Bitchy Witch Academy

(A/N: Hey there! Name's Erowitch, your local eldritch tentacle witch~ I'm relatively new to writing, even more so to erotica, but I figured I'd dip my toes in during this lovely, haunting time of the year! Don't shy away from giving any criticism you may have or adding suggestions for the story! I'm bad about commitments, so I usually write as I go and incorporate new ideas frequently. With all that said, I hope you enjoy, my cute little cultists~)

Fall is a beautiful season, a season of transition, of crimson leaves floating lazily by on stray gusts of wind, of vast fields of golden brown wheat and corn being harvested, all free of the harsh Summer heat or Winter's chilling cold, a perfect time of year. Witches seem to enjoy it especially so, as its the season where magic is least hindered by outside forces. Emily really just liked it for the atmosphere and colors, though.

Watching the swaths of fallen leaves dance in the wind, rising and falling like waves of a red and brown sea overtop of the forest, Emily sat on a hill jotting down her usual barely-coherent notes. She wasn't quite sure why she had to, seeing as she had already accomplished the very thing she was writing about, and in front of the Headmistress no less, but she wouldn't complain about extra credits. Not that she needed them, but her parents and teachers seemed to like her putting in the extra effort, no matter how small.

Her notes drifted off slowly, turning into scribbles and then doodles. She fancied herself an artist, and though none of her peers thought her a good one, her friends encouraged her. An artist makes a good witch, after all, it helps them be more accurate when drawing magic circles and symbols. Emily could certainly use some help in that department, she thought, wincing at the memory of her last attempt at a complex magic circle. The stains from the gooey explosion lasted for days as she struggled to clean them with the soap and sponge she was provided, and the class room stunk the whole rest of the week. Her classmates were rightfully angry at her, but she was mostly just disappointed she didn't get to eat the giant pie it produced. Not that whatever disgusting goop came out of the circle was edible, anyways. She didn't ever try to cook regular recipes with magic again after that.

Sighing, she looked up from her doodles, a cutesy recreation of the event in a chibi style, gazing out over the fields of flowing red treetops yet again, their branches flowing in the wind, forming waves across the scarlet sea. Standing strong against the horizon of red, the Academy loomed in the distance, no other civilization or man-made structures for miles and miles. The Witch's Academy was separated from the rest of magic society, and especially from everyday folks. The teachings in its halls were for Witches alone, if anyone unworthy were to see them it would be disastrous.

Emily had always yearned to see the Academy, longed for the day she turned 18 and could go, but now, almost a year after she was enrolled and a year older herself, she had grown accustomed to the grand gray halls, the dim floating candles and lanterns, the plain brickwork of the four corner spires, one for each year's dorm. The central arched building was almost shaped like a barn, she thought, with two shorter and smaller wings perpendicular to the central building containing the cafeteria and the greenhouse. Having to run all the way to the other side of the building for lunch won't be fun next year, but at least she could properly start learning magical botany. Maybe she could even keep a small sapling in her room, made to have fall colored leaves all year round...

The ringing of the Academy's bell woke her from her daydream, signaling curfew for first and second years. Emily glanced at her notes, then the sky. She had spent probably an hour now just doodling and daydreaming, and had made barely any progress in her notes. Oh well, Emily thought, I can just do these in my room, I guess. Not as if she couldn't just use her own experiences for her speech, her teacher would probably accept it. Though her classmates might be a bit annoyed again...

Not thinking too hard about it, as usual, Emily stowed her notebook and pencil, dusting off her flowing black dress of stray leaves and blades of grass. The design she wore was different to most other students, instead of the more intricate and fancy dresses the Academy now provided, hers was an older style that her mother wore in her youth. It was primarily all one piece, the plain black dress more like a robe, with a wide skirt that reached just above her knees and long flowing sleeves, so long they almost covered her hands, her head obviously adorned with the classic witch's hat, a universal sign that had barely changed in almost a thousand years. A large portion of her cleavage was exposed, the robe's wide v-neck making it easy to put on or take off in exchange, though Emily didn't mind flaunting her assets one bit. Her wide hips and ample breasts were gifts from her mother as much as her pure-blooded witch genes, along with her emerald green eyes, though her dark brunette hair was her of her father's side. It was rare for a witch to have anything but raven black hair, so it was often seen as a sign of a witch with special talent or a unique skill in the past, though evidence for this myth was circumstantial at best.

Pulling out her wand she cast a spell, a short incantation to help detect and avoid any magical pranks or traps, a somewhat frequent annoyance for young witches, but especially common for Emily. Her wand was a thin but sturdy wooden stick, wider near the handle and tapered off towards its point, the base wrapped tightly in a light purple cloth. Barely visible engravings run along its length, magical inscriptions that allowed for easier casting of spells. Emily always thought they were for catching the wielder's thoughts like a dreamcatcher, but apparently they were for catching the ambient magic coming off of a Witch when they cast a spell, saving some of the waste and channeling it back into the casting. She thought her idea was cooler.

The trip back to the Academy was uneventful, her spell working well to help her avoid the multitude of invisible nets and ropes that bind their victims in various embarrassing and often lewd ways, bags of itching powders ready to be dumped or sprayed onto any passerby, and floating balls of various disgusting goops and slimes that worm their way into any clothes and wreck havoc, tickling and squirming their way into any crevices they may find, hidden just out of view among the treetops and ready to drop. Reaching the courtyard just as the final bell tolled, Emily rushed just a bit faster towards her dormitory.

Rushing up the many flights of winding stairs, Emily waved to the few friends and classmates still roaming about outside their rooms, heading to bed themselves, her greetings growing less frequent and more half-hearted as she climbed further up the impossibly tall spire. On the way past the fifth floor, she caught a glimpse of a group of girls from her class talking with some older witches, seemingly being a third year and two fourth years. The third year seemed fidgety and nervous, and Emily found it odd the group would be in the first year dorms of all places. She didn't recognize anyone from the group except Kaylie, a blonde girl from her year who had quite the following. She called herself the "Witch Princess," and often acted rather rudely to those outside of her circle. Emily didn't ever talk with her, but she thought she saw the "Princess's" friends who shared Emily's class staring at her recently, though they denied it when asked and Emily didn't want to be rude or presumptuous.

Thinking nothing of it, aside from maybe the ending of a study group with upperclasswomen, Emily trudged onwards up the stairs, far more focused on the endless to her slowly numbing legs than on any random conversation.

Reaching the seventh and final floor, Emily shambled to her room, slinking inside and bolting the door behind her with a lazy flick and stripping her witch robe and hat, not even bothering to put on a nightgown over her bare chest and purple panties before collapsing into her bed, her bag dropped lazily on her desk. Too tired now to work any further on her assignment, she whispered a quiet sleep spell to dim the Glowbug lamp lighting her cozy room, before burying herself below her sheets and allowing herself to be put out like a light as well.

She was completely and blissfully unaware as she snored away the night that she had, in a bout of drowsiness, forgotten the locking enchantment on her door that night.