Moonlight Melody

Cyrus Drake was a stoic man, and was prepared for anything. He was a Ravenwood Professor; the myth one at that, the school that is literally about turning myths into reality; fiction into nonfiction. He knew to expect the unexpected.

Unfortunately, there was one constant interference that disturbed all notions of "expected" and "order": Jasmine FireBlade.

Here she was, in his classroom, with what appeared to be some sort of very strange...box?

"FireBlade," he starts curtly, "why in the Spiral have you brought a metal box to my classroom?"

The pyromancer raised a confused eyebrow. "A box?"

"Yes. A box. I care not for your Visionary or Ravenwood Graduate statuses, I do not tolerate nonsense or people who waste my time." He explains to her in exasperation.

Jasmine only blinked. "You...actually don't know what this is?"

Cyrus had to keep himself from growling. "It's a waste of my time, that's what it is. I have to teach a bunch of wannabe conjurers soon, so if you could kindly leave my classroom, that would just be excellent." He made sure to gesture to the exit while he was at it.

She sighed. "This isn't a box. This is a machine. To be more specific; a laundry machine," She turned to look at him expectantly. "I thought that you of all people might know about it."

Jasmine smirked, blue eyes full of fiery deviousness. "Ohohoho, you're not ever living that incident down..."

He continued to watch and listen to the pyromancer, dumbfounded, as she started heading towards the exit. As she did so, she yelled, "Oh, I left you a note on how to use it! NowI'vereallygottarunyouknowArcanumandotherworldsa vingstufftodoalsoFluffyokaybye!" She was out before he could understand a single word she just said.

But he noticed a white sheet of paper on top of the strange machine. The top read, "Instructions".

He shifted his gaze to the rest of the paper, only to be greeted by the horror of these words: "You have to do it yourself."

There was also some more junk about not washing certain colors together, having to pour something called "detergent" in, how to dry them, and a bunch of other nonsense.

However, Cyrus Drake was unable to sleep that night. For that one sentence still haunted him forever.

"You have to do it yourself."

He had to explain to a class of conjurer wannabes the next day why he messed up the bloodbat summoning demonstration, as well as head to the Headmaster's Office (he was supposed to send people there, not be sent there himself!) and explain why he looked so tired (well, more so than usual) and what was wrong.

He muttered only one name. "FireBlade."