Hello Patience. Hello Fortitude.
Man. It's impossible to look at those guys and not constantly think about them. And not constantly think about the people inside them boiling in a slurry of digestive, regenerative fluid.
How do you even end up there? It's the literal worst outcome for any wizard, nothing barred. Anything else — if you get any other ending that's 'kay, but if you manage to get eaten you lose. You are not dead but you are over, a mana lollipop for the most vile creature alive until the sun burns out.
Anastasia is so pissed at these people for being so fucking stupid. No one has ever been fed to a maw-mouth at birth. These people took risks themselves, knowing it might lead them to a dark agonizing eternity. Bad trade-offs. Greedy sacrifices. Hesitation to suicide. They should have not done these things. They should have done better.
She is apparently just going to waste the whole class having a panic attack, so instead she turns a scalpel of magic inwards. It's a very short spell — "I do not see it. It was never there. What are you talking about?" — disaffected certainty, followed by a bump of bewildered skepticism on the third clause.
Her mind is going to refuse to notice whatever-it-was for the next hour and a half, so instead she looks at the metric fuckton of mals. Yeah nope. Maybe three out of five can't pierce her blind spots. Maybe she can stack more shells of concealment atop her affinity. She could alchemize some, trade for others. She could for some duration cover herself so thoroughly that only the most esoteric of mals could even look at her straight. She would still just get trampled to death.
She places the textbook on her desk, cracks it open. Flicks through the first blank pages, settles her cheek on the page marked 2 and stares at page 1. It's a forward, listing off the updates in this edition, the contributions of various enclaves, the names of wizards lost during research, the positive reception the book has received...
"Hey there, big guy," she whispers into the paper. "Do you ever think about doing an editing run on yourself? You must know your words on a way deeper level than anyone else. The pages people skim because they're just so dense. The sentences that confuse or repeat or trail. Every pride and fault of your extremely lengthy text. I'd bet a million dollars that you'd do better writing for us than the gigabrain enclave craphats."
She doesn't think this one's awake, but there's a giant fist clenching around her stomach. She's so nervous she's going to vomit, so she tries to talk instead.