Location: Spellthorn Library – Arcane Reference Desk, Late Afternoon
The golden light of the sinking sun filters through enchanted windows, casting long shadows between towering stacks. A silence heavier than usual settles over the chamber- one that seems to watch.
Mood: Hopeful Rebellion / Magical Comeuppance
Dakota creeps barefoot toward the front desk, heart hammering, belly swaying slightly with each cautious step. Her toes whisper across the tile, her eyes fixed on the object gleaming just beside a leather-bound copy of ‘Moonbound Matroncraft: A Practical Guide’.
Beth’s pendant.
Dakota (hushed to herself): “Okay. Symbolic object… properly worded phrase… keep it simple, keep it focused. No exploding nipples. No fire. No Beth.”
She snatches the pendant, its gold chain cool in her hand, and presses it to her belly. Her breath hitches, but her voice rings steady with defiant spellcraft.
Dakota (firmly): “By bond wrongly borne and arcane deceit, return this burden to its rightful seat.”
A surge of magic ripples outward like a pond ripple. The pendant vibrates, warm and thrumming.
A glowing tether of light rises from the charm. Then- *snap* - it whips backward, slamming back into Dakota’s belly like a rubber band snapping.
Dakota (yelping): “Wait…wait…no no no- ohhhhhh…!”
Her belly expands visibly- heavier, rounder. Her balance shifts. Then- a warm trickle.
Dakota freezes. Her hand flies to her chest just in time to feel a betraying wetness seeping into her shirt.
She looks down in dawning horror.
Beth (from behind, serenely smug): “Oh, sweetie. Did you really think I wouldn’t install a reflective rebound ward? This isn’t my first magical maternity exchange.”
Beth emerges from between the stacks, her robes immaculate, her hands folded primly. Not a trace of pregnancy on her.
Beth (chiding gently): “Now you're not just a vessel. You’re an anchor. Much more stable. And…charmingly leaky.”
Dakota lets out a soft, involuntary squeak, the sound escaping her as her hand hovers over the warm, spreading stain on her chest. The realization hits her all at once: Beth meant every word. The barefoot. The belly. The leaking. It isn’t a threat—it’s a curriculum.
Beth (sweetly, her tone a syrupy lullaby of mockery): “Oh, that little squeak? Adorable. Really fits the aesthetic you’re growing into. You’ll want to practice that, cutie- people just love a flustered, glowing girl with no shoes and too much milk.”
She steps closer, brushing a strand of hair from Dakota’s forehead with the unsettling gentleness of someone who knows they’ve won.
Beth (softly): “You see, Dakota, you did have a choice. You could’ve gracefully borne the responsibility. Maybe even impressed the Arcane Review Board. But now?”
She leans in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper as her eyes gleam with magical satisfaction.
Beth: “Now you’re a magical wet-nurse-in-training until further notice. Magical law is very…sticky about feedback loops.”
Beth lingers just long enough for Dakota to squirm. Then she grins and adds a final dagger.
Beth (grinning): “And don’t even think about containment charms. That little spell hiccup made sure your ‘blessings’ are fully expressive. Hope your wardrobe’s absorbent.”
Beth turns and walks away without a care in the world, humming a tune that sounds suspiciously like a lullaby.
Beth (cheerfully over her shoulder): “Library hours resume tomorrow! Try not to soak the spellbooks, sweetie!”
Dimmer and dustier than the main hall, the reference wing hums with ancient enchantments. The books whisper to one another if left open too long. The floor tiles chill the toes of the unshod.
Mood: Simmering Humiliation / Spark of Revenge
Barefoot, pregnant, and annoyed, Dakota begins to shift from flustered victim to determined counter-caster.
Beth’s footsteps echo away into the deeper stacks, her self-satisfied humming trailing off. The runes on the desk fade. Dakota stands alone, belly visibly rounded, her now-bare feet curling instinctively on the cold tile floor.
Dakota (muttering): “Stupid smug librarian witch…arcane lactomancy? Is that even a thing? Ugh. This cannot be happening.”
She moves to lean against a nearby cart, accidentally jostling it. A book tumbles off with a dramatic thud, landing open on its spine. Gold script shimmers on the cover: ‘Counter-Transference for the Mildly Cursed’.
Dakota (eyeing it): “Mildly cursed sounds about right…”
Awkwardly crouching- her belly already making movement clumsy- she flips to the index and scans it. Her eyes stop on a subheading: ‘Pregnancies of Proxy’.
Dakota (reading aloud in a whisper): “If the bearer is unwilling, the enchantment may be anchored with ego or familiarity. A properly worded phrase or symbolic object from the caster may allow for transference reversal.”
Her gaze flicks toward the front desk. Among the clutter of catalog cards and ink bottles, a familiar gleam catches her eye: Beth’s pendant. The dainty gold one she always wears—now suspiciously absent from her neck.
Dakota (grinning): “You messed with the wrong overachiever, Beth.”
The infirmary is a cozy little corner of Spellthorn—half herbal dispensary, half magical triage bay. Ivy grows out of the stonework. A skeleton wearing a nurse’s hat nods at passersby. Madame Greela, the campus nurse, doesn’t even look up from her tea as Dakota waddles in, belly first.
Madame Greela: “Let me guess. Librarian magic. Transfer spell. Unwanted pregnancy with a minor chaos entity.”
Dakota (blinks): “Umm…yes…how did you…?”
Madame Greela (finally looks up): “Dear, I’ve worked here forty years. You’re the third this semester.”
A pause. Then: “The first barefoot, though.”
Greela sets her teacup down with a clink and waves a wand that looks suspiciously like a knitting needle over Dakota’s belly. A soft pulse of amber light ripples across her skin. The imp hiccups again—this time with a tiny magical burp that briefly turns the room lavender.
Greela doesn’t flinch.
Greela: “Well, he’s settling in nicely. Strong magical aura. Hints of grape fizz and poor impulse control.”
Dakota (huffs): “I didn’t ask to carry him!”
Greela (arches a bushy gray brow): “No one ever does, dear. That’s how librarian mages keep their robes so trim. They delegate.” She leans in and pokes Dakota’s belly lightly. “You’re young, healthy, and magically compatible. This one’ll be a breeze—relatively speaking. No tentacles or wings so far.”
Dakota (eye twitches): “Grrrrr. I don’t feel ready for this.”
Greela (stands): “You don’t get ready. You study. There’s an entire shelf in the library’s restricted section on imp gestation. And don’t look at me like that. If Beth marked you as a vessel, you have access now.”
She hands Dakota a foot balm enchanted to warm on contact.
Greela: “For the floor. And your pride.”
Dakota takes it reluctantly.
Greela (sips her tea again): “Now off you go. Back to the library. Get familiar with your... occupant.”
