun was dawning over the Academe for the Arcane Arts, and the stillness of the morning was broken only by Elise Montaigne as she sailed over the treetops, leaves scattering and tumbling in the wake left by her broom. Though a mere initiate, in the new day's light she seemed every bit a full-fledged wicche as she flew aloft, dipping and diving gracefully, her wavy flaxen hair dancing about her shoulders. Her peaked hat she would earn in time, but as an initiate she was granted the privilege of broomflight, and it was a pleasure she enjoyed above all others. The physicality of flight enthralled her, and the hours spent navigating updrafts, traversing crosswinds, and balancing upon broomstick had made her body toned and strong.

Elise descended through the trees, flying low over the dispersed columns of novices trailing from the hamlet to the Academe. The ground-bound witches turned to look skyward at the tall, refined girl in her long scarlet coat and elegant white blouse, the hem of her pleated black skirt fluttering at her knees, her legs adorned in red stockings and pressed tightly around her broomstick. She could sense their covetous looks, and their jealousy brought a smile to her lips. The confident beauty had always attracted attention, and with attention had come envy, and envy in turn brought challengers, assailants, nemeses. And Elise's magical prowess had not been derived from her pedigree alone, but also gained and honed through these bitter confrontations. There had been many who had sought to displace her, but none had been her better. Least of all the fen-witch Moira.

It was Moira whom she looked for now, scanning the robed figures below for a sign of the little witch. She had not seen the upstart since her defeat and utter humiliation at the standing stones, and the memory of the girl's pale and petite body on full display made Elise grin even these weeks later. It was likely that she simply could not endure the shame and had fled into exile. Elise might have felt badly about their encounter, but in the end one could not feel guilty for what was only natural. For witchcraft and nature were inexorably linked, and nature herself was cold, dispassionate, hierarchical and, above all, fair. And that most fundamental of natural laws applied here too at the Academe; the victor endured and the defeated did not. Whether others accepted that fact was of little importance to Elise, all she knew was that it had not been her first battle nor would it be her last.

With that, she dismissed the one-time adversary from her thoughts, breaking off her search and spurring her broom to attention once more. Up she rose into the sun's splendent rays, spiraling high over the gatehouse and ivy-covered walls of the Academe, until she gently descended down into the enchanted gardens which lay sheltered within the heart of the school. She maneuvered her way through the ancient trees and ornate hedgerows, the air thick with the burgeoning scent of flowers awakening from their slumber. Then, with a smooth and agile hop, she touched down on the verdant grass, slung her broom over her shoulder, and with satchel in hand set off towards the doors to the great hall.

Elise was about to depart when a strange chill passed through her, and her body tensed reflexively in alarm. In the blink of an eye, she dropped her satchel and spun around, drawing her willow wand from within her jacket. Alert and with wand at the ready, she surveyed her surroundings. But all was still, only the rustling of leaves, the bubbling of water in the fountains, and the cooing of doves distrubed the quiet. She remained motionless for a long while before pocketing her wand. She had a keen sense for danger, but maybe she was too on edge.

Elise retrieved her satchel and entered into the warmth and liveliness of the great hall, where streams of novices and initiates alike filed around her in the morning rush. She casually tossed her broom up into the air, watching as it flew in a long arc off to the broom closets and eventually passed from sight. As she made to turn away, her ruby slipper caught against the stone floor, tripping her and nearly sending her tumbling over end. Elise staggered and found her footing, flustered, and looked up at two passing novices regarding her blunder, giggling to one another and casting backward glances as they departed. Elise shook her head disappointedly, and then nonchalantly drew her wand and gave it a rap with her forefinger. The girls' skirts shot above their waists, exposing their frilly bloomers and unshorn legs. The pair gave out a yelp and quickly beat their skirts back down around them, hurrying away shamefaced into the safety of the crowd. Elise smiled coldly, satisfied with the result. She had learned long ago that such insolence had to be nipped in the bud.

As Elise checked for more curious onlookers, her sharp blue eyes suddenly met with those of the Beldame, who watched the scene from across the wide hall. The high priestess's sight was fixed and unblinking, as if she were not looking at the proud witch, but inside her, through her, seeing something far beyond. There was something in that gaze that irritated Elise, was it judgement, appraisal? Elise answered her stare while flocks of fresh-faced students passed between them, and she held her gaze defiantly, perhaps a moment longer than was respectful. Then, with a faint smile, Elise stowed her wand within her jacket in a gesture of appeasement, and bowed her head slightly. The Beldame gave no response, but the chimes sounded loudly and gave Elise the chance to withdraw to History of Hexes.

"Odd old owl..." she whispered under her breath. There were many stories and rumors about the enigmatic high priestess, about the centuries she had seen and her deeds that had shaped them. But to Elise, such talk had no more substance than legend. What mattered is what you were, not what you had been. Ag'd and wise though she may be, time too was the great usurper that brought even the most powerful low. The present belonged to the young and the strong, and thus, the present belonged to Elise.

Elise took her seat in History of Hexes, and once the class had assembled the maven soon began to drone on and on about hex theory and paradigms throughout the millennia. Thoroughly bored, Elise's interest slowly migrated to the other girls around her, her so-called peers, their faces strained in rapt and desperate attention. She pitied them. They reminded her of the formative years in her coven, how she had clawed and scratched her way to defeat all her competitors, all idealistic girls like herself, for the privilege to study at the prestigious Academe. And to what end? To sit and listen to this archaic tedium? For stale instruction from decrepit mavens? No, for her the illusion of the Academe had been dispelled quickly, and she saw it for what it truly was. A relic. An impediment. If there was one lesson the Academe had taught her it was that power did not reside in the past, but in the present. She need only return to her coven with the rank of wicche, and there would begin the true path to power and prestige.

When class was finally adjourned, Elise did not linger a second longer and swiftly exited, crossing the hall to the grand stairway that led to the upper towers of the Academe and to where advanced spellwork was taught to initiates. She made her way up the wide wooden staircase while other witches descended past her, parting by the haughty girl as would a stream pass around riverstone. As she climbed, her slippers shifted loosely on her feet, striking noisily against the wooden steps. Damnable things, she thought. Elise arrived at the top landing and inspected her disobedient footwear, and with an annoyed sigh withdrew her wand to alter the bothersome slippers. She twirled her wrist and began her incantation...and then her wand promptly vanished.

Elise examined her empty wand hand in confusion, and whirled around. There, in the middle of the corridor stood the Beldame, serene amid the lively bustle of the crowd of initiates. And in her hand was Elise's slender willow wand. Elise flashed her a disarming smile, but the elder wicche remained stoic, her wise eyes weighing the young and ambitious girl. Elise made move to approach her, but no sooner had she done so the Beldame began to dematerialize, fading away with each step Elise took until she had disappeared entirely.

Elise's false smile disappeared just as quickly, and her normally beautiful countenance twisted in savage rage. "Conniving hag!" she snarled, startling a few passersby. Her mind churned with resentment and questions. What right had she to strip her of her wand? Was this castigation for her antics earlier? Or, was there a deeper reasoning? An idea began to coalesce as her thoughts slowed and settled. Perhaps she saw Elise for what she was; a threat. And if that were true, perhaps that meant the Beldame herself was afraid. The conclusion assuaged her anger, and gradually a calm and self-assuredness came over her. Yes, it made sense to her now. The old crone was afraid, and only those who were weak had reason to be afraid. As the invisible chimes rang through the Academe, Elise breathed deeply, filled with a new sense of clarity. She would feign subservience to the Beldame, regain her wand, and then bide her time. Time was the great usurper after all.

Elise entered through the doorway to Advanced Rites and Rituals, where the maven was preoccupied sketching intricate ritual patterns on the wall, her wand tracing blazing lines as it passed. Elise suppressed the residual ire from her thoughts, concentrating instead on the fiery symbols, and from her satchel she withdrew an assortment of black candles, arranging them on her desk in the prescribed pattern. She listened half-heartedly to the rites she knew by heart, absentmindedly tapping her foot as the lesson dragged on. But her attention wavered as her slipper dropped from her foot and landed with a soft thud on the floor. Puzzled, Elise peeked underneath the desk to look. She wagged her other shoe, which wiggled even more loosely on her stockinged foot. And odder still, she now saw that both her feet dangled just above the floor.

As she leaned over to recover her rogue slipper, the sleeve of her jacket swept over the desk, knocking over her candles and sending them rolling. The other initiates turned at the sudden clamor, and, embarrassed, Elise quickly gathered up the scattered candles. It was then that she saw how the cuff of her jacket engulfed her hands, its sleeves far too long on her. How the blazes had that happened, she fumed. Indeed, her clothes felt somehow larger, heavier. A realization was slowly dawning on her, and Elise explored her jacket and blouse until her hands came to rest on her chest, and her eyes went wide with shock.

"What in the nine hells!" she hissed to herself, her hands grasping her breasts. Or what had become of her breasts. Her full bosom had...diminished somewhat, no longer quite filling her hands. She tried to discreetly determine what was happening. Under her blouse, she could feel that her corset had become loose about her frame. Her skirt seemed roomier, her stockings sagged on her legs. With each discovery Elise's normally cool demeanor began to crack, and through the cracks seeped white hot fury. Someone had cursed her! Someone was robbing her body of its attractive attributes! She had known something was afoot! Her mind raced as she performed a reckoning of all the potential culprits, old and new. This had to be the Beldame's doing. The jealous old bag couldn't leave well enough alone. Elise clenched her fists, transmuting her wrath into thoughts of revenge, how she would subjugate the so-called high priestess, bring her low, disrobe and parade her through the great hall and show everyone just how mighty their wise-one truly was. These fantasies calmed her somewhat, and her temper was soothed but not quenched.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but as the lecture progressed Elise swore she could feel herself becoming shorter, sinking lower and lower in her seat. But at last the agonizingly long lesson was concluded, and she anxiously waited what seemed an eternity before the class had cleared entirely, not wanting anyone to see her in her reduced state. Elise stood in the empty room and assessed her attire. She had definitely become shorter, and the waistline of her skirt drooped over her narrowed hips, her blouse and jacket hanging comically off her shoulders. Stripped of her charms and swathed in slack clothing made her feel absurd and foolish, which further fueled her indignation.

Once she was confident that the coast was clear, Elise stormed out into the now vacant hallway and set off towards the stairs. Yet as she passed along the deserted passage, something gave her pause, and an uneasiness settled over her. She sensed...something, and slowly turned around to look back down the corridor. There, at the far end, stood Moira in her black robes with wand in hand, her dark eyes looking contemptuously at Elise from her stern and pretty face.

"It was you!" spat Elise. "You're the one who cursed me!"

Moira smiled devilishly, saying nothing.

"Unbind the curse, or else-"

Elise was interrupted when her slipper shot free from her right foot, nearly sending her toppling backward. The shoe levitated across the hall, and circled Moira while she twirled her wand playfully.

"You tramp!" growled Elise, and she reflexively reached into her jacket for her wand...but it was not there. She paled, and Moira's smile widened further. With another flourish, Elise's second slipper wrested itself from her foot and joined its pair in Moira's possession.

"Give those back now!" She ordered, marching menacingly down the corridor towards the raven-haired fen-witch. Moira regarded her approach and then casually flicked her wand, and the hovering slippers soared straight into the blue flames of a nearby brazier, disappearing in an eruption of fiery ash. Elise stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth agape.

"Come now Elise," cooed Moira, "Those shoes were much too large for a witch of your stature. In fact..."

Moira eyed her blonde rival appraisingly, inspecting the rumpled red stockings that now lay bunched at her calves, the bulky scarlet jacket that enveloped her and practically dragged on the ground, and the loose skirt that Elise gripped tightly in one hand, her satchel in the other.

"I don't think such a slovenly look is befitting your character. We shall have to make some... modifications." Elise did not tarry a moment, and ran.

She headed straight for the stairway, and felt one stocking yank itself from her foot. Though she didn't have her wand to defend herself, she knew that the more distance she could put between her and that infernal imp, the harder it would be for her to conjure away her clothes and undress her completely. But the curse had robbed her of her height and gait, and she was covering less ground than she normally would have. The other stocking wormed its way off her leg, and her nude feet smacked loudly against the hard wood floor.

Elise had almost reached the stairs when her satchel lurched and tried to wrench itself from her hand. She held on, and was spun around as it tugged against her, pulling her in the opposite direction.

"Stop!" she growled. But Moira kept advancing, the pull of her spell strengthening as she did so. Elise grabbed the bag with both hands and heaved, but as she did so her skirt slid down over her diminished hips, the lacy fringe of her now baggy knickers emerging from under the hem of her blouse. She blushed, and let go of the bag, seizing her skirt and hauling it above her waist. The satchel raced to Moira, who took it in hand.

Elise had no time to spare, leaping down the stairs two at a time, her legs flashing as her increasingly voluminous skirt fluttered while she ran. In the back of her mind she could hear the chimes tolling, dismissing the third session of classes, and a mild sense of dread began to set in. In her path ahead, a trio of initiates were already making their way up the stairs. They gawked when they saw the blond witch, normally so poised and proper, barreling towards them flustered and with clothes in disarray. Elise felt the heat rush to her face as they recognized her, and she pushed through them forcefully. When I get my wand, they'll all get their comeuppance! she fumed.

She dared not look back for Moira, but could hear the girl's boots strike the wooden landing above with a sinister rapping, and the sound was not growing fainter. The jacket dwarfed her now, slowing her descent as it trailed over the stairs, but she was almost to the great hall, and she leapt the final steps from the staircase to the floor below...

...but her feet did not touch the ground. Instead, she hung suspended by her arms as her jacket was hauled upward, its tails lifting comically to the ceiling. Elise flailed her legs, futility kicking and twisting in place. She craned her head over her shoulder and saw Moira on the landing above, grinning and wagging a finger in mock admonishment. Then the jacket, with Elise in it, began to travel back up the stairs.

"Hecate take you! Enough!" she snapped, looking around her urgently. She had to escape, a few initiates at the edge of the hall had already noticed the commotion and had begun pointing. Elise quickly wriggled her arms out of the jacket and dropped down to the floor. The impact jarred her, and her skirt shot down her legs into a heap at her feet, leaving her standing in a thin blouse that had practically become a dress. Horrified, she ducked to grab a fistful of skirt, hoisting it back into position as she took off running.

The chimes had finished sounding, and the great hall was fast becoming crowded with novices and initiates. Elise ran, increasingly aware of the attention she was drawing to herself. Her naked feet pattered on the cool black stone, her skirt flapping heavily about her calves. Her cavernous blouse was stuffed messily into her skirt, the neckline drooping down to reveal the top of her roomy corset. Elise looked to the huge doors at the far end of the hall and salvation, and then at the growing number of students amassing around her, and cursed. She would not let Moira humiliate her like this in front of so many of her lessers. She could not let them see her in such disgrace. For the time being she had to hide and make her escape undetected.

Elise scrambled to the glass-paned door on her right, flinging it open and rushing out into the enchanted gardens. Outside, the day was sunny and tranquil, and she darted quickly through the labyrinthine rows of trees, bushes, and shrubs. After a time, she stopped and ducked behind a dense and verdant hedge, holding her breath. She did not hear the sound of footsteps, and most students would have headed to class by now. The feeling of her bare feet on the lush grass made her feel more exposed and vulnerable, and for the witch who had always been accustomed to power and control, it was a sensation that was completely foreign and unpleasant to her. Even the birds seemed to be chirping and singing as if in mockery of her state. She knelt there, quietly catching her breath, and waited anxiously. But Moira did not appear. The sun streaked through the branches and leaves above, dappling her skin, and its warmth eased her somewhat. At last, convinced she was safe for a time, she began to explore how badly the curse had transformed her.