Every breath of air that ripped through her lungs felt like a firestorm. Her legs were like jelly brewed with acid, and her heart was buzzing like a hummingbird's. With this amalgamation of tortured metaphors and agonized flesh, Melona made it to the academy's dueling grounds, where she came to a halt in front of Professor Fortis.
Fortis was a mix of contradictions. She had curves to rival some of the more (but not most) well-endowed professors on campus, yet had the musculature to make any man feel inferior. She had the bearing of a dreaded gym teacher, yet wore a skimpy one-piece that most have been strategically chosen to make students feel uncomfortable. She was a world-famous battle mage who was rumored to have an actual body count, but she decided to retire in her prime and go teach 18-to-22-year-old Academy girls instead.
From this morass of contrasts arose a single, shining truth. You did not want to be the poor maggot who was late to Professor Fortis' class.
Melona came to a stop in front of Professor Fortis, bending over and bracing herself in the hopes that she wouldn't fall over.
"At ease, runt--oh. You're already doing that," said Fortis. "Where'd you come from?"
"The--the--oh gods--" gasped Melona, trying to look the professor in the eye but only managing to catch the underside of her glistening cleavage. Fortis grabbed Melona and roughly righted her, letting her stare into the professor's bemused countenance. "The dorms, ma'am."
Fortis' toothy smile turned into a mask of confusion. "The dorms? Those are an eighth of a mile away! You mean to tell me that you're winded by a light jog?"
"I'm--" Melona was too exhausted to panic. "I'm sorry, ma'am." She didn't know why she was calling Fortis "ma'am." She didn't do that with any of the other professors.
"Well, we'll work on that later," said Fortis. "What actually matters right now is--
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