Sarakiel could not find the witch.

Admittedly sleeping in a bit later than she was used to, she woke up to find an empty cottage. At first, she checked outdoors in the half-picked field, the spring and then finally around the entrance to their little hideaway. Checking back in the empty living room, the loud, usually hungry tiny witch would be either demanding food or fed up enough to start making it herself.

With a sigh, Sara turned to look down the hallway. “Maybe she’s sleeping in too?” It was convenient, but she was pretty sure that was not it. The feeling of last night hung low in her stomach. “Ugh… Even after becoming one, I still can’t understand women…”

At the end of the corridor, she tried her best to not even think of the room on the right. Her head stung even though this body did not even experience the trauma.

Looking at the door of the witch’s bedroom, it appeared to still have a slight crack from when she kicked it in with her greaves apparently two years ago. Her head hurt thinking about that too.

“I should check later. She might just be sulking…”

- - - -

The succubus collapsed on her bed again. Blindly reaching for a pitcher, she gasped as she brought the jug to her lips. “Shit.” She threw it across the room, “Empty…”

A haze formed in the room, steam from too much exertion hung low in the tiny cottage living room. After around the fifth time, she started to grow a bit sore and nicked herself a few times with her nails, but she soldiered on. Her hand began to cramp and her clit began to protest from too much rubbing. There was somehow more joy in the exhaustion.

“I…” Her eyes grew heavy in the afterglow, “I haven’t done it this much since I was 14…” As a young boy, he had uncovered his father’s hidden stash of erotic pinups of dwarven women. He could barely walk after that day.

Looking in the mirror yet again, she gave a few more tentative rubs. She locked eyes with the woman on the other side. She appeared hungry, ravenous, even. The fingers were good, but something else would feel even better…

Sara quickly sat up, drenched in sweat, and looked down the hallway. Usually Ashara would come stumbling down the hall complaining about the noise. Sara made sure to be extra loud this time, something that helped push her over the edge much sooner.

With a quick trip outside to fill the pitchers of water she littered the room with, she mustered up some courage left over from her past life and returned to the intersection at the end of the hallway. Intentionally turning her back to the room with the strange creatures, she quickly rapped on the wooden door of the bedroom.

Nothing.

Another quick succession of knocks. Still nothing.

Another way the witch reminded her of her daughter back home, “I’m coming in.”

As expected, the bedroom was empty. The bed was disheveled despite remaining behind such an immaculate pink veil. The gorgeous furniture was left open, various clothes and other fabrics of wild and eccentric colors were strewn about the domicile, fruit peels and baskets used to haul goods to shops formed piles, sometimes intermingling with the clothing.

If she did not know any better, Sara would have thought she was kidnapped by very hungry and wasteful robbers, but even in the short time in her acquaintance, she knew this tracked with the witch’s personality. “How in the twelve hells did she even survive down here?”

Sara began to clean the room. Years spent in battlements hammered into her that a clean space is an efficient space. When you have only a bunk in a space shared with over a hundred other men, you take care of what little you have.

By the time she finished, the room was spotless. It looked like it did when she broke into it the first time. “Better than wasting my time jacking off…” she relented.

“Hey bud! How’s it been goin’?”

Sara looked around the room. The voice that rang in her mind was of such high fidelity, she was certain the witch was right next to her.

“Ashara? Is that you? Where are you?” She cleared her throat and continued much more calmly, “Is everything alright?”

Thankfully, this was a form of magic she did understand. Essential on the battlefield, sending spells were frequently used to update a general and tactician in real time so they may quickly adjust a strategy or request reinforcements. But instead of the usual ‘synaptic static’ as one particular mage called it, this level of quality was quite strange.

“Aww did you miss me? I’m sure you were running around lookin’ for me!”

Suddenly Sara wished she could not hear the witch’s cackling so clearly. “Shut up, foul whore. Where are you?”

“Hmmm…” The low roar of crowded conversation came through, another peculiarity of this call, “Maybe if ya tell me how much you miss me, maybe I’ll tell you!”

The succubus spat on the witch’s floor. She will have to clean that up herself. “Choke and die, bitch.”

“Geeeez! Why are you so saucy today? Succubi can’t even have periods!”

Just the thought of going through that made Sara uneasy. “Just tell me where you are.”

“Wow, not even going to try? Were you always this boring?” With the sound of a heavy door closing, all the background noise was shut out, leaving only the witch’s high pitch voice echoing seemingly through some sort of hallway, “I wasn’t gonna tell you anyways. But I am going to have to apologize for suddenly leaving without saying anything, I got business outside today, should be back tomorrow sometime.”

Between the queasy feeling caused by the sending spell and hearing the shrill mage in her mind, Sara wanted the conversation to end quickly. “And that’s all you wanted to tell me?”

“There was something else…” It felt like the witch was drawing this out on purpose before finally chirping up, “Oh right!” she cleared her throat, “Succubus Sarakiel, as your master, I demand you pick the rest of my vegetables in my field!” A moment passed before she quickly added, “So says your master, Ashara Dulanares.”

The familiar sighed. Not a twinge of magical compulsion overwhelmed her, just exhaustion, “Is this about the tit thing from last night?”

“What?! No!” The witch then switched to saying something to someone Sara could not hear, “Okay, yeah, maybe. I’ll forgive you, just remember: when I’m right, I’m right, okay?”

Sara said nothing, something years of marriage taught her. Her previous life’s experiences were proving to be quite useful today.

“Anyways, get to it! I might even bring ya something nice back if you get it done!”

With a dismissive sigh, the call abruptly ended, leaving the succubus sitting alone on her master’s bed. “Bitch.”

- - - -

Since she was feeling nostalgic, Sara leaned against the well-worn farming hoe to catch a breath and admired the small space she had grown accustomed to.

Looking over the small end of the cavern, it was quite different than how she found it apparently two years ago. Rubbing her temples at that thought, she continued to take in the sights. The tilled field had grown a bit larger, formerly taking only a quarter of the space, it grew to around a third. The painted white fences had remained largely the same, but there must have been some work in doing so since a humid cave like this would destroy any wood structure. The path lined on each side by the fences now had what appeared to be sandstone slabs taken from around the entrance of the cave, providing stepping stones leading up to the quaint cottage. Largely the same, the cozy cabin sat near the end of the cave, painted with a nice matching eggshell white with the trim looking to be a natural looking wood stain. She was unsure what behind it looked like, but she was sure it was the wall of the room with the glass jars. Lastly, the spring opposite to the field also seemed to have grown in size, continuing to bubble up from even further under the ground. Its waters were crystal clear, an enviable font anyone would die to have.

“For a being of pure evil, she knows how to build a home…” Sarakiel admitted. The space got her thinking about Stella, her past self’s wife. Samuel had known many women, but none interested him like her. He did not deserve such an angel. She always surprised him with many doodads and bobbles when he returned from battle, each one more and more novel in design. Sara’s heart began to hurt thinking about her. Stella was quite open to a number of things, but her husband turning into a succubus may be a bridge too far.

Becoming a habit by this point, the succubus sighed. “I’m afraid to find out how much has changed…” She was afraid that she had still not seen the biggest change in such a short time, “But I know one thing I need to change for certain.” Flashes of Merle crossed her mind, filling her with a different kind of burning sensation.

She stood up, not wanting to give into another intense feeling. “I need to keep practicing magic to kill that bastard.” But first, she had to finish the assignment left to her by her prolific master.

The familiar had nearly harvested everything left in the field, but one question hovered in her mind, “Why didn’t the witch just use her magic to pick all this?” Ashara was the textbook definition of lazy, but even one would think that with such power at her fingertips, it would be a cinch. “Maybe she can’t use magic on plants?” Theories rumbled within her mind, but after an already exhausting day, they did not last long. With another shrug, Sara continued her work.

As the daylight above began to shift into moonlight, Sarakiel piled up the last of the harvest into one of many baskets. Manual labor often cleared her mind, something she was glad to find out continued to this life.

At first, she expected something strange to occupy the field like mandragora or some sort of living carnivorous vine, but instead were mundane squash, carrots, potatoes and cucumbers. Aside from what may have been in the stew that had burnt, she had never seen the witch eat anything she grew. “That’s probably why the bitch is so short.” She chuckled to herself.

Without a dedicated place she knew of to put the baskets and with night rapidly approaching, Sara placed them on the porch of the cottage. Monsters did not seem to even come close to this space, despite the goblin nest just outside, so it seemed safe to leave them out overnight. Placing down the last container of goods, something escaped from the rest of the vegetables.

Bending down to pick it up, she examined it closer. A cucumber. Freshly green and rigid, perfectly ripe. Nothing out of the ordinary. But the shape drew her eye to it.

It was perfect.

Long with a slight bend. The thickness of it would be sublime. It looked quite sturdy and seemingly smooth. A wicked thought crossed her mind…

“No!” She snapped upwards, nearly slapping herself with her own breasts, “Let’s just leave that behind! I’ll get it tomorrow!”

She was a woman now, but even after experiencing the joys of the female orgasm, she still had some masculinity left in her. Walking indoors, she wiped the sweat from her brow, “Twelve hells, what a rough day!” Shouting it out, she threw the blanket over the mirror.

Fumbling with the matches, she decided to begin cooking. Tonight would be potato stew, a bit stale from the main ingredient having spent an unsure amount of time sitting in the back of the pantry, but better than having to step outside that door.

---

World notes: Familiars

A familiar is typically a monster that has formed a contract with a witch. Familiars can have a wide range of duties, but the most common one is the acquisition of mana for their masters. Most commonly, familiar contracts are signed to small creatures, something quickly tamable and not unusual to see in villages and cities.

The most popular familiar is a cat. Not unusual to see in high density areas, a number of stray cats belong to witches and draw mana from either humans who they brush up against or other members of its pack. The familiar crest is often placed in a spot hard to find, such as underneath the fur of one of the hind legs, which is the prevailing theory as to why cats bite if one pets it there. If one of these cats are brought into a home, the harvesting of mana occurs at a much more regular rate, mutually benefitting all parties: the owner, the cat and the witch.

More complex familiars exist, but rarely do witches find the time investment and effort of raising more difficult monsters that more often than not lack the camoflage to exist in human societies. Coupled with the highly contested theory of witches being compatible with only one familiar at a given time, no one has ever seen something like an ogre familiar.

Variations of a witch's power over their familiar has been observed, but none is quite sure of the intricacies. Regardless, the familiar seems to have complete autonomy over its own actions and thoughts. Aside from the mana siphoning, which is arguably useful in and of itself, many scholars debate the purpose of a familiar outside of such utility.