Miss, Miss, 10+. You're in the Infirmary for a week.

⚂⚂ - 1 = 5, Miss.

Describe a bizarre magical treatment to improve your condition or a strange complication and roll again to GET OUT OF THE INFIRMARY.

⚅⚀ - 1 = 6, Miss.

⚅⚅ - 1 = 11.

On a 10+, you are back on your feet soon. If you had a CONSEQUENCE, remove it.

The venomous spiders lay you out flat for a solid week. Despite Miss Wormwood's best efforts with purges and tonics, you lie shivering, cramping, and voiding blood, tears, phlegm, and noxious fluids from your various orifices. Your unruly hair disturbs your rest, crackling and pulling at your head, twisting, threatening to knot itself.

Leontes' Tutor, Preston Sharper, comes to visit on the second day to assess your condition, but he has nothing to add to Miss Wormwood's diagnosis.

"Whatever has hold of you, Morgan, it's more venom than magic," the Tutor says. "I'll let your instructors know."

"And Fay," you say, gripping his wrist in your sweaty, tremor-shaking hand.

"Of course," the Tutor says. "Miss Applebum and Miss Redmoor requested permission to visit you last night, which I granted. I will let them know you are lucid."

Last night...well, you don't even remember last night, really.

Next day, Fay visits you, but her ice-faced look shows her discomfort. Being in the presence of sickness isn't an easy thing for her, you've forgotten why. But at least she's here.

"Go on," you tell Fay. "You came. I'll be better later."

Fay reaches out and touches you, her warm fingertips on the back of your hand. "Get better," she says, then turns to go.

The next several days are racked with fatigue, tremors, and pain, though the drainage of ill humors abates. Miss Wormwood attributes it to a successful purge, and prescribes nourishing tonics and broths.

On the seventh day you rise. Your wand is present, in its case. You run through a banishing, an invocation, and finally you conjure a looking-glass.

Well. Alive. Pale, drawn face, not as wasted-looking as you feared. White strands among the black. Your unruly hair moves a bit on its own, but it's lank, wanting a wash, no longer crackling with electricity.

You cough. "Well, begin again," you tell yourself. "I hope if that was a summoning, they're caught and tied up to be bitten."

"Morgan?" Miss Wormwood said. "You're not to work magic in the Infirmary." She dismisses the summoned looking-glass with a word and a pass of her hand.

"I'm sorry, Miss Wormwood," you say.

"You are looking much better," she says. The green snakes growing from her head regard you appraisingly, a forked tongue flickering out here and there. She puts her cool fingertips to your brow, probes the scabs on your healing bites, has you breathe in and out deeply, and feels your pulse.

Miss Wormwood guides you to the pot in the corner of the room. "Please make water," she requests.

You lift your infirmary smock above your hips and allow Miss Wormwood to hold her hand under you. Her hand tickles your bush as she holds her fingers in the stream of your urine. She ponders, lifts her hand to scent it, and allows one of her snakes to taste a drop from her fingertip.

"Healthy," Miss Wormwood says. "I'm pleased."

She holds your gaze with hers for a long minute. Is she searching for something in your eyes?

Finally she looks away. "As tempting as it is," Miss Wormwood murmurs. "I will not burden you with more venom."

Your heart thumps and your face feels warm. You know the feeling of Miss Wormwood's own venom. Once you were her favorite, to bite, to lie hot, sweating, your limbs locked as Miss Wormwood licked you to a venom-charged sexual climax, other times to lick her, her sex, salty and slick, her anus, sharp and bitter. She taught you that. You taught Fay.

"Oh, Morgan, do you miss me?" Miss Wormwood says. "Then I must at least kiss you goodbye. Doff your smock."

You stand bare in front of the Nurse. She bends and kisses your lips, then cups each of your breasts, small and soft, holding each one up. She kisses down your chin and neck to your heart.

Then two of the writhing green snakes on her head dart out, strike, and bite your nipples.

Sharp and stinging, but dry. Dry bites. You take a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh.

"You are dismissed, Morgan," Miss Wormwood says. She departs through a curtained doorway.

Each nipple is now erect, with two tiny ruby drops of blood where Miss Wormwood's snakes pierced your skin. You blot away the blood, but your nipples stubbornly persist in staying erect.

You're left to dress and take your wand, and make your way back to House Leontes. Will you ever be at home there?

Well, as long as there's Fay, yes.

Your lank hair tugs feebly at you, reminding you of how Emily Leopard left you after the duel, and what you decided to undertake. Maybe you know someone in Draconis or someone still-friendly in Minerval who can give you a helping hand.

Bath, though. Bath will be before any of that. You actually like House Leontes' baths better than Minerval's.

As you walk back through the halls of Boarbristle, your nipples, stinging faintly from Miss Wormwood's bites, tingle under your robes . You resist lifting your hands to rub them, to soothe or excite them. A few students recognize you and give you curious looks, but no one speaks up to greet you.

Remove a CONSEQUENCE.

You have a GOAL (-3 vs. CUNNING) to conjure an animating spirit into your hair so that it will act as another pair of hands, plus a +1 to Bravery and a one-time FAVOR.

You have +2 Ambition, -1 Bravery, +2 Cunning, +0 Diligence.
Your HOUSE TRAIT in Leontes is Bravery, and your HOUSE SEX MOVE is Charm.

Your FRIENDS are Fay Applebum (your girlfriend, really) and Grace Winterthorn.

You have 2 XP.

What's your next Move? Perhaps encounter someone from another House who is good with conjuring or knows the Librarian?