Cursey's Accessories

[The following is an original short story featuring my OC, Cursey, as a giant in a fantasy book. Content includes captivity; transformation; shrinking; destruction/rampage/crush; ass/sitting; breasts/breastheld; tinies as clothes; breath vore; god-like; nudity.]

Two walls of soldiers collided at the vanguard. Steel weapons clashed against each other as metal boots stampeded across the dividing creek. The frontlines turned into a frenzy as enemy sought enemy, each encounter announced with a roaring attack. Arrows flew fast overhead, magic spells boomed in the ranks, and mounted beasts thrashed their way forward. It was another fantastical, wide-scale battle – one of hundreds waged in a war between the elven and human kingdoms.

That grand scale, however, diminished quickly from the perspective of a distant, uninterested spectator – a reader that had grown bored with the fiction in her hands, and had decided to twist the tale to her tastes. The words beneath her hazy eyes and spellcasting finger transformed for her, from ink and paper into a tangible world, where her downward stare into the novel translated into a tired glare angled at the arrangement of soldiers in block-shaped formations. No longer an outside observer, Cursey had willed herself as a new plot point, an element that would suddenly overtake the little story, beginning with her unprecedented arrival above the battlefield.

In all of the realm’s fantasies, nothing compared to Cursey’s scale, a height that eclipsed the sun and broke through clouds. Without warning, a titan was among them, appearing in media res upon their narrative, debuting with only the fanfare of exasperated reactions to her presence. Those on the outskirts of battle were the first to hark upon the witch, while those enthralled in the fight were less likely to be distracted – until the first of her mighty movements unfolded, a step to the side that shuddered the ground and put a pause to the violence. Elves and humans alike turned their attention skyward as they realized the sheer length of her shadow had covered their conflict; they gawked at her gloomy demeanor, a dismissive expression countering their deep-gutted concern, every armored unit paling beneath the colossal figure that came equipped in merely a purple sweater and a black dress. Her tights-wearing legs were taller and sleeker than any tower, equipped with fortress-sized loafers that imposed upon the flanks of each army, aimed forward with a foreboding weight pressed into the toelines. Their ranks were largely kept in-order beneath Cursey, not because of military discipline, but because they were stunned and staggered, locked in-place by the unknown intention of her interruption.

“Humans versus elves… No points for originality,” Cursey dimly remarked on their conflict, her comment bellowing louder than any of the calls from army commanders. She muffled a yawn while descending closer to the battlefield, sitting on her haunches and bending more forward so that she could more conveniently count the mass of soldiers below. “Thousands were involved – in a trite, predictable battle. But I have more creative plans for all of you to play a part in…~”

Cursey lifted her index finger, from which arcane energies charged at the tip. She performed a swirling motion, a slow spiral that captivated her medieval audience’s attention – humans especially were hypnotized, while the elves’ keener sense of magic instinctively warned them to retreat; it was the former that Cursey thus targeted first, aiming her spell towards an infantry block of human soldiers that stood still in their array. They braced themselves, expecting to guard against an evocation, but what was to be cast was something entirely different.

A transparent-purple ray of light was then beamed from Cursey’s finger down into the formation of soldiers, creating a flat, wide-scoped curtain of color that she shined steadily from left to right. The effect scanned every row and column of warriors, including their equipment and mounts, passing without bloodshed or violence – a spell that caused no injury, but instead crystalized all that was within its glow. Too late did any subsequent soldiers realize that the witch was turning them into amethyst, frozen stiff exactly as they had been posed, covered completely in purple stone; some scrambled to escape, but Cursey’s sweep was all-encompassing and too quick to outrun. In just seconds, the block was subdued – a motionless scene of shock and horror, a moment captured in glistening amethyst.

The spell was cast for only that long and for only that many, paused so that Cursey could examine the results. While she leaned forward and blinked over the purple square of soldiers, the surrounding humans broke formation and spilled every way outward, a panic that generals struggled to control and take lead over. Cursey was in no rush after them, idly reviewing the amethystized subjects and seemingly content with their quality. She plucked an individual unit out from the lot, choosing a horse-mounted knight to inspect more closely; like looking over an inch-tall figurine, the character was completely frozen, that even his banner-flag was hard and unwavering. But he was not an object – still soulful and aware, the character was alive yet inanimate, silently terrified of the casual way he and his mount were twisted between black-nailed fingertips high off the ground. There was no reassurance when he saw Cursey’s faint, nearly-unnoticeable smile, for there was darkness in her expression; she was fine with his outcome, as with all the others that were cursed, and so her other hand began the spell again with another series of circles.

“Try to pose aesthetically, please,” Cursey quietly asked of her victims, otherwise emotionless as she spread amethystization across the shambled army. “Though, I suppose frozen poses of panicking is a certain kind of aesthetic…” With unbroken nonchalance, the beam was cast over another wide selection of soldiers, capturing humans that were desperately trying to run from her reach.

The magical task at hand was no challenge for Cursey, transpiring as she had expected it to, all the hysteria included. Both sides of the frontlines scattered miserably to find cover; those deeper in the ranks were rapidly being reorganized, retreating into new positions to adapt around the colossal witch. She eyed them occasionally, subtly amused by the reactions – cavalry stampeding aside, fliers taking to the air, clerics chanting for divine protection – but she failed to recognize the congregation of mages hidden directly under her, nor did she predict their plot to undermine her with a spell powered by them all.

“...Hh?” Cursey winced, feeling a sting, then a definite burn – a pin-needle pain on her left ass cheek. The sharpness sprung her, “Agh!! Fire?!” Her beaming spell was interrupted, and the amethystized knight in her pinch of fingers was dropped loose, left to crash among grounded soldiers – fallen, but entirely unbroken. It was the least of Cursey’s concerns; cradling forward, she leered back behind her where smoke strung upwards from the seat of her dress. The circle of elven mages responsible were revealed to her as she turned, their magics combined to create fireballs large enough to singe her clothes. “They can do that in this universe?” she bemoaned. “Damn. I should’ve finished the book…”

Before more of her dress could be lit aflame, Cursey responded by taking a complete seat where she was, firmly planting her rear down into the wetlands. The mages, caught mid-casting of another fireball spell, were prompted to scatter – not all ran fast enough, however, and found themselves smothered under the dark ceiling, crushed into the creekbed that conveniently snuffed the embers of their initial hit. The quake of Cursey sitting was staggering, preventing any efforts the mages might have made to regroup and attack again, yet that was only one part of her retaliation against the elves. A direct attack was charged: not magic, but a mundane fist, coiled at shoulder-height and then spiked into the army–

Booooom!! The strike was swift like the wind but as heavy as a mountain. The impact of Cursey’s punch was a more violent tremor than her sitting, launching debris – earth, soldiers, and weaponry – into a cloud that rose to her wrist. Her expression was just as unforgiving; those tripped in the radius of her attack were then struck by the slide of her hand, smeared over the battlefield in a single, dismissive gesture. Suddenly, the elves were in worse disarray than their human counterparts, but like their enemies, they too were a target of Cursey’s spell, prepared once again and pointed at their side of the conflict.

No shield or magic could defend against the amethystization. As a field of elves was cursed into statues, both armies spread far and thin away from the witch, a pitiful attempt at reducing the vast numbers being added to her collection. But as it had been proven that she was not totally invulnerable, there was a false-hope that they could still swarm and ward her away. Mounted units from both sides began an ascent on the colossal, a raid-like operation that saw riders of all types make strides onto Cursey in pursuit of some weak-point. Humans that saddled drakes used their large reptiles to skitter up into her skirt, climbing the fabric of her leggings with surprising speed; pegasi flyers circled her torso, from where the elven riders attacked with offensive spells; griffon archers focused on her head and neck, flying high to target areas that they assumed would be open for an assault.

The brave maneuvers, however, amounted to a minor pestering. It was enough to bother Cursey out of her spellcasting – after half the grounded units were made into amethyst – but only for mere moments, as she aptly addressed the invasion on her body with a disgruntled attitude. As a flock of pegasi flew in front of her face, she ruined their formation with a burst of exhaled air, a wind more powerful than any of their spells. She then lurched forward onto her knees, sitting upwards so she could scratch away the drakes that were itching up to her thighs, perhaps the most annoying of all the approaches. A shake of her head denied the griffon riders from coming too close; the whipping of her long hair was a counterattack itself, ensnaring the winged-beasts in her many tangles. All together, the raid from two armies earned just a groan and hiss of frustration, and a moment afterwards, she was casting the spell from her fingertip once again, amesthystizing the fallen around her.

With that wave of mounted units defeated, it appeared hopeless for the elves and humans to possibly thwart the witch, but heads turned elsewhere to the sky when they heard the roar of a terrifying beast flying up above. A wide shadow skimmed across the scrambled soldiers, soaring past with mighty wings, the sun glistening off of a spectrum of colored scales. Awe captured the hearts of those below as they reckoned with the arrival of a dragon – a dragon-rider, the beast bound to the directions of a hero that was half-human, half-elven. It bellowed again as it peaked in the air, boasting a flare from its snout as the rider lifted his lance high, a gesture that challenged Cursey with full confidence.

“What is that squeaking…?” Cursey wondered aloud, ears twitching and head turning in search of the dragon – a story element she had been expecting, unsurprised when she eventually spotted it. To her, the debut was not so stellar, for the dragon was the scale of a toy; though bigger than any of the other mounts, it still earned a mere blink of a reaction.  “Oho, looks like a protagonist is here,” she scoffed while pausing her spell. “Right when you were needed most – very typical.”

The hero’s timing was correct, but the context was all wrong. He had intended to intervene in the human-elf war, to put a stop to the fighting and unite the nations against a common threat. Instead, he discovered the battlefield dominated by a completely foreign foe, yet  no less was he determined to resolve the conflict on behalf of both armies. His dragon looped up and then forward, charging ahead at the gigantic enemy, lance held steady as he darted into Cursey’s overbearing visage.

“Hah…” Cursey squinted at the creature, small but swift. Her huff of air would not be enough to blow him off-course, not the same as it had been with the other mythical mounts. She curled her head aside, flinching like avoiding a wasp – but not fast enough, for the tip of the lance slashed her cheek in a slice of flight. A thin, red line of an injury emerged, just under her right eye; “Tsk… Just another paper cut,” she said under her breath, sliding a knuckle over the little wound, “but that’s just your opening attack, isn’t it…?”

Indeed, the dragon-rider had spun back around after the dashing cut, keeping close to the giant so that he might strike again swiftly. Behind the dangling forest of her hair, the hero spoke to his mount – an order for it to begin a fiery breath. The plan was to set her whole head ablaze with a sweeping flame, but Cursey expected exactly that, instinctively maneuvering herself around and rising away from the ground of the battlefield. In a twist of motion, she turned to face the dragon-rider, an ascent that acted as its own attack; before the dragon could unleash its fire, it had to first dodge the huge bosom that was careening towards them from below, a threat that could very well knock them out of the sky, or entrap them in its canyon-like cleavage. It was just narrowly avoided with a daring dive in the air, near enough that the gale of such massive movement threw turbulence to their getaway flight.

It was after correcting course that the dragon-rider was dawned upon by Cursey’s marvelous height, her form no longer made short by kneeling low. Her dull expression glared downwards at where he hovered at chest-level, with almost enough pressure from her murky eyes to make his dragon sink. The hero’s confidence wavered, realizing then how outmatched he and his mount were; similarly was Cursey casting her own judgment of the two, reading them not as opponents or even obstacles, but as something precious – a glimmering new accessory.

Cursey’s hand was lifted faster than the dragon-rider had considered, and before he could redirect his mount, he was pointed upon by a cold finger, the tip of which was as broad as his mythic beast. A spell resonated from the digit, and the hero knew he was the target; he pulled back on the dragon’s reins and called to it again to respark its fire, but too suddenly were they attacked first – not by a beam of purple light, but by the finger itself, barreling into their position in a swirl that caught the dragon by its tail in a twist, plucked out of the sky to become wrapped around the finger’s length.

On contact, the transfusion began – amethystization spread rapidly over the dragon that had been made bound to Cursey’s finger, claiming its legs, its hide, and its wings. The hero urged his mount to fly free, but before long, he was struggling in his saddle to avoid the creeping crystals that were climbing his boots and trousers. No effort, however, could stop the spell from claiming them, a process Cursey watched closely with her finger arced in front of an eye, curious as to what kind of pose her new accessory would be frozen in forever.

“...It’s a bit tight,” Cursey complained of the amethyst ring adorning her index finger, having no remark towards the intricate details of the dragon and its rider. Her hand stretched and curled, flashing the accessory at different angles, admiring its sheen and the story its shape told. Other fingers twiddled the ring and adjusted its placement near her knuckle, and once comfortable, she flashed it to herself one last time, almost grinning at the miniature sculpture. “But, it is charming, isn’t it? A fascinating fashion statement~”

And it was merely the first of Cursey’s accessories, a prelude to what she had in mind for the armies she had amesthystized. Her attention turned towards them, a field of twinkling purple stones and the remainder that had yet to be transformed. A cold wind blew over those that were still trying to flee the battlefield, a chill that warned them of Cursey’s spell charging once more. The dragon-rider’s valiance had only succeeded at stalling the witch from her objective, and so from the finger he was permanently perched upon, he could only watch as she pointed onward at the elves and humans, capturing them as additional tokens to her amethyst collection.

Once all souls had been made still, Cursey exhaled, and subtly smiled. Her eyes sparkled with inspiration like the magic in her fingertips that tickled with another spell. “This should be plenty,” she said, “to start with…”

War had begun, and a vital battle was underway. The human capital was under siege – invaded by a fleet of elven airships that hovered high above the grand lake, closing-in on the pristine castle that stood proudly upon a tall peninsula. Elemental bolts were launched from the approaching ships, and likewise did the castle’s walls respond with storms of burning ballista bolts and blasts from cannons. While other battles were being fought across both kingdoms, none were as critical nor as large in scale, a battle so important as to be overseen personally by the two rival queens themselves.

The scene was unmistakably the climax of the story – the scene Cursey had been looking for. While the armies were enthralled with the action and drama, she made her arrival at the lake, treading the shin-high water and towards the rear-guard of the airship fleet. She was discovered by those ships first, soldiers and captains looking away from the siege and back at where she approached from, hearing the crashing waves of her strides and grasping the sheer size at which she stood at. Their surprise was coldly countered by her glazed expression, her eyes looking past their ships with disinterest, seeking out instead the castle that they swarmed. She debuted without a word, but her immaculate image spoke to the spectators, presenting herself as naked – almost entirely nude, except for the peculiar fashion that weaved around her body.

A lithe finger stroked a chain that went over her shoulder, one of several purple-stone threads that crisscrossed her features. What she wore had been made from the previous scene – an exotic suit of amethyst chains, donned as numerous bracelets and anklets, rings and baubles, and insultingly-sparse coverage. Strings went under and around her loose breasts, with ends linked to her nipples that dangled with every motion; chains were tied around her hips and crotch, functioning as bare-wire underwear that dug into her flesh between steps. Each accessory shimmered uniquely, because these were no ordinary chains and gems – elves and humans stolen from the battlefield were intricately linked together to create the special statement of fashion, their bodies frozen as they had been, all connected by a crafting spell cast by Cursey. Wearing nothing else but that arcane assortment, the witch’s intentions were implied to all those that comprehended the truth of her body jewelry, that these armies, too, would be interrupted and repurposed as living accessories.

“Guh… Itchy…” Cursey quietly complained, scratching beneath a chain that wrapped under a boob. Though the style was certainly striking, it was lacking in function – that was the most of Cursey’s concern as she waded onward between ships, unphased by the forces that obstructed her. Elven artillery was directed against her, slinging magical attacks that sizzled and zapped her bare skin, but without clothes to catch fire, she was practically immune. The fact that they floated in her way was more irksome than any assault; “I don’t have the patience for this… I’m just gonna clear a path.”

From a wave of Cursey’s hand, a magical effect resonated outward. A line of airships in front of her, which had sailed in her path obstructively, were grabbed by her spell – marked as targets for the curse she had prepared. Before captains could call to attack the naked spellcaster, the airships creaked and swayed forebodingly, a shiver of change that the elves were slow to understand. They saw from the decks how their fellow airships seemingly became distant and spread apart; in truth, the vessels were shrinking, quickly dwindling to a fraction of their scale, a size that made them even more pitiful floating before the giant.

And so a way forward had been made, as though a column of the fleet had simply disappeared – reduced so small, Cursey could barely see them as specks, curious as she was to see the results. She leaned forward to relocate some of the shrunken vessels, but none were big enough to truly examine; in that attempt, she failed to recognize an airship inhaled by her breath, nor the others that were subsequently blown away by the exhale. While the elves endured the harsh weather, Cursey’s eyes blinked overhead, showing disappointment that the spell had made them too tiny – far too small to be used meaningfully as accessories.

That, however, was hardly a loss to her, as plenty of other prizes remained to be picked. With the way forward opened, Cursey strolled ahead to the peninsula; diminished ships cracked and popped against her wave of a body as she proceeded, yet no amount of destruction distracted the witch from her destination. Her stare was set on the human castle, a monument of fantastical architecture that shuddered in her encroaching shadow, its inhabitants paralyzed in and along the fortified walls as they watched her pale-skinned image overtake the vista of the lake. Indeed, all combat had been stalled, as everyone involved was awestruck by her looming arrival and the amazing magic she so-freely expressed.

Most dazzled of all by the witch was the human queen, the ruler that had overseen the battle from up above at the tallest tower of the castle. She stood at the edge of a balcony, surrounded by royal guards that all equally trembled looking up at the colossal woman; all were belittled by how short their kingdom’s castle compared to Cursey, the high point at which they were stationed only reaching up to her crotch – a forest of dark hairs bordered by amethyst chains. In that closer proximity, the details of her hugeness were enthralling and foreboding, doubtlessly superior to any of the castle’s features.

Clearly outmatched on every front, the human queen submitted to desperation. While Cursey knelt lower to analyze the castle, the queen threw herself to the balcony’s ledge, arms raised together to signal a plea. She called out to the gigantic stranger, begging – so, too, did her guards pray for mercy, joining her in the only effort that could possibly appease Cursey.

“Hm? Have I been misinterpreted…?” Cursey wondered, distinguishing the worshiping behavior. She crouched even lower, resting a knee along the peninsula’s beach; she leveled herself eye-to-eye with the queen and her guards, though the dynamic was overbearingly in her favor. She listened to their story, not with her own ears, but via her understanding of the queen’s character. “...So you believe I’m some sort of savior for the humans. Or, at least, you wish I was. Thus far, that might appear true…” She scanned behind herself, where elven airships remained baffled as to the whereabouts of those shrunken vessels. “I’m not really here to pick sides… but…”

Cursey bit her lip as she crawled backwards, receding into the lake and into the hovering airships that awaited her. The bite of her lip and the sparkle in her eyes were noticed by the captains, correctly inferring her mischievous intent; Cursey had decided to play along with the humans’ hopes, enamored with the excuse to have more destructive fun. She first challenged a flying galleon that was behind her, pointed forwardly with a row of cannons at the ready – all aimed and steadied at her chain-dressed ass, the mass that she presented them with. A nervous command came from the captain, a shaken voice that hesitated to commence an attack on the gigantic derriere; the bombardment began, releasing magically-infused shells that exploded gloriously against the hills of flesh. But when the smoke of the assault cleared, it was revealed that the ass was unbeaten, barely scathed with a reddened color and already retaliating with a great push of movement– cckkrrshhhh! The hull was splintered by the collision and the bow knocked upwards, causing a tilt to the vessel that saw everyone onboard stumbling and tripping. Yet Cursey’s butt remained healthy and hoisted, rocking into the airship again, nearly ripping it in half as debris and overboard sailors trickled down its roundness.

“...” Wordlessly, Cursey continued with another thrust – seemingly unbothered by her humiliating method of attack, neither displeased nor aroused. Her fun would not have lasted long with the airship as it quickly crumbled and lost altitude; another firm crash from her ass sentenced the vessel to a slow sink into the lake, descending out of the sky and into the restless water. With just her rear-end, one of the elves’ proudest galleons was undone, an example for the others of what ruinous fate was ahead of them.

Cursey was still silent when she rose to full height. The fleet was in a scramble of repositioning maneuvers, all trying to take the best angle – either to wage an attack, or otherwise to stay safe out of her range. All were within her reach, however, and she coyly proved that by grabbing an airship from underneath to be pulled out of position. It was a smaller ship that fit snugly into both palms together– crunch! Her hands mercilessly pressed into each other, instantly crushing the vessel into vertical flatness. The wreckage spilled as her hands peeled apart, too broken to stay afloat in the air, discarded into the lake. All the while, Cursey’s boredom was constant, and so rather than keep toying with the scattering fleet, she refocused herself onto a singular airship, identified by its lavishly-colored sails and royal elven insignias.

Captaining that galleon was the elf queen herself, having been leading the siege in-person to motivate her navy into full-force. Since Cursey’s interruption, however, her plot had been up-turned; she was desperately setting new directions, all while struggling to maintain order and morale. She sailed her ship upwards, hovering higher in hopes of escaping the witch’s wrath, but as that foe stomped nearer, it became clear how hopelessly slow they were at floating out of reach, most promptly when Cursey’s gaze leaned level with the main deck, eerily scanning the crew in search of one special target.

“...There you are.” Her eyes locked onto the queen, a subtle glare that sent a shockwave of emotion through the ship. Never before had the elven ruler felt such a chill of powerlessness, all of her confidence and color drained in the face of bag-heavy eyes. She had just the strength to declare an order to the crew, that all magic of the galleon be rerouted to defenses – to create a barrier around the ship and stay protected from Cursey, for at least another minute. The force field was manifested just moments before a giant hand came clawing forward to claim it; sailors flinched and fell when the fingers slammed into the barrier, but were relieved when it seemed her grip was not strong enough to break through.

But that was no matter for Cursey, who was actually impressed with the elves’ resistance. Destroying the ship, after all, had not been her intention; preserving most of it was her plan, and she was content to see it scaled down appropriately before taking the ship herself. The barrier could prevent her hand, but it was vulnerable to a spell; with a swirl of Cursey’s finger, she recast the same curse from before, invoking a shrinking effect over the galleon. She watched the vessel, originally wide enough to overfill Cursey’s arms, gradually dwindle before her – while the crew and queen saw the giant grow even bigger, to the extent that just one of her green irises was drastically larger than the ship itself, an idle blink threatening enough to blow the sails off-course. Little did they realize from their perspectives how tiny they had become, for all it mattered was that they were a flying speck compared to Cursey.

She was specifically delicate in trying to pinch the shrunken galleon between the pads of two fingers, which rose like krakens on either side of the airship. The barrier lasted only for an instant before popping like a glass bubble, completely overpowered and staggering those mages that tried to maintain it. That next second saw everyone stumbling as the galleon was ripped from its path and drawn suddenly closer to the witch – an inspection that earned Cursey’s satisfaction.

“Perhaps I could be giving you to the human queen as a prize,” Cursey suggested aloud. Her volume was too huge for the elves to understand, but the grim tone resonated without doubt. “That would be a whole other story…~ Interesting, but not what I’m here for today. Sorry.”

That shallow apology was mumbled just as a different spell was pronounced from Cursey’s fingertips. The sailors had been in an uproar finding anywhere to take shelter, but there was no to hide from amethystization, a take-over of purple stone that spread rapidly over the shrunken airship. The jagged color crept like frost that froze everything and everyone in place; devotees of the queen tried using magic to protect her, but too small were they to withstand, sacrificing themselves in vain as the amethyst surrounded them. The queen was the last to be petrified, left to see the horror of her personal naval crew completely defeated – transformed into the material of a trinket, her rulership the reason they were doomed.

A sparkle signaled that the process was done. Cursey pinched the newly-amethystized ship, testing its solidity and weight – all perfect to her standards, for she intended a particularly meager purpose for the queen’s personal vessel. The gem was put in its place: the spike-shaped stud of her nose piercing, a minor but crucial detail of Cursey’s fashion. Crafting magic fused the amethyst airship around the spike, posed to be stabbed through the hull so that it was properly perched; a few twists angled the fresh accessory to her liking, and with it propped there, Cursey breathed victoriously – an inhale and exhale of cyclonic proportions relative to the shrunken, frozen elves.

With the royal airship captured and made into an accessory, Cursey conclusively turned back around towards the castle of humans, where the capital was sounding off celebrations. The elven fleet was dispersing, having witnessed the crown of their kingdom be diminished and humiliated; the siege was undone, and human soldiers were seeing them off with a final bombardment, cheering with every pop of a cannon. With great gratitude, they took to worshiping Cursey, bowing to and applauding her magnificently naked form standing in the lake. So much admiration, yet it washed ineffectively against her – she huffed with half-amusement, thinking them all so foolish for believing her to be some savior.

“If you wish to be so thankful,” Cursey mused, “then you won’t mind if I claim a little reward for myself…”

Her voice echoed over the castle ominously, sinking despair into the crowds that formed outside and along the walls. From the point of the peninsula, Cursey spread her arms, a pose that almost seemed welcoming, as though her gigantic self was wanting to embrace the capital against her bareness. It was another spell, and when her palms turned upwards, its effect was immediately noticed. The entirety of the castle shook – hundreds fell where they were, overtaken by shockwaves that threatened to crumble pillars and arches – then jolted from the ground, lifted off the earth and levitated into the air in a slow ascent. The queen’s highly perch, originally level with the witch’s crotch, was taken closer to chest-height, a new but ever-belittling perspective; more intimidating than Cursey’s chain-clad breasts, however, was her unflinching and callous visage, unbothered by the peril she was perpetuating. To lift the whole royal castle into the sky was no feat at all for Cursey, and it was only the first step of what she had planned.

Guards and soldiers rushed back to battle positions to unleash a counter-attack on Cursey, but it was all too little to interrupt the next spell she was casting. They found their projectiles bursting before reaching the giant – they struck an invisible barrier, which had encapsulated the castle perfectly and kept its shape in-tact. Keepers of the castle fled to the outer gates, only to discover they were imprisoned by the same force of magic, preventing them from even a desperate escape. All were trapped for the next stage, which began with Cursey swirling her finger like she had before; cursed like the airships, the castle and its barrier shrunk to some pitiful size, the exact measurement blurred by Cursey’s gigantic scale, but ultimately taking the proportions of yet another trinket for her to boast.

“...That’s about right,” Cursey said of the shrunken castle, retrieving the location with the pull of just one finger. Marble-like in her possession, it was possible for her to do anything with the human capital, but her mind was already set on what purpose it would serve. It was the final piece to her collection, and the center of her exotic fashion of body chains: a pendant to lay over her heart, magically attached to a string of amethystized soldiers. It bobbed upon her chest, shaken when she then turned and curved, relishing the completed look with a half-lit smile; each little motion was a sickening spin for the shrunken inhabitants, quakes that would only become harsher in their future as a necklace. Cursey declared their defeat with a squeeze – groping both breasts with the barriered-castle in between, tightly enough that it vanished into that plush canyon, reappearing when she ungrasped herself. Her exhale washed over the charm; “A perfect fit, I think…”

After having stolen the castle, its denizens, and the queen herself, Cursey plainly turned the other direction and began her trek out of the lake. The scene she left behind was an upended mess, both humans and elves scrambling from the event and without the order of their respective rulers. Without the castle atop it, the peninsula was decrowned, and the capital city was stripped of its key feature, an unearthed spot that citizens surrounded in awe and horror; the airship fleet had scattered in all directions, every captain uncertain where to sail or how to proceed. All attention had turned straight to Cursey, the giant that could very well decide their destinies – if she had chosen so.

But Cursey’s departure was as subdued as her ego, a quiet parting that was far short of a grand finale. Into the fog that lurked above the lake, out to the horizon – Cursey disappeared in much the way she had arrived, simply written out of the story, gone from that world of writing.

That world, however, continued to tick onwards like any reality. The plot had completely diverged from how it was inscribed because of so many key characters having gone missing. Without two queens warring against one another, the humans and elves had no further reason to fight – the feud was suddenly concluded, and in its place began a budding era of peace and sovereignty. Had the protagonist remained, another series of books would have seen the two nations in turmoil, but Cursey’s interloping wrote a different ending, ironically having settled the fantasy conflicts. In that way, their world was over – no longer bound to any interesting tale, it would inevitably become still, drab, and lifeless.

“Euhg… What was I thinking…?” Cursey hissed at her reflection in the mirror. It was the first time she could see for herself how her peculiar fashion choices fitted her; disappointment was sharp in her eyes. “This looked so much better in my head…”

She looked critically at every chain and charm she had adorned, something negative to point out about every detail. The longer she looked at herself, the steeper she slouched and the lower she hung her arms, posturing herself poorly for review. The strings of amethystized soldiers proved to be gritty and itchy on her skin; she pinched at the tightest points for relief, revealing a pink-redness behind the frozen bodies. Her fattier features were particularly highlighted – a fact she found not-so-flattering, unamused to see any excess plushness pushing out over the chains, which sometimes hid entire lengths of the shimmering wire. While adjusting some strands around her hips, she winced at a pubic hair being pulled, then groaned over the strictness that was in the crack of her ass. Exotic, but also unconventional; it took so many captive souls to create her unique dress of accessories, but after everything, she was starting to have second thoughts.

“Stupid me… Ugly after all… No one wants to see a creep tied-up in something like this… The frozen people just look disturbing now… and you can’t even tell that’s an airship on my nose stud… Nobody should have to see this… What a terrible story.”