Panting, you collapse into the door of room 321. It’s a madhouse in those hallways at lunchtime; you barely scampered away from no less than 4 would be predators! Nobody seems to care that you haven’t had a moment to rest, or look over your course materials for tomorrow!
“Um… Hi.” You look up and see a girl you’ve never met before. She’s got strange purple hair and a very slim figure; she looks just like an anime character.
Startled, you say your thought aloud “Who are you?”
“Failiel. You?”
“Gia? This is my room?”
“Gia? Oh, I see—Evelyn’s new roommate. She thought it was Gina.”
“Oh.” Why does everyone mix up your name!?
“Evelyn’s in room 312. This is room 321. My room.” She gives you an amused smile. “A bit dyslexic?”
Doh! You went in the wrong room! “No,” you explain, “I was just trying to avoid the feeding frenzy.”
Failiel looks suddenly at her delicate wristwatch: “Lunch! I almost forgot! Gia, let me show you something really unique. It’s called ‘Mage Vore.’”
“Mage Vore? What’s that?” The more people you meet, the more ignorant you feel.
“Well, see, I’m a mage; I do magic. And I’m hungry… That’s the vore part.”
You’re already hastily fumbling with the doorknob.
It wasn’t locked when you came in…
“I’ve got to say,” Failiel says casually, “you really look like quite a treat. You might want to think about some clothes until you can fend people off ‘cuz you look pretty darn inviting naked.”
You look over your shoulder. She’s pulling a huge cauldron into the middle of the room!!!
You start frantically tugging at the door when you realize: she said magic? Safe to bet that door’s rigged somehow, and it’s not going anywhere. You turn to face her and find that the cauldron, now filled with water, is just starting to boil.
“Are you crazy?! Everybody here is on some freakish eating frenzy!”
“You’ll get used to it,” she coos. “Once you start eating students for three squares a day, it’s the only thing that fills you up.”
And then you realize you’re about a foot off the floor. With a groan you float helplessly as Failiel directs you with a slender ivory wand like some remote controlled puppet. You glide over the pot and hover there for a moment, feeling the heat and steam rise over you. You have a passing thought that this might make an erotic sort of therapy.
And then Failiel abruptly puts the wand away. You drop with a splash into the hot water, curling into a protective ball as you feel the hot-cold shock wash over you. Your temperature begins to rise rapidly, and you’re suddenly frantic; the water is boiling hot! But your captor puts a slender hand on your forehead and whispers something in your ear that sounds vaguely like ‘applesauce,’ and you drift off to sleep.
Failiel must have stewed you for several hours, and then had you for dinner; you awaken in the nurse’s office to find that it’s already dark outside. Your stomach’s rumbling—you haven’t had a bite to eat since Carol so long ago—but it might be safer to turn in for the night and face the day tomorrow.