The halls of Garreg Mach Monastery were alive with the warmth of Garreg Mach Establishment Day. lanterns strung like stars, laughter echoing from the dining hall where students and faculty exchanged gifts and stories. But in a quiet corner of the cathedral’s side wing, Manuela sat alone on a stone bench, a half-empty bottle of Ionius red cradled in her lap. Her opera-trained voice hummed a mournful aria under her breath, cheeks flushed from more than the holiday cheer.
Another failed flirtation. Another knight or professor politely excusing themselves with excuses about duties or vows. The wine helped dull the sting, but it also sharpened the loneliness, sending her stumbling toward yet another handsome face only to slur her words and watch him slip away. The cycle spun endlessly: drink, hope, rejection, drink more.
Dorothea found her like that, slumped against a pillar, bottle tipping precariously.
“Professor Manuela?” Dorothea’s voice was gentle, concerned. She’d seen this before… too many times. “Come on, let’s get you to your room before you catch a chill.”
Manuela blinked blearily, then broke into a wide, sloppy smile. “Dorothea, my sweet songbird! You’ve always been so kind to old has-beens like me…” She leaned heavily on the younger woman as Dorothea guided her down the corridor, Manuela’s arm slung over her shoulder, babbling the whole way.
“You know, men are fools. Absolute fools. I was the Divine Songstress in the Imperial Capital… and now? Now I’m just the drunk professor who can’t land a date on Establishment Day.” A hiccup. “But you… you’ve got that youth, that voice, those eyes. They all flock to you, don’t they?”
Dorothea murmured soothing nonsense, half-carrying her up the stairs to the faculty quarters. Manuela’s room was dimly lit by a single candle, the air thick with the scent of old perfume and spilled wine. Dorothea eased her onto the bed.
“There we are. Sleep it off, Professor. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Manuela caught her wrist before she could pull away, eyes glassy but suddenly sharp with drunken inspiration.
“Wait, wait my dear, you must let me thank you properly. I’ve been working on a new spell. A little… party trick. You’ll love it.”
Dorothea opened her mouth to protest “Professor, maybe tomorr-”
But Manuela was already waving her free hand in lazy arcs, dark magic flickering violet between her fingers.
“Behold!”
The spell hit like a soft gust of wind.
Dorothea felt the world lurch upward. The bedspread became a vast landscape of rumpled silk. Manuela’s face swelled into a colossal, flushed moon. In heartbeats, Dorothea shrank until she stood no taller than a wine cork on the mattress, staring up at the drunken professor in wide-eyed shock.
Manuela blinked, then burst into delighted laughter that boomed like thunder.
“Oh! Oh my, it worked even better than I thought!” She scooped Dorothea up between thumb and forefinger, lifting her to eye level. The grip was loose enough not to crush, but tight enough that Dorothea’s ribs creaked. “Look at you… so tiny, so perfect.”
“Professor… Manuela… please change me back!” Dorothea’s voice was a squeak, lost in the vastness.
Manuela’s smile turned wistful, then edged with something darker. Jealousy, raw and unfiltered by sobriety.
“You’re so young,” she murmured, breath heavy with wine. “So beautiful… I bet Men fall over themselves for you. And here I am… old, alone, drinking on a holiday.”
She reached under the bed, pulling out a dusty bottle, something far stronger than cathedral wine, amber liquid glinting in the candlelight. She uncorked it with her teeth, took a long swig, then dangled Dorothea over the open mouth of the bottle.
“Care for a swim, little songbird?”
Dorothea screamed as she was lowered toward the liquid, the fumes burning her eyes. Manuela laughed again, pulling her back at the last second, only to press her against the warm, yielding swell of her chest, tucking the tiny girl snugly between soft flesh and the low neckline of her dress.
“There. Much cozier…”
The “playtime” that followed was slow, drunken, and cruelly affectionate.
Manuela rolled onto her side, trapping Dorothea in humid darkness, the rise and fall of her breathing a relentless tide. She poked and prodded with lazy fingers, giggling at every squeak. She pressed the tiny girl against her lips for a wine-soaked “kiss,” nearly suffocating her in the hot, alcoholic cavern. She even hummed an old opera tune, the vibrations rumbling through her chest like earthquakes around Dorothea’s prison.
By this point Manuella had found herself back onto the floor… Bottle after bottle emptied. her movements grew heavier, sloppier, until finally… with Dorothea wedged tightly between her breasts, held in place by the weight of flesh and fabric. She let out a long, satisfied sigh.
“Happy Establishment Day… to me…”
Her eyes fluttered shut. Breathing deepened into snores.
Dorothea struggled, pushing against the warm, sweat-slick walls that pinned her. The air was thick, perfumed with wine and skin, every breath a labor.
“Professor! Manuela! Wake up… please!”
But Manuela was gone, lost to drunken slumber, chest rising and falling in slow, inexorable waves.
Dorothea called until her voice cracked, then whispered, then simply endured. Trapped in the soft, unyielding prison of the woman who had once been her mentor, with no sign of morning or mercy coming anytime soon.
My secret santa gift for @890isasickfreak for Fioracle’s Secret Santa Event!
In case you didnt know “Garreg Mach Establishment Day” Is the same day as Christmas in the FE3H universe, so I thought I’d have it be here.