Morag’s footsteps thundered down the Hardhaigh Palace halls, patrolling soldiers unsure whether to freeze up and salute or dive for cover, the Grand Inquisitor blazing through with the deepest scowl on her face that any of them had ever seen. Between her bad mood and the heavy bags under her eyes that marked her exhaustion, it was clear that she was in no mood to be interrupted, but found her path blocked by the Jewel of Mor Ardain herself, a fiery beauty with flaming hair and a glamorous dress, and Morag’s closest friend and ally, linked together as Blade and Driver.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Brighid asked, cool as ice, her arms casually crossed underneath her bust that made her the envy of Blades and Drivers everywhere for more reasons than merely her strength.

“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” Morag barked, grinding to a halt and glaring at her as if she were currently her worst enemy. “To see the emperor!”



“Really? That’s too bad. His airship departed an hour ago.” Brighid said casually, Morag gritting her teeth and barely holding in her frustration.

“Then I’ll send a messenger, or beat him there! Now move!” She said with uncharacteristic impatience, but Brighid refused to budge. “This is your fault for not waking me two hours ago in the first place!”



“The emperor has made up his mind. You’re needed elsewhere.”

“How could I possibly be needed in Uraya in our Empire’s time of need!?” Morag said angrily, thrusting out the crumpled piece of paper she had been clutching in her fist. “Reassigned as a dignitary, no less!”

“Uraya is an important ally. The emperor needs somebody he can trust to-”

“This is his idea of forcing me to go on leave, isn’t it? A paid vacation to Uraya!” Morag didn’t wait for her to finish, her brother’s kindly phrased instructions making his intentions clear.

“One that you’re in dire need of.” Brighid’s brow furrowed for the first time at her mistress’s stubbornness. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone ever since the great resettlement began. This is the first night you’ve gotten more than a few hours of sleep in months!”

“Our military needs me!” Morag’s unusually emotional state, brought out by her fatigue and sense of duty, betrayed her. After the Architect had created a massive continent and solved the great nation’s land crisis overnight, it had been a tumultuous time for the Empire, as it had been for every country. Droves of citizens were settling the fertile new lands after their titans landed, but the question of who got what and where was ripe for conflict, and Morag had been quashing said conflicts left and right as well as assisting in allocating military resources and butting heads with the other nations. While things were on the up and up recently, it had been sheer force of will that had kept Morag on her feet during it.

“Wrong, it needed you.” Brighid coldly contradicted her. “Thanks to your efforts, the Empire’s endeavours are proceeding smoothly without further signs of conflict. The others can take it from here. Your brother was simply concerned for you. If you hadn’t collapsed three days ago during a planning session, perhaps you wouldn’t have forced his hand.”

“I’m not a diplomat, Brighid. It’s a waste of my abilities.” Morag shifted tactics after a few seconds pause, unable to come up with a decent counterargument. She had tried to be everywhere and do everything to compensate for their organisation’s deficiencies, but those gaps were rapidly being filled in. Even to her it was conceivable that she could be replaced, but she trusted nobody to get the job done besides herself. “I’m a soldier. I’m best off on the…”

Morag trailed off as her head turned faint and her vision blurred, having burnt out the last of her flame with her fiery temper and mad rush across the palace. The next thing she knew she was in Brighid’s arms and red in the face, glancing around and breathing a sigh of relief that her subordinates had chosen to flee.

“We’ll discuss this further in my quarters.” She said reluctantly, being helped back to her feet and having her hand held for most of the way back.

“I still intend to protest to the emperor.” Morag said stubbornly, removing her hat and dropping herself onto her bed. “There must be a better use of my-”

“You’ll never convince him.” Brighid shut her down. “What you should instead focus on is preparing for your new duties.”

“...fine.” said Morag, feeling unusually helpless. She supposed that she wasn’t worth much to the Empire if she ran herself so ragged she couldn’t even walk straight without her Blade’s help. Already it was hard to keep her eyes open, and without the pressure of duty hanging over her, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep herself awake.

“Did you read the whole letter?” Her partner asked, Morag shaking her head, slightly embarrassed. “Then do so now.”

Morag flattened out the paper, going pale as she read the fine print.

“What’s all this about dresses?” She asked weakly.

“You’ll be travelling to Uraya not as the Grand Inquisitor, but as a member of the royal family. As such, you’ll need to meet Uraya’s definition of a proper lady. Thus, the dress.” the beautiful Blade said in a matter of fact tone of voice.

Morag made a choking noise.



“You are a woman, are you not, Lady Morag?” Brighid’s lips curled slightly upwards, and Morag blushed.



“I certainly don’t recall pretending to be a man.” She crossed her arms defensively.

“If you were to arrive at Uraya as you are right now, they might say otherwise.” Brighid said, and Morag stiffened.

“But is this, uh, makeover, as the emperor puts it, truly necessary?” Morag almost pleaded. “Surely my uniform should suffice. Surely none could question my dignity as I am right now!”

“The culture of Uraya and particularly their nobility differs quite greatly from our own, Lady Morag. They value femininity quite greatly, and would see your current appearance as nothing less than an insult. Even worse, a threat, that you would come to them in full military dress acting like a man.” Brighid explained patiently. “As such, I’ve been placed in charge of making sure that you won’t besmirch the honour of Mor Ardain when you arrive by the emperor himself. Fear not, I’ve already sent the measurements for your dress to the tailors.”

“You know I’m not the, you know, feminine type, Brighid.” Morag said, tensing up awkwardly. “I can’t even remember the last time I wore a dress. I’m sure I’ll be quite undignified.“

“I’ll make sure you’re nothing of the sort. Just think of it as another part of your duties.” Brighid smiled. “Trust me, you’ll be the picture of dignity, I’m quite familiar with Uraya’s customs.Trust me, you’ll practically be turned back at the gates if you show up wearing pants in their noble society. There’s nothing more important for a Urayan noblewoman than beauty and fashion. Just think of it as part of your duties.”

“How vapid.” Morag scoffed at the concept. “And what are my duties to be?”



“To mingle with the nobility, essentially. To attend social gatherings, parties, balls, that sort of thing. It should be quite the change of pace, don’t you think?”



“So I’m to be some prancing socialite, then?” Morag grew irritated again. “Truly a waste of my time. For that matter-”

Morag was interrupted by a huge yawn, rubbing her eyes as they kept drifting shut despite her best efforts.

“Very well.” Morag gave in, lacking the energy to resist. “If the emperor wills it, it shall be done. But I’ll… I’ll…”

Morag never finished, her head lolling as she fell asleep where she sat, out like a light. Brighid waited a few moments to see if she’d snap back awake as she sometimes did after momentarily passing out during meetings, but all that Morag produced was gentle breathing.

“We’ll resume tomorrow.” Brighid smiled softly, helping Morag down into a safer, more comfortable position lying flat on her bed. “Don’t worry Lady Morag, you hardly need my help on the matter of beauty.”

–

“One foot after the other, Lady Morag.” Brighid advised, letting go of Morag’s hand to let her teeter in her three inch heels, the lady-in-training slowly and carefully taking dainty steps forward.

“Can’t we go back to the one inch heels?” Morag said hopefully, desperately trying not to lose her balance. Her frilly skirt fluttered around her knees, Morag blushing as she once again felt the breeze between her legs. That was what she got for complaining that her last dress had been too long, she supposed. “Surely nobody will be able to tell the difference.”

“No self-respecting Urayan lady would let herself be seen in anything less than two inches.” Brighid brushed her aside. “Don’t worry, you’ll find these far more comfortable in no time.”

“Sounds tough to be an Urayan.” Morag muttered under her breath, glad that Brighid hadn’t thrown her into the deep end of feminine footwear first. Morag could walk a tightrope with ease, dance circles around anybody in a swordfight, but merely walking to her morning tea in the palace’s garden was a struggle in these things.

“Correct your stride, move with confidence. Move your hips more!” Brighid instructed, grabbing her and pushing her chest out more to emphasise the welcoming valley of cleavage she had provided for Morag on her dress. Morag had made the mistake of leaving the details to her Blade, and as a result almost all of her new outfits had a plunging neckline, although she could hardly push it out like Brighid’s magnificent bus. From top to bottom Morag was the very image of elegance, with high heels, thin stockings vanishing beneath a ruffled skirt, and long, lacy opera gloves to compliment her bare shoulders, and flowery embroidering across the rest of the dress. Although in Morag’s mind,  it was not “elegant” or “dignified” but instead “cute”, and a special inquisitor was not supposed to be cute. The time for frilly dresses for her had ended when she was very young, and it was downright disorienting the first time she had put one on, requiring significant coaxing from Brighid just to get her out the door.

“I’m trying!” Morag said, her cheeks tinged red as usual as she tried to ignore the gawking bystanders, some unable to believe their eyes at the state their Grand Inquisitor was in, others wondering just where this breathtaking beauty had come from. A visitor to the capital, perhaps? Morag’s interpretation of their stares was far less flattering, fretting that they were in disbelief that she’d let herself be seen in such a state. It’s just for a mission, she wanted to stammer out at everybody who recognised her and rushed to salute, their hearts pounding as they burnt the sight of a blushing Morag into their brains to treasure for the rest of their lives.

Morag hid a sigh of relief as the two finally reached the garden, where a maid waited to serve them tea and snacks. Morag quickly dismissed her after their tea was poured and carefully settled herself down into her chair, picking up the teacup in the way Brighid had instructed.

“Not like that, you’ll smear your lipstick.” Brighid snapped before she could take a sip, watching Morag’s mannerisms like a hawk. Morag was no longer allowed to leave her room without having her makeup done properly, and her ruby-red lips curled at the criticism, as did her carefully painted eyebrows.  “Please think before doing anything that might spoil your beauty, Lady Morag. What will you do if you can’t even attend teatime properly?”

“I’ll be forced to simply have a good time for once instead! I can’t walk, I can’t even drink, how does anybody live like this?” Morag complained, nearly spilling the cup as she practically dropped it down onto her plate. “This is ridiculous!”

“This is merely reaching the bare minimum of ladyhood. Surely compared to your rigorous training this is child’s play?” Brighid had been patient throughout Morag’s grumbling and complaining as she struggled to adjust to the new standards demanded of her, but she had no intention of going easy on her. Morag demanded nothing less normally, and she would consider it disrespectful to baby her.

“I didn’t learn to fight in this ridiculous outfit.” Morag shot back. “I just hope the other commanders and generals don’t see me like this! They’ll think I’m going soft, dressing up and going out for tea.”

“Why would they?” Brighid asked. “You’re performing a vital service for the Empire, and for your brother. Perhaps the top brass needs to rethink their properties, if they truly believe that.”

“Because…” Morag struggled to find an answer despite her indignation. “This dress, these heels, no matter how fashionable they are, they're totally impractical. They’ve no use for anything but showing off.”

“You could say the same about their dress uniforms.” Brighid chuckled. “Perfectly pressed and ironed, with all those medals and decorations.”

“That’s not the same thing.” She said defensively.

“How so? Aren’t both of you simply dressing appropriately for your given roles?”

“You know what I mean!” Morag protested.

“No, I don’t believe I do.” Brighid placed down her own teacup and forced Morag to hold eye contact with her. “Would you not berate a soldier for wearing their dress uniform to the battlefield? You’re merely dressing appropriately for your new mission.”

“That’s… one way to look at it, I suppose.” Morag had to admit that what she was saying was making sense.

“As I’ve said many times, proper decorum must be followed, or they won’t listen to a word you have to say. To show yourself to the Urayan nobility as you were would be as foolish as showing up on the battlefield with no weapon. Elegance, dignity, beauty itself is strength. Arm yourself, Lady Morag!”

Brighid’s intensity increased, ending with a finger brandished at her. Although Brighid had politely sidestepped saying it outright, Morag knew that with her arguments crumbling around her and knowing that she was honour-bound to her new duty, the only reason why she was complaining was because she was uncomfortable with the new persona she was expected to put on. Brighid had been with her far too long to not see through her from the start.

“I suppose you do know best.” Morag let out a weak smile, taking a moment to raise her teacup to her lips and carefully sip at it without leaving no more than the slightest of marks on it. “Although for all this presentation I’ve put on, I hardly feel elegant.”

“All the more reason to devote yourself to your training.” Brighid said proudly. “I’ll have you carrying yourself with the dignity of the Empire in no time. And I should hardly have to worry about you looking the part, you don’t need any special training for that.“



“So you say.” Morag raised her cup to hide her blush. While she’d never admit it, it felt… good, to hear her say that. Unfortunately, although she had been mostly convinced that she was merely doing her duty so far, there was one more catch.

“I understand that this dress, and this makeup, and all that is necessary, but…” Morag eyed the pastries laid out for her that had comprised the majority of her diet for the last few weeks, and for a very target reason. “Must I really, you know…”

“Put on weight?” Brighid finished her sentence for her like it was no big deal. “Lady Morag, I’ve explained to you again and again that heavier women are considered the physical ideal in Uraya, have I not?”

“I’ll concede your other points. No matter how much I dress up, I can simply change back in an instant if needed. But at this rate, I’ll look like a prize pig stuffed into a uniform!” Morag complained, having been set on a strict high-calorie diet ever since she had woken up to begin Brighid’s strict training. This had been a particular point of contention between the two, but Morag had been unable to worm out of it, and was forced like a child to clear her plate no matter how high it may have been stacked. She had gone to bed feeling stuffed until she couldn’t move, and the results were that in a few short weeks, her prized muscles were covered in a small but soft layer of flab, her defined abs going plush. It hadn’t shown much on her yet, merely causing her to go from rather soft as one would expect of the pampered noblewoman she was expected to appear as, but Morag knew that it would only get worse from here.

“I’ve always thought that you were a touch skinny. You’ll look good with some meat on your bones.” Brighid sounded a little too pleased with herself at the sound of that.

“This is more than just a little meat. And did you really have to ban all exercise? Forget worrying that they’ll think I’m going soft, I am going soft!” Morag complained.



“How else are you supposed to prepare your body for your trip in time?” Brighid hid her expression with her teacup once again. “If you want some exercise, we can practice walking again!”

“I really should lodge a formal complaint about this inhumane treatment.” Morag grumbled, biting into one of her cupcakes with obvious chagrin…

–

“We should be arriving within the hour, Lady Morag!” Saluted the soldier, glad that his blush was hidden beneath his helmet. The airship whirred and occasionally shook beneath their feet, but the surface of Morag’s teacup didn’t so much as shimmer in her careful hands. She made it look effortless, no thanks to her rigorous preparations in the weeks leading up to her trip.

“Is that so? My thanks.” Morag said, smiling gently as she lowered her teacup from her lips, not a single blemish on it despite the thick but tasteful layer of lipstick she was wearing. She had been attending one last practice session with Brighid before their arrival, and was dressed in her most glamorous outfit yet, covered in decorative roses and with puffy shoulders, while her lower half was covered by a broad ankle-length skirt designed to evoke the image of large petals. All blemishes and old scratches and scars on her face were hidden by makeup applied personally, and her dark, dusky eyes were made to stand out by thick eyeshadow and long, painted eyelashes. Finally, Morag had been convinced to wear her hair down today, having otherwise kept it in a sensible if decorated bun.  Although she gave a small complaint that wearing her hair down was a hassle, Morag had always loved her long hair, and found excuses to keep it throughout her military career. Finally, there was a new addition to her decorative arsenal: two ruby studs adorned her recently pierced ears to compliment her dress, Morag conceding that it would be odd for her to not have at least one piece of jewellery, but preferred for it to be subtle.

“N-n-no problem, your grand ladyship!” The man’s tongue fumbled, failing to properly say either of her titles, dashing out as quickly as he could. Morag held her smile until he was out of the room, then sighed.

“Men act so strangely around me these days.” She commented, popping a chocolate into her mouth from the tray in front of her, her personal favourite out of the delectable treats that were sprinkled throughout her day and a growing addiction.  “I’d have a word with their commanding officers about unprofessional conduct, but those fellows behave the same way too!”

“They’re merely stunned by your sheer beauty, Lady Morag.” Brighid said, often finding it hard to not act the same way around her. Oh, she had done such a fine job cleaning up her darling Morag, she couldn’t be prouder of her! Of course, she could never show it, she had her own dignity to maintain, but it warmed her heart to see her expertly applying her own makeup and putting on that sophisticated smile she had been working on so hard, Morag taking it upon herself to quash her awkwardness by the time she arrived. No matter how she felt on the outside, she would show no signs of weakness, Morag had declared one day, and forced herself to dazzle the various men and women around the palace in preparation. However, her confidence had been somewhat undermined by the undeniable fact that she was getting seriously chubby, and by the end was eager to get away from Mor Ardain before they saw her in such a pitiful state.



“I find that hard to believe at my current weight.” Morag resisted the compliment, ruefully placing a hand on her soft, jiggly belly that rounded out the middle of her dress. Over a month of stuffing herself had not been kind to her figure, and she could already feel her hips starting to spill slightly over the edges of her seat, her plump rear end far too large to fit into her old uniform’s pants these days.  Not to mention the fact that her beautiful face that was the envy of all the women in Mor Ardain was starting to turn distinctly round, a little puffier at the cheeks, a little softer at the chin, her distinctive sharp features docile and unthreatening.

“I’m sure our hosts will be quite pleased by that body of yours.” Brighid reassured her. Privately, she most certainly was. Lady Morag’s chubby cheeks were so adorable, and her chest was finally starting to fill out!

“I should certainly hope so. I won’t fit into anything I brought with me if I get much bigger.” Morag shuddered at the idea of watching herself blow up like a blimp to satisfy their unusual culture, but she was certain that the bare minimum should satisfy them.

Half an hour later the airship touched down within the enormous grounds belonging to the baron and baroness she was to be staying with, a newly erected mansion a short walk from the landing area. Although the area was decorated with the distinctive glowing trees and purple plants one expected of Uraya, it was clear that they were not native wildlife, instead planted to give a sense of familiarity to the denizens of the new continent, and the territory was considered the New Kingdom of Uraya, separate from the old titan and the civilisation within it. The Urayans had been eager to leave their cramped home, the nobility supposedly split between those eager to settle on fertile new grounds and those who stubbornly stayed within. Morag knew that the mood was falling in the favour of the former, and it was her job to temper any worries that the Empire was interested in muscling in on their turf.

“Here comes the baroness now.” Brighid whispered as a carriage approached their ship, Morag and her Blade stepping off onto solid ground, Brighid now walking in her even taller heels without so much as a single wobble from the moment she left to the moment she arrived, although she privately suspected that Brighid had prepared the highest heels she could find for her to stop her from running away at the last moment. She had walking down, but running in high heels and a bulky dress was sure to end poorly for her.

Despite her training, Morag’s eyes couldn’t help but widen at the sight of the enormous woman who was helped off her carriage by her butler, easily three times Morag’s weight and seemingly as wide as she was tall given her short stature. The wobbling ball of fat waddled its way towards her, dressed in a similarly ostentatious dress that surely would have looked quite beautiful on a thinner woman… or perhaps by Urayan standards, even more beautiful than a skinny wearer. She was wearing a broad-brimmed hat that hid her face, but she seemed friendly enough when she got close enough for Morag to make out her expression.

“A pleasure to meet you, Baroness Katharina.” Morag curtsied, wearing her practiced smile and shifting to a gentle tone to make a good first impression. “I am Lady Morag Ladair of Mor Ardain, and I look forward to being in your care.”



“Yes, yes, it’s certainly a pleasure for us as well!” The middle-aged blonde with elaborately braided hair said, taking her hand enthusiastically, Morag realising that under the fat she was quite pretty for her age, and her makeup wasn’t nearly as tacky or gaudy as she would have expected from such a flashy appearance and one who looked like she stuffed herself silly all day.

“I must say, you’re quite the beauty, Lady Morag.” Katharina exclaimed, Morag glowing slightly at the seemingly genuine praise, as well as relieved that she seemed to meet their standards. “A bit on the skinny side, but I suppose Mor Ardain is hardly known for their cuisine.”

“I’ve heard that Uraya is a country of delicacies.” Morag said with a smile, privately protesting that stereotype. “Might I look forward to you introducing me? You seem like a woman who has a particularly refined palate.”

Katharina seemed quite pleased by her flattery, and Brighid gave a subtle nod of approval.

“Yes, I can see that you’ve got the spirit!” Katharina beamed, tugging her forward. “Come now, let’s get out of this dreadful sun!”



The baroness needed help getting back into her carriage, much to the two’s bemusement. Morag felt a lot better about her weight just by looking at her, and hoped that she was merely an outlier amongst the Urayan nobility.

“I must admit I was quite relieved when I saw you, dear.” Katharina confided as the carriage set off. “When I had heard that the emperor’s sister had a military background, why, I had been concerned that they would send us some awful gorilla woman without a graceful bone in her body! But I see they’ve sent us a lovely proper lady, and those rumours were all false. I daresay it might have started a diplomatic incident, and no self-respecting member of the nobility would be seen dead with somebody like that. I daresay, I would have asked you to walk instead!”



“I’m pleased to meet your expectations.” Morag bowed her head slightly. If what this bombastic woman was saying was right, everything Brighid had warned her about had just been validated. She’d have to thank her later once they got back to their room.

The carriage ride passed smoothly, Morag deciding to open with some polite smalltalk to get a bearing on her host’s personality. A few compliments about her plants revealed that she was decidedly in the expansionist camp, but had a traditionalist bent to her sense of aesthetics. She seemed to be optimistic that Uraya and Mor Ardain had no more reason for conflict in this new world, Morag agreeing quite happily. She considered sharing some “insider information” about Mor Ardain’s internal political climate to further assuage her, but decided that that could be saved as a tool for later. She arrived and was shown to her room in the vast manor, promised that she’d have dinner with her and her husband and that she had some friends she wanted to introduce her to.

“I hope you brought your appetite, my dear,” the hostess teased.

Morag, whose stomach capacity had been nearly doubled since the start of her training, answered honestly. “I am a bit peckish I suppose…”

Whatever came her way, Morag hoped that her training would be sufficient to keep up…

–

Two weeks later, Morag was pacing back and forth in her room, mumbling a list of names from a hand-written note over and over to memorise them while she waited for Brighid to return. She stopped and turned the instant she did, trying to collect herself. It wouldn’t do to let her act slip at the ball, her first big test after a laid back settling in.

“Are you ready to go, Lady Morag?” Brighid asked. “The carriage is almost here.” Instantly, her keen eyes picked up the telltale signs of snacking, though the once pastry covered plate was blocked slightly by Morag’s hips. Her Driver had picked up a rather interesting way to deal with the stresses of her new position it seemed…

“Yes, I think I… Actually, let me check my makeup one more time. I think I put on too much-” Morag blurted out, but before she could rush away, Brighid was in front of her in a flash and took her hand.

“You look stunning, Lady Morag. You would only spoil perfection.” Brighid smiled. Morag took a deep breath to steady herself, feeling her chest strain against the lacy bust of her dress, a huge ball gown that was the bulkiest thing she had worn to date, brushing against the floor in a multi-layered affair of petticoats and skirts. She wore it in a brilliant purple, and had added a glittering necklace to her getup, deciding that she had extra room to add flair to her typically unadorned chest. She had meticulously applied her makeup and used her most expensive perfume, and had her hair done up in an elaborate braided updo, a far cry from the spartan bun she had worn for so long. Morag had found herself with a number of dresses to choose from each day, and the question of what was best for each occasion was a surprisingly enjoyable one to figure out. Morag tried to tell herself that she wasn’t having fun playing dress-up, it was just the tactical exercise of choosing the best tool for the job that she enjoyed.

“Thank goodness I thought to get this tailored yesterday. I don’t think I can fit into anything we brought from Mor Ardain.” Morag laughed bashfully, finding the chest still a bit tight around her almost D-cup breasts, a winner of her body’s preferred locations to allocate fat. The bulky dress also allowed her to ignore just how much of it was going to her hips, the realisation of just how wide she was getting causing her to gain an appreciation for broader skirts as she began to realise that her silhouette remained roughly the same at the waist whether she wore them or not. At least with a wide skirt on, she could pretend that her body hadn’t found a favourite place to soak up calories.

The last two weeks had been a somewhat dizzying change of pace, Morag finding that she was now obligated to attend every one of Katharina’s social gatherings, causing her schedule to be rather booked out. Tea parties, dinners either at her manor or somebody else’s, even going out to the theatre were activities that Katharina insisted she came along to, and as a result she had already met a great number of other nobles, many of which were surprised by her gentle persona and elegant appearance contrasting with their militaristic, aggressive expectations of one from Mor Ardain. Morag had made it her mission to get acquainted with each and every one, building up the names and faces she needed to know. The list she had been reciting was her precious intel, a collection of names and positions for not just the people she knew, but the notable figures expected to be there. She could get away with allowing some to introduce themselves, but it was important to be ahead of the curve on others, and Morag found it to be a new but refreshing challenge, alternating between a seemingly laid back way of life and constantly keeping her mind active.

Unfortunately, this socialising had come at the further expense of her figure. She had soon found that nearly every Urayan social gathering, at least for the noblewomen, involved eating, and it was apparently quite important to have something to offer guests at all times, Morag quickly understanding why most had quite generous figures, even if Katharina was still at the upper end of the scale, most dwarfing Morag. It would be very impolite of her to refuse their hospitality, and it was downright impossible to find an excuse to eat a reasonable amount of food before Katharina’s extravagant breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. As such she was putting on weight even faster than before, and that rate would surely only increase as her influence and total events attended per day did.

She was slightly appalled by the slight second chin she found herself with on the day of the ball, but begrudgingly admitted that everything she had seen from the men of Uraya pointed towards an overwhelming preference for the plus-sized, and put aside her own concerns for now, letting Brighid hold her slightly chubby hand as she led her to the carriage.

“Ah, Lady Morag! Over here!” Katharina gasped and waved to her when she saw Morag approach her upon arriving at the ball, surrounded by a few familiar but mostly unfamiliar faces.

“Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” Morag smiled, the blushes on the faces of the younger men not going unnoticed as they got their first look at her.

“Ladies, gentlemen, this splendid young woman is the Lady Ladair I’ve been talking about.” Katharina helpfully introduced her, Morag glad that the ice seemed to have been broken for her.

“And here I was told that Mor Ardain didn’t have pretty women! Are you sure they didn’t import you from somewhere else?” One of the older men said with a barking laugh, Morag guessing by his handlebar moustache that he was Count Albert, one of the nobles she had researched in advance. Brighid hovered in the background on the outskirts of the ball, deciding to let Morag keep the spotlight on herself.

“Perhaps a new era is the right time to do away with our old ways of thinking, Count.” Morag smiled, before making smalltalk and pleasantries with each of the group. Some seemed wary of her at first, but lightened up as she went out of her way to flatter them and allude to Mor Ardain’s intent to form friendly relationships and profitable trade partnerships. Morag had expected to tire herself out as she was introduced to more and more nobles, almost too many to keep count, but something about how nearly every one seemed to comment positively on her looks kept her energised. It was something she was getting rather used to hearing since she arrived, and it gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling each time it happened, but she felt like it might go to Brighid’s head if she told her that she must be some kind of genius at making women look abnormally attractive. It wasn’t like she was that naturally pretty, right? Perhaps the makeup did a better job than she thought. Whether it was the makeup or not, if they didn’t know that she was a beauty before, it would be common knowledge across Uraya starting tonight.

“How are you holding up, Lady Morag?” Brighid asked, the two convening an hour in.



“Quite well so far.” Morag said confidently, sipping from a fine red wine as she glanced in one direction then turned her back to it, whispering into Brighid’s ear.

“You see that man over there, in the blue?”



Brighid knew who she meant without having to look, having noticed herself the looks the young nobleman, no older than Morag herself, had been giving her throughout the night.

“I think he suspects me of something. Perhaps he doubts my intentions as a dignitary.” Morag said conspiratorially. “He keeps looking at me, but only when he thinks I won’t notice him. He averts his gaze when I try to make eye contact and acts like he hasn’t seen me, but I’m certain I’ve overheard him saying my name to his friends. Should I confront him?”

Morag’s deadly serious expression turned to confusion when Brighid simply covered her mouth and giggled at her, wondering what was so funny.

“I believe that young man is simply infatuated with you, Lady Morag,”she said, Morag nearly choking on her wine. She tried to hide her cough, Brighid burning the wide-eyed expression she had on her face into her mind.

“Th-that’s just preposterous! Y-you must be overthinking things.” Morag threw back her wine and downed it in one gulp, but it only made her cheeks rosier.

“Oh no, it seems you’re the star of this ball already, you can’t run from it now.” Brighid giggled again. “Didn’t I tell you you looked stunning?”

“That’s just… you know, the makeup, it does a lot, and-” Morag mumbled, but even she was unconvinced that Brighid’s words were simple flattery. She had known Brighid for too long to think that she would lie to her, even if she was a bit biased.

“You there, young man!” Brighid suddenly flagged him down, crossing the ballroom and nearly dragging him over to her. “Lady Morag is looking quite ravishing tonight, is she not?”



“R-r-ravishing!?” Morag went red as the wine she had just drank, the man thankfully following suit.

“W-Well of course she does!” He said, trying to play it cool and failing. “Is that any surprise? She’s the Jewel of Mor Ardain, isn’t she? It’s only natural that she should live up to that title!”



“Actually…” Morag’s burning face grew even hotter as she pointed at Brighid. “That’s her. And it’s meant to be because she’s the strongest Blade in the Empire, not because of her looks.”

“Oh.” His mouth fell open as his head wagged back and forth between the two like a puppy, his ignorance completely exposed. His dopey look morphed into a dashing smile, having come up with a brilliant plan to salvage her opinion of him. “Well, I mean no offence to the Lady Brighid, but the title of Jewel is a far better fit for one as radiant as you.”

“I think I might need to sit down for a moment, do excuse me.” Morag turned on her high heel and fled the ballroom until she could calm down, the definition of flustered. But more than anything, she was the most embarrassed by how much she liked the sound of his boneheaded on-the-spot title. She wandered off with a goofy grin on her face, repeating the compliment in her head over and over. Meanwhile, her potential suitor was left looking at Brighid for answers.

“Was it something I said?” He asked helplessly…

–

“Up early, I see.” Brighid said when she found Morag up first thing in the morning in nothing more than her bra and panties, having finally overcome her tendency to oversleep during her recovery from months of poor sleeping habits. Morag seemed to be in high spirits, and was beginning her day as usual by making herself presentable. Morag was often quite appalled at her own appearance when she woke up these days, and considered it her first priority to fix that bed-hair, take a bath,and then smooth out her face’s imperfections, if she could be said to have any that truly counted as such.

“Well, I have a busy day ahead of myself.” Morag said, practically humming as she sat in front of her vanity, “I’ve got breakfast with Lady Alexandria, brunch with Countess Carys and her husband, lunch with Llewella, a discussion with Sir Griffin over his business interests in Mor Ardain, but really it’s an opportunity to get to know his wife. He is a boisterous man, but his wife is a shrewd businesswoman and the real brains of the operation. Then I’ve a few hours to myself in the evening, and then Katharina plans to introduce me to yet another friend of hers over dinner.”

“My.” Brighid smiled. “I’m sure your brother would be quite appalled to find you so busy despite his best intentions.”

“I’m afraid I’m in quite high demand these days.” Morag said, obviously distinctly pleased with herself. “What do you think I should wear today, the yellow or the pink dress? I do say I’m spoiled for choice after that shopping trip last week.”

“Whatever fits your makeup today.” Brighid offered, glancing down at the makeup kit in front of Morag, overflowing with options and growing larger by the day. The differences between most of them were subtle at best, yet Morag found great joy selecting what she felt was the right one for a given occasion.

“Pink it is, then. I’m trying out that lipstick Lady Morwen recommended.” Morag decided, popping open the tube and spreading it across her lips, feeling a tingle as the lipstick’s unusual properties kicked in. It was created out of a certain plant native to Urayan that would cause mild swelling, resulting in fuller, puffier lips in a way that looked quite natural. The idea had come up during another party with Katharina’s entourage, when the Lady Morwen had commented on the fullness of Morag’s lips and was shocked to learn that the young Ardainian wasn’t already using it. The idea of enhancing her femininity even more intrigued Morag, her head swimming with the compliments she would receive as she placed an order for a box of the stuff the moment a servant was within earshot. After all, being more feminine could only be a good thing..

Morag watched as her lips puffed up a little in a matter of seconds as promised, and she leaned in close to the mirror, puckering her lips, able to feel the extra volume just by pressing them together. The rose-pink coating stuck out a little more, the subtle size increase  causing them to be more prominent and eye-catching than she expected. It was a successful experiment, and she recalled Morwen’s explanation that subsequent application would only enhance its effectiveness. Of course, they would fade back to their natural size given time, if she tired of the look and stopped using the lipstick, but for now she felt she looked quite fetching.

 It was hard to disagree with the sentiment that bigger was better, particularly when her body sagged in every direction, her gut resting on her plump thighs that only failed to spill out over the sides of her chair because it was sized specifically to fit the girth of an average Urayan noblewoman. Her fat hung over the sides of her panties, pinched in by the flowery undergarment while her E-cup breasts were stuffed into a similarly lacy bra that itself indented into the flab below her armpits. It had been something of a shock to realise that she had overtaken Brighid’s own bust in sheer size, but she felt hardly busty at all compared to the company of noblewomen she spent her days with. She wouldn’t truly catch up until her breasts approached the size of her head, something that seemed like a real possibility for the future these days.

Even her arms too were chunky like her thighs, softening in more than one way as the weeks passed. Morag feared for the once hardened muscle beneath it, which was surely fading away with how she hadn’t done so much as a single push-up since her training began. She supposed that her usual morning routine of getting up and doing a light workout to sharpen her body had been replaced with instead honing her appearance, both equally important in their given contexts. Love handles sprouted to support an extremely flabby, pudding-like belly that detonated her waist measurements. Her weight lolled from her midsection despite the extra room provided by her hips, scrunching into two squeezable, unhealthy looking rolls even when she stood. The result was a bulging, pile up of dough that was impossible to downplay without the aid of a corset. But of course, corsets were hardly fashionable in Uraya. But no matter how doughy Morag’s upper half was, even though her broad skirt deliberately masked the width of her hips one could make out the outline of two chunky thighs every time she took a step forward, her huge ass indenting through the back, and each of her cheeks were matching size with her belly.

Morag continued to expand in every direction, ever since that night at the ball she had found it easier than ever to let the weight pile on. Why shouldn’t she? A healthy appetite was a point of pride in this country. It made a woman beautiful, which meant she was beautiful. Nobody looked at her like she was strange for it, nor did they see her as an out of shape soldier. It was hard enough for most to believe that she had any connection to the military at all, some assuming that it must have been purely ceremonial, her title of “Grand Inquisitor” simply a puffed up title to make this gentle-looking woman seem intimidating. The implication that her illustrious military career was a fabricated farce still rubbed her the wrong way, but she had bitten her tongue when she realised that it offered an opportunity to her. By not confirming it one way or the other, she could gently nudge their own assumptions and give them a strong impression that she was actually a  peace-loving pacifist who had gone into diplomacy to avoid conflicts. While it was somewhat galling to downplay her own achievements, she was able to distract herself from her frustrations by drowning herself in good food, while fine wine greased her tongue and took the bite away from her shame.

Her weight gave her a soft, non-threatening appearance, as well as making her more attractive, something she didn’t mind in the slightest. As long as she was in Uraya, it was simply the cost of doing business. Eating so much delicious food so often without restraint was simply unavoidable, and even now she had a box of expensive chocolates placed on her vanity table if she ever felt a little peckish. Besides, even if she had gone soft to train her body for this mission, she was still an accomplished soldier. She was confident that she could burn it off in no time, hardly breaking a sweat no matter no matter how much fat hung off her frame. She completely overlooked the fact that if she were to try right this moment she wouldn’t make it halfway around the Mor Ardain military training course without collapsing and gasping for breath, and returning to a diet of bare-bones rations would cause her greedy stomach to rumble uncontrollably until she gave in and sated it.

At the end of the day, it all came down to looks. Her looks were what drove her self-confidence in this country, and ever since that ball her confidence had gone exponentially up and up. She had truly realised that she had been at the centre of attention, and not just because she was the new girl in town. She hadn’t been able to get that comment from that nobleman out of her head, and had realised in the days following it that although Brighid was considered beautiful, she was completely overshadowed by Morag herself. Perhaps it was because she was inhumanly beautiful as a Blade that Morag’s natural beauty shone brighter next to her, but as Morag spent more and more time in front of her mirror, she came to the conclusion that the constant praise from Brighid and the nobility wasn’t mere flattery. One day she had looked at her chubby face and realised that she was as pretty as they said, all thanks to her friend and partner. She couldn’t have done it without her, teaching her how to wear makeup and introducing her to beautiful dresses, not to mention doing her hair and offering advice on how best to present herself. It was a remarkably similar dynamic to how they had behaved in battle; Brighid had always been there to make Morag succeed, playing a supporting role to make sure she shined.

The ever-faithful Brighid helped her put her dress on and braid her hair, hanging down to her mid-back as she had let it grow out since she arrived, and needed to similarly braid her bangs to keep it out of her eyes. She attached long, dangling earrings, pure gold rings with small ornaments at the ends that she felt were quite eye-catching. Finally, she collected a pink parasol out of a rack, matching the colour of her dress. She had found that the Urayans, used to only faint sunlight reaching the insides of their titan and otherwise relying on artificial light, had come to consider pale skin as beautiful, and so most of the nobles took care to avoid tanning now that they were out in the sun. Morag did the same to keep up appearances, carrying a parasol with her whenever she went outside, and it seemed to fit her far more than a sword would now.

The two headed out, Morag already wondering what was for breakfast…

–

It was the night of Duke Buell’s grand banquet, and three months into her trip, Morag was in top form. She had just arrived and was doing her rounds greeting everybody, the floor an assortment of bulky ladies and their companions chatting with each other while they waited for the feast to begin.

“Lady Anwen! How’s your daughter doing? Your little girl was simply adorable the last I saw her! Sir Dewey, you’re looking dashing as always.” Morag flittered from noble to noble, making her presence known to each one. The pre-banquet mingling was of vital importance to catch up with many she otherwise seldom had the chance to see, as well as once again craft her image as a woman who seemed to have the right answer to everything. ”Ah, Countess Morgana, what a lovely dress you’re wearing!”

“And might I say the same to you! You look simply splendid!” The fat brunette noblewoman was easily flattered and politely returned it, Morag’s smile widening at the praise. Today she had decided to wear a white and tight shoulderless evening dress, with a hip-hugging skirt that flared out around the knees. It was restrictive to move in even compared to her bulkier dresses, but she loved how the men couldn’t keep their eyes off of her, and many of the women looked on in envy. While she wore her usual opera gloves, she had picked fingerless ones today that exposed her carefully manicured nails, taking the opportunity to show off her recently acquired gold rings, two on each hand and several diamond-encrusted. She followed it up with a long pearl necklace designed to match her colour scheme and draw the eye from her neck downward to her breasts, having found that men were easy to wrap around her little finger when they were distracted. She wore her hair down today, but made sure to style it with some elaborate curls so that she didn’t look too plain, although personally she often felt she looked the best with long, silky, straight black hair combed to perfection.

Without a broad skirt to hide it, the sheer width of Morag was revealed for all to see. She rocked her hips with each step, her enormous ass cheeks wobbling and bouncing through the fabric as it became clear where most of her fat was going. To say that her hips were wider than her shoulders was an understatement when they stuck out bordering on several feet past her shoulders, Morag dwarfing heavier women in width with her tremendous ass. Each leg was as thick as her from shoulder to shoulder, and those too shook like jelly with each delicate step she took, Morag focusing less on efficiency and more on style with her movements. The lower fold of her hefty gut sagged down past her pelvis, the top serving as a helpful resting place for her heavy breasts, the average man able to take their pick of what to focus on, but inevitably being derailed by her luscious hips.

Of course, her luscious lips were enough to transfix a man, all thanks to that wonderful lip balm. Her lips were starting to dominate the lower half of her face, puffing up to almost twice their original size thanks to Morag never missing a day. They would likely never quite return to their original proportions as a result, but Morag was more than pleased enough with them to want to keep it. Those plump lips were always curled into a pleasant smile, one designed to project beauty, grace, and a warm, inviting tone that encouraged others to let them experience her silver tongue. She could never look threatening, not with her plump second chin and cherubic cheeks, and it was hard to think that the word “sharp” had ever been used to describe her.

Brighid accompanied her of course, but she was more than content to fade into the background, as she knew that in this country she could never compete with Morag, just as she wanted. It warmed her heart to see her in her element, navigating the world of nobility with the same skill she had conquered the battlefield. Lady Morag was so cute these days, she was almost as addicted to seeing her new persona as Morag was to feeding her stomach and lately her ego. She watched Morag practically glow every time somebody called her pretty, which was quite often every day these days. Morag no longer needed her advice on dresses, having gained sharp fashion sense, instead using Brighid as a second opinion, or perhaps when she just needed somebody to tell her she looked fabulous in her new dress.

“I hope the trip wasn’t too taxing.” Morgana said, having been cooling herself with an elegant paper fan the whole time. “My incompetent stagecoach didn’t check the wheels before we left, I had to walk all the way from the gates!”

“My, how dreadful! Why, you should have stayed where you were and called for a replacement!” Morag gasped, raising her hands to her mouth in a melodramatically girly fashion, her lips curling into a quivering pout. There was no insincerity in her voice as she pictured the scene in her head, only sympathy for the how the obese woman had been cruelly asked to walk a few hundred metres, in high heels no less. Ones with thick heels that could carry her weight without snapping, that is. Morag had personally had to do away with her stilettos lately out of fear for her own safety in favour of chunkier heels that had been her training wheels at the start, but had otherwise walked in them so naturally that she wondered why she’d had so much trouble with them to begin with.

“Oh, if only.” Lady Morgana sighed. “But punctuality is a virtue, so I suffered the indignity of it.”

“Indeed.” Morag sipped her wine, thinking to herself that she had left early, then deliberately had her coach slow down once they were close in order to arrive perfectly on time, not a minute too soon or too late. She was about to speak when her stomach let out a roar that could be heard over even the raucous of the gathering, a sustained groaning note that was audible to all around her. But rather than be embarrassed by her body exposing her greedy stomach’s desires, she was met with looks of concern from those around her.

“Goodness, you must be starving, I’ll have a servant fetch something for you this instant.” Lady Morgana said sympathetically. “Come, let’s get you to the appetisers!”

It was a phenomenon she had seen many times before, a sign of the sheer indulgence that Urayan noblewomen held themselves to. Should a lady’s stomach make itself known, a servant would immediately rush to present her something to eat, or one of her companions would make it so. Requiring constant snacks was simply a fact of life, and it wasn’t the first time this had happened to Morag, nor would it be the last.

The nobles were seated at a enormously long table, Morag making sure to be seated next to the most important guests, giving her both the benefit of talking to them directly and being able to dominate their attention, as well as presenting to the other guests further down the table the idea, no, the fact that she deserved to be in their midst. Brighid of course was seated next to her, Morag having insisted that she stay next to her even if it took away a potential opportunity to be side by side with another important noble. No matter how much of a supporting role she might have played she was her partner, not a servant who stood in the background diligently waiting for her mistress, and Morag refused to be separated from her nor treat her like she was on a lower level.

As she settled down in her seat next to primarily other women, Morag couldn’t help but compare and contrast their weights with her own. Guts that bulged out so far they pressed against the table in front of them, wobbling second chins that jiggled with every word that came out of their lips, and breasts like prize pumpkins that dwarfed their already bloated heads. Compared to them she had rather slender limbs, a generous but modest bust, and a belly that didn’t even exceed the length of her breasts. She relaxed a little over the last reservations she had over her weight, deciding that compared to the rest of high society, she really wasn’t that fat after all. Of course, Morag failed to take into account what was hidden below the table, where if she had compared their hips to her own, she would have found that she had a fatter ass than women a hundred pounds heavier than her and nearly bumped hips with the overweight woman next to her, her width being increased by all of the fat in her rear end squashing and going sideways.

Morag chatted happily with anybody within earshot, alternating between talking and eating without the slightest improper gesture even as more and more delicious food was piled onto her plate. Juicy red meat, glazed poultry, succulent seafood, whatever she could fit into her mouth was fair game, along with just enough wine to wash it down without causing her to lose her head. Indulging too much in the bottle was something saved for when she was relaxing in her room where only Brighid was around to hear her gush about how much all of the various compliments she received meant to her, and how she had never received such flattering words back in the Empire. Of course, Morag had decided to eat with restraint today. Enough to sate her stomach, and no more. It wouldn’t do to eat like a pig, after all.

Brighid on the other hand, watched quietly as over the course of the dinner Morag finished her first, second, and third course seemingly without even paying attention to what was on her plate, just shovelling food into her mouth as it came until it ran out and was swiftly replaced so that her constant steam never ended. She could tell that Morag was totally unaware of just how much she was eating, simply eating and eating until finally her stomach said no more, which was quite far off. To most who were used to the old Morag who treated food as a necessary source of energy and not something to be enjoyed for the sake of it, it might have appeared that Brighid’s Driver had been presented with temptation and been forced to give in, that this wasn’t natural for her, and that she had been trained to become like this.

But to Brighid, it was the culmination of a lifetime of self denial. Every time Morag passed by a bakery and ever so carefully glanced inside but no more than that. Every second helping of Pyra's cooking refused. Every long, gruelling hour at the practice yard to burn off one indulgence. This was the result. And it couldn’t make her happier to see her this way, her reward for a lifetime of restraint and self-control.



The night was going perfectly for Morag. She was charming those around her, the food was good, and the wine was better. She sipped the last of her glass, a nearby servant noticing and coming to top her up.

“Is that so? How amusing! Oh ho ho ho!” Morag let out a girlish titter, having acquired a rather pompous laugh lately that she felt made her sound quite refined. The act sent her cleavage wobbling at just the wrong time, further distracting the waiter who had been staring at her ass from his waiting position, having decided that he had the best seat in the house to be designated to this section of the table. As a result, had taken the opportunity to ogle her cleavage when he approached the to pour her drink, momentarily hypnotised by the jiggle, and therefore didn’t realise that the noblewoman next to Morag had pushed her chair back slightly to give her stuffed stomach respite. He banged his foot on the chair and stumbled, splashing wine directly onto her chest.

The banquet’s lively chatter ground to a halt as Morag let out a girly shriek, staring down at the red streak spread down her chest and irreversibly stained the expensive fabric, some having landed on her skirt as well. She looked as though she had been stabbed and was watching blood trickle down her chest, and treating it about as seriously. The dress was unsalvageable, and it was clear that her night was over, all her hard work gone to naught as she would be forced to make a humiliating retreat.

“I-I am truly sorry, milady!” The waiter squeaked, Morag’s hair flying as she whipped around to face him, fire in her eyes that was usually the last thing a man saw before his death.

“You should be!” She snapped at him, her face flushed red with humiliation. “You incompetent clod! Do you have any idea who I am!? I’ll have you-”

Morag was tapped on the shoulder by Brighid, and suddenly became keenly aware of the silence of the room, stopping instantly and coughing awkwardly.

“I suppose it can’t be helped.” She sighed, her tone instantly shifting back to one of dignified disappointment. It was all she could do after exposing herself, to act like it was just an impulsive outburst. “Ladies, gentlemen, I’m terribly sorry for spoiling the mood, but as you can see, I’m in no state to remain. May you all have a lovely evening without me.”

Morag picked herself up and trotted off as quickly as she could with as much dignity as she could muster, an awkward silence hanging over the room as she was forced to suffer through indistinct whispers and mumbling that she couldn’t make out as the nobility reacted to this sudden accident. Brighid turned back to the group and bowed her head apologetically.

Morag reached the entrance with her usual dignified yet showy strut, but as soon as the door closed, she began to accelerate, as much as she could in four inch heels. Her stride grew wider, as did the sway of her hips, rocking back and forth harder and faster, her heels clacking against the pavement louder and louder until she reached a full-on stomp, her hands balled up into fists as each footstep sent her chest bouncing, her belly shaking, and her butt quivering like jelly as she made it obvious to anybody who could see her that she was absolutely fuming.

“Are you alright, Lady Morag?” Brighid asked gently, and Morag ground to a halt, her body taking a moment to settle before she slowly turned to her, finally releasing her last ounce of restraint.

“Of course I’m not alright!” She moaned, her head in her hands. “Everything was going perfectly until that idiot came along! I’d been planning for this event for weeks, weeks! And he ruined my favourite dress, too! I’ve been made a complete fool! The others must be laughing at me as we speak! I had my makeup just the way I wanted it, and I spent hours coordinating this outfit! I looked fabulous and everybody knew it, and now it’s ruined! I’ll never live this down, never!”

It occurred to Brighid just how swimmingly Morag’s life had been going, how easy and free of real problems it had been, that a minor social embarrassment seemed like the end of the world to her. And yet, she couldn’t help but find it endearing rather than want to chastise her for immaturity. The old Morag would have slapped her new self across the face and told her to grow up for acting like this was a big deal, yet here she was, whining about it with no sense of self-awareness besides a devotion to crafting her perfect image. The worst injury she could suffer was a blow to her ego… which perhaps wasn’t far off from how she had been as a Grand Inquisitor in the first place.

“Shall we return to the manor?” Brighid suggested.

“Yes, let us return posthaste.” Morag grumbled, regaining some of her composure, her lips still pouting cutely. “I wish he could have at least waited until I finished eating, I’m still hungry. We’ll have to finish dinner back at the-”

“Um, Lady Ladair?”

Morag froze, her face rapidly shifting into one of perfect composure and dignity. She was wearing her practiced smile when she turned around, no sign of her tirade from just a few moments earlier. It was Duke Buell himself and his lovely wife, both looking rather nervous and apologetic.

“We’re terribly sorry about our servant, we’ll make sure he’s thoroughly reprimanded for his actions.” He said, bowing slightly to her.

“Oh, it’s nothing, merely an accident. Simply water under the bridge.” Morag smiled, even though it was too late to act unconcerned.

“Oh no, there’s nothing worse for us than to offend such an important guest!” He hurried to say. “Um, my lady would like to offer you seats to the opera in our box to make it up to you.”

His wife stepped forward, apologising profusely as she handed her two hastily fetched tickets. Morag had to contain her surprise, as tickets like these had to be obtained six months in advance, and to be the personal guest of the Duchess was an opportunity she hadn’t even dreamed of.

“I do hope you’ll accept. Such an honoured visitor as yourself shouldn’t be subject to such treatment.” She said, Morag realising that she seemed almost afraid to lose Morag’s favour. This wasn’t just an apology to save face, she seemed genuinely worried that she’d offended her! Was her social standing even higher than she thought?

“There were many others who were quite disappointed they didn’t get the chance to talk to you.” The Duke said unusually timidly. “We were all hoping that you wouldn’t take this incident to heart…”

He went on, Morag more than happy to accept his apology and his wife’s offering. Morag’s smile had returned to her face by the time they finished, her prior fury dissipating like smoke until you could hardly tell she was throwing a tantrum just minutes before.

“It seems that the room agreed that it was quite unfair that I should suffer such an indignity.” Morag said, a smirk on her lips and smugness in her voice.

“Of course it was.” Brighid said, sensing an opportunity. “One as important as you should never be subjected to such treatment. It’s only natural that they all agree.”

“Well, at least as far as they’re willing to let on.” Morag gave a concession to reality. “I’m sure quite a few of them were delighted at the opportunity to see me finally show a chink in the armour.”

“No, I was listening quite carefully as we left.” Brighid decided to say. She couldn’t let up now, not when her partner was on the verge of completion. She had to have her act as important as she was, as spectacular as she was, as adorable as she was. “Not one of them thought the worse of you. They were all worried that you would be offended, and that they might lose your favour as a result. That was how well you handled it, Lady Morag.”

Morag paused, then her smirk widened into a smug grin.

“In fact, you showed just how composed you were by stopping yourself so quickly.” Brighid praised her.

“I did, didn’t I? I felt like I could have yelled at him for an hour, but I held myself in.” Morag bragged. “

“Yes, you showed your kindness too, for forgiving him.”



“Yes, I’m quite kind, aren’t I?”

“I saw the way he was looking at you. He was so stricken by your beauty that he was distracted and tripped.” Brighid had in fact noticed why he had fumbled, and put it in the most flattering words possible.

“Really?” Morag hadn’t thought about that, having been ready to dismiss him as a bumbling, clumsy fool who never should have gotten a job that put him within a hundred feet of her, but now it made a lot of sense. “Well, I suppose I shan’t blame him then. Ohohoho!”

Morag raised a dainty hand and chortled, a sight that Brighid treasured. Oh, her dear partner was blossoming so finely! Morag was technically a princess, and princesses had to be spoiled, didn’t they? Brighid just couldn’t help herself, she seemed so happy on this road that it seemed that there was no coming back.

“Perhaps this whole incident was a blessing in disguise!” Morag proposed as the two wandered back to their carriage, Brighid smiling just as widely.

“It certainly was, Lady Morag…”

—--

“May I enter, Lady Morag?” Brighid asked, knocking gently on the door to her bedroom as the early morning sun streamed through the windows. It had been weeks since the incident at the banquet, and as the two had predicted, it had only caused her standing to rise.No longer did Morag have to constantly find ways to meet with other high-ranking nobles she didn’t already know, but they began to come to her, reducing her total workload and stress on a daily basis. Starting to always know just what to say and do, Morag could often focus on relaxing even more through her day, although she kept her mind as sharp as ever. Today was one such day of relaxation, with a rare vacant morning in her busy schedule before her duties later in the afternoon.

“Of course.” Morag called, and Brighid entered to find her seated in front of a mirror in mostly her undergarments, accompanied by a young maid who was only slightly corpulent. The redhead had been assigned as her personal maidservant, and Morag had most certainly taken advantage of her.Today her maid was gently combing her long, silky hair, which had grown to a great length during her stay, voluminous and spreading from shoulder to shoulder and down to her hips, falling past the chair she was sitting on. It was immaculately maintained with an array of shampoos, conditioners, and other hair products that Brighid couldn’t hope to remember, and was perhaps Morag’s greatest pride.

“Brighid! You’re looking fabulous this morning as usual.” Morag turned her eyes towards her in the mirror with a radiant smile, having taken to giving Brighid frequent compliments. It wasn’t fair that only she should receive them, she had claimed, a great shift from somebody who would previously express her gratitude with a short “well done” and little else. She popped a chocolate into her mouth from a box in front of her, her favourite treat in a variety of flavours. Morag couldn’t be expected to sit still long enough to have her hair done without craving something, and chocolates were the perfect snack.

“As do you.” Brighid said humbly as she waited patiently for her to finish her morning routine, finding Morag even plumper than the last time she had seen her. Her seat looked like it was barely hanging on and sounded like it too, letting loose a worrying creak every so often and her second chin grew ever closer to completely consuming her neck. An often underlooked part of her was her bulky arms, now puffier than the shoulders that often accompanied her dresses Originally,.although they turned flabby, it was obvious that her biceps were merely coating pure muscle, giving her a certain appearance of strength despite her chubbiness. However, Morag hadn’t done so much as a pushup in months, and any strength she had as a trained soldier had long since faded away into the feebleness of a docile, pampered noblewoman who wasn’t expected to lift anything heavier than a purse.

 In her undressed state, she exposed her milky white skin, another effect of Uraya’s particular ideals of beauty: ever since she had arrived Morag had shied away from the sun, wearing broad-brimmed hats when she couldn’t take her trusty parasol with her, and inevitably spent most of her time indoors and comfortably seated. The result was her wind-worn tan gradually fading away until she had delicate skin that would burn within minutes under the hot Mor Ardain sun, a porcelain quality to herself that she carefully maintained.

The maid began to weave Morag’s hair slowly but steadily into an incredibly long row of braids, thin, a rope-like tail that kept it easy to manage were it not for its impractical length. The maid tugged on it to complete a loop, but yanked ever so slightly too hard,

“Careful” Morag snapped impulsively as soon as she felt the tug.

“I’m terribly sorry, madame!” The maid apologised with a bow, Morag’s pouty lips puffing up in a show of indignation.

“If I find you pull out so much as a strand of my lovely hair with your clumsiness, I’ll have you fired!” Morag said grumpily, popping another chocolate into her mouth. The maid apologised again and moved onto the next matter: dressing Morag.

At her current weight and with how elaborate her wardrobe was getting, Morag had decided that it was often too much effort to dress herself. She simply stood up and allowed the servant to do it for her, sliding on her stockings, her heels, and even her long fingerless gloves for her. Morag didn’t have to do it herself if she didn’t want to, so why should she? She instead simply raised her enormous leg as the maid carefully slid it up past her fat foot, the stocking requiring an enormous sleeve just to make it past her ankles. The maid’s hands spread apart more and more the further she got up, but couldn’t resist the chance to gently caress her thighs as she tugged the fabric up, having a girth and softness that a lower class woman like her could only dream of. She reluctantly finished, the stocking compressing her flab and leaving her with a miniature muffin top of overflowing flesh at the end of the thigh-highs.

 Her loose bodice was pulled tight at the back, the maid making the mistake of pulling as hard as she had last week when Morag had last worn this particular article. Unfortunately, she now had far less space to work with, and the air was nearly driven out of Morag from all of her belly fat being forced to compress beyond her limits.

“Aah!” She gasped as her breasts were pushed up a little too much by the compression. “Looser, looser!”

Morag gasped for breath, and glared angrily at the maid.

“What a clumsy girl!” She complained to Brighid as the poor girl apologised profusely. “She’s lucky I keep little incidents like this to myself!”

Although she complained at the time, Morag had been mostly satisfied with her service, and made sure to express that to her employer when possible. Perhaps it was her unconscious way to make up for her fussiness, although conscious self-awareness was currently far beyond Morag’s capabilities. For better or worse, she never doubted herself.

“Um, what would you like to wear today, Lady Morag?” The maid asked, directing her attention towards her jewellery box, which was getting rather crowded lately. Morag picked out a number of rings, sliding her favourites on until nearly every chubby finger had one on it. She had space, so why not use it? She’d grown quite fond of rings and jewellery in particular lately, how they glittered and excluded a sense of wealth the more she added to herself.

“Hmm… oh, the tyranny of choice…” Morag sighed as she picked up necklaces, each glittering with expensive gemstones. Although she boiled it down to a few eventually, she still just couldn’t decide what to wear, so in the end, she wore everything she wanted to wear at once. A diamond-encrusted choker with a number of dangling gems, a wider one that fell below it, and finally a chunky pendant that rested just short of her cleavage. In order to fit around her fat neck the choker had been subtly let out, with more space between gems and cold compensated for by how it pinched slightly into her soft neck, pushing up her second chin slightly and making her face subtly chubbier.

“What earrings would you like to wear today?” The maid asked politely but repetitively.

“Whatever’s biggest.” Morag said confidently without even looking at her collection. “There’s little point in buying something so expensive if nobody notices it.”

“You look stunning, Lady Morag.” The maid blushed, quite jealous of Morag’s beauty despite her spoiled attitude. Brighid nodded in the background, agreeing quite strongly.

“Don’t I?” Morag smirked, any grievances she had easily washed aside by flattery. She placed her fat hand on the maid’s shoulder and nearly took her breath away with her radiant smile. “Do be a little gentler next time though, hmm?”



“Of course, Lady Morag!” The maid said gratefully as Morag took Brighid’s hand, ready to start her day…

–

“Hmm… Which do you think looks better on me, Brighid, the ruby or the sapphire?”

Standing in the middle of the posh jewellery store, Morag held up her bloated hands to show her companion two fingernail-sized gemstones embedded onto rings jammed onto her sausage-like fingers, tipped with inch-long painted nails that were almost as shiny as the gems themselves. Both looked quite fetching, but their splendour was somewhat undermined by the fact that Morag’s hands already had a veritable gallery of rings on every finger, so much so that it was surprising that she could still bend them. Some fingers had two or even three, a gaudy rainbow of wealth that Morag was immensely proud of and born of her philosophy that there was no point spending on something that you wouldn’t show off, and with just how big her collection was getting, wearing so many was the only way to justify her extravagant purchases.

“They both compliment you splendidly.” Brighid decided, which clearly pleased her Driver more than if she had picked just one. Morag rarely left the store without buying at least two pieces, and this habit was more than reflected on her choice of accessories. She wore half a dozen or more necklaces on her chest, a gigantic gem nestled in her cleavage to top it off. Her arms were covered in bracelets and bangles, and from her ears dangled two enormous decorations at the end of thick rings, while she had some gem-encrusted hair accessories to top it off, her ponytail held together with solid gold rings. “The wealth of the Mor Ardain Empire contained on her body,” she often bragged.

“Then I’ll purchase both!” Morag decided, the toadying store owner showering her with praise and compliments on her tastes as she paid for it, eager to keep one of his most frequent customers. He privately considered Morag’s decadent purchases a testament to his salesmanship, but his success was rather determined by his good fortune of being the easiest to walk to. Even in her current state of absorbing praise like a sponge, Morag wasn’t foolish or lacking in self-awareness enough to not see through his cheap flattery, not that she’d say no to it, instead preferring to take Brighid along when she needed a second opinion… who simply told her exactly what she wanted to hear anyway. From Brighid’s correct perspective, Morag simply wanted somebody to validate her, and had already made up her mind by the time she asked. Brighid was quite happy with this arrangement, recalling the days where Morag couldn’t even pick out a dress without needing reassurance that she had made the right call.

“Where to next, Lady Morag?” Brighid asked, Morag popping open her parasol as she waddled out of the store.

“Somewhere out of this dreadful sun, hopefully.” Morag said jovially, producing a hand fan and regularly cooling herself to make sure she didn’t get sweaty in the mild climate. “Come, there’s somewhere new I’d like us to visit.”

The two wandered the streets of Uraya’s new capital on the continent, Morag deciding to grace the commoners with her presence rather than take a carriage for once. She enjoyed mingling with the common folk, but not because it brought her closer to their level. Rather it was like she entered the sea of ordinary people and they parted around her, much to her delight. It wasn’t just the physical aspect of her enormity and expansive dress that spread her width around her, but the looks she got from possessing it. They all knew that she was far above their level, in figure, in status, in wealth, in beauty. She was in her own world, and no matter how close she descended to them, she was forever truly different from them, untouchable, even the physical threat of some overconfident would-be mugger deterred by Brighid’s presence. She was simply of a higher class of person, and wanted them all to know it, savoured the feeling of reaffirming it.

It wasn’t like she looked down on them, of course. It was their hard work that facilitated her carefree, exuberant lifestyle, and in turn she nudged along policies and worked the political climate to their advantage, bringing them happier and easier lives in return. A country or an Empire was nothing without its people, and without her noble status and wealth gained from them, she would be nothing more than an overfed layabout who lacked the skills to earn an honest day’s wages. Of course, Morag didn’t see herself as incompetent, or lacking in practical skills. She was still the Grand Inquisitor, after all! She’d just do a few pushups and a couple of laps around the Mor Ardain training grounds and she’d be fighting fit again in no time, ready to pick up her legendary talents where she left off. In reality, Morag was so out of practice that she hardly remembered how to swing a sword, but with luck she would never put herself in a position where she’d have to find out.

Brighid was taken by surprise when Morag brought them to an art museum, the esteemed gallery cool and refreshing on the inside, Morag pausing to check that her makeup wasn’t running in her hand mirror. She took nonetheless to apply a fresh coating of lipstick to her plump, puffy, over-inflated lips that dominated the lower half of her face, the result of months of non-stop use of the lip-enhancing lipstick, although one might have noticed that the tube she carried with her was a more ordinary brand. Morag had reached the point where her lips had permanently swollen to thrice their original size, something she couldn’t be more pleased to hear, although she had been warned that she had to stop pumping herself full of the chemical that produced this effect, lest her lips become so large and cumbersome that she develop a speech impediment. She had reluctantly settled for her current enormity, which seemed appropriate for the vastness of her face, which was so wide and so large between her pillowy cheeks and bloated second chin that her lips seemed like they were merely catching up.

“I didn’t realise you were an appreciator of the fine arts, Lady Morag.” Brighid said, Morag looking especially proud of herself.

“Of course I am. Come, let’s appreciate culture together.” Morag declared, the two wandering throughout the lavishly curated gallery, with nearly every notable painter from across the great nations having at least one piece in the gallery’s selection. However, Brighid soon noticed that Morag’s attention was less on the art itself and more on the plaques next to it, specifically the artist’s name and more importantly the price tag associated with it.

“Thinking of getting one for your room?” Brighid decided to ask while Morag squinted at the name attached to a particularly large painting.



“I could use the decoration.” Morag said with a slight shrug. “This isn’t what I’m looking for, anyway. It’s vast in scale, but the price shows that size hardly matches its reputation.”

That should have been enough to tip Brighid off, but she was something of an art appreciator herself, and was too busy appreciating the craftsmanship and ability of the painters to pick up on it.

“This is it!” Morag said all of a sudden as they passed a rare Aleksander Ludvig piece, looking excited and getting almost close enough for the gallery employee to warn her to back off. “This is what I was looking for! I simply must have it!”

“You have excellent taste, Lady Morag.” Brighid said with an approving nod, taking in the exquisite brushwork, the stunning vision of the artist, the intelligent composition, not to mention the embodiment of his life’s philosophy captured in a single painting. It was almost enough to bring a tear to Brighid’s eye just looking at it, and she was quite happy that Morag, somebody who had openly admitted years earlier that she didn’t really understand art beyond seeing a pretty picture, become so cultured that she could pick up on genius just by looking at it. “Might I ask why you had your eyes on this particular painting?”

“That’s simple.” Morag looked greedily at the painting. “Lady Olivia runs her mouth and brags every time she gets the chance that she owns an original Ludvig, she is simply intolerable to listen to. It gives me conniptions when she implies that nobody but her could even think to afford one! I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I mention that I have this hanging on my wall! ”

Brighid froze for a moment, then gently chuckled. Lady Morag really hadn’t changed all that much after all! No appreciation for the fine arts, only the painting’s practical value.  Though… this type of thinking from her had its own charm too. At least when it was Morag.

“Still, she certainly wasn’t jesting about the cost.” Morag mumbled as she counted the zeroes on the price tag. “I suppose I shall have to write it off as a necessary benefit to our Empire rather than a personal expense. What good is the wealth of our Empire if it isn’t spent?

“I suppose Mor Ardain will appreciate the cultural value when we return.” Brighid encouraged her, although between her jewellery addiction and now this, she might have to step in a little if her spending got even more outrageous.

“Yes, that must happen eventually, I suppose…” Morag said wistfully, sounding unsure of the idea herself…

–

“Lady Morag, will you be mine?”

Morag’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped, her plump lips forming a perfect O of surprise as time seemed to slow and the noise of the ball around her seemed to fade away as she stared into the earnest eyes of the man with his hand outstretched towards her. Her head spun, wondering just how this had happened. Just a few moments earlier it had been an ordinary ball, somebody or other’s big get-together, but right now  it was like the entire world was a backdrop to the scene before her eyes.

Morag knew she was desirable by nearly every man in Uraya, she complimented herself on that fact nearly every day. She laughed about it, bragged about it, smugly thought to herself that most men around her were dying to make a pass at her. Yet the possibility that somebody would actually make a serious confession to her had never quite occurred to her, her perfectly composed disposition and reputation preceding her making most men lose their nerve even when given the opportunity. They all knew that if they approached her simply to take advantage of her influence or treat her as a trophy to be won, their own reputations might not come out unscathed, at best publicly humiliated. So how had this happened? How was this young man confessing his love without a single hint of opportunism or deceit? He hadn’t had some special plan, no elaborate web of carefully planned coincidences to put him in the ideal position to perhaps suggest that she should consider a relationship with her. He had just walked up and asked her out!

Morag came back down to earth, realising that the deafening silence wasn’t just her vivid reaction, but the rest of the room being shocked into dropping what they were doing and focusing all of their attention on the two of them. Morag looked around the room helplessly, all eyes on her and what she would say next. She looked to Brighid desperately, who merely raised her hand to cover her smile, the look in her eyes telling her that she would have to figure this one out on her own. That traitor!

Who was this gentleman anyway? Morag vaguely recalled seeing him before. Wait… he was that dandy who had mixed her and Brighid’s titles up! He had had his eye on her since, following her around like a lost puppy, but only now had decided to simply go for it. But how would she respond? What was the best way to handle this situation?

Eventually, Morag found the answer. She slowly reached out her hand, and watched his eyes light up then fade in disappointment as instead of taking it, she gently pushed his hand down with one chubby finger.

“My deepest apologies, good sir.” Morag said in her most diplomatic, sympathetic voice possible. “But right now, my heart belongs only to Mor Ardain. To pursue love would be unbefitting of me.”

It was a neutral answer, but one he was forced to accept. He slowly backed off, and the party’s chatter began to resume, the guests almost forgetting it had happened no sooner had it ended. What else could have happened? Of course the immaculate Lady Morag wasn’t interested in a suitor. The idea of her dating was positively ridiculous! Indeed, Morag herself acted like it had never happened, and by the end of the night, most assumed that she had practically forgotten about it…

Later that night, long after the ball ended, Brighid heard some odd noises coming from the bathroom, and softly knocked on the door.

“Is everything alright in there, Lady Morag?” She asked, hearing a lot of splashing as Morag hurried to put herself in a more dignified position.

“Um, uh, perhaps?” Morag called back, Brighid sighing and leaning against the door.

“Would you like to talk about it?”



“Maybe.” Morag sunk nose-deep into her vast bathtub, her hips squashed against the edges no more than a few weeks after she had bought it with the intention of finally having room to spare. “Brighid, do you… do you think I gave the wrong answer?”

“To that man at the ball?”



“Mmhmm.” Came Morag’s bubbling response. “It was actually quite dashing the way he, you know, just went and did it, you know?” The normally eloquent Inquisitor turned socialite babbled awkwardly. “And he was awfully handsome, now that I think of it… what was that, Brighid?”

“Nothing, Lady Morag.” Brighid tried to suppress her fit of giggles and cleared her throat.

“Right.” If Morag were still capable, she would have hugged her knees to her chest. Instead, she merely slid her fingers over the alabaster surface of her pleasantly full stomach, in a contemplative motion. “I’ve never been with a boy before…” she confessed in a small voice. “What do you think it’s like?”

“If my journal is anything to go by, I have experienced the thrills and peaks of romance in past lives, but I don’t think my secondhand accounts could quite do it justice.”

“Based on my readings, I mean, what I’ve been told, it’s quite… thrilling.” Morag blushed, carefully phrasing her words. By that she meant the romance novels she had been reading lately, voraciously devouring exaggerated tales of love and melodrama, secretly hoping that someday she might be one of those heroines. “I can only imagine what it must be to have somebody truly treating me as a woman, appreciating my body to its fullest, taking me and, and… oh dear!”

Morag had started panting heavily, throwing up her hands to hide her shameful expression despite being the only one in the room.

“Lady Morag?”



“N-nothing! It’s just a little steamy in here.” Morag panted, bright red from her overactive imagination. “Urayan men truly do desire this body of mine, don’t they? Truth be told, I had thought it was merely to be appreciated from afar. Why, they’d have to, to… oh my, oh my!”

Morag dipped her head again as she imagined herself being pinned down on a bed, her clothes lovingly stripped as her partner took charge and she… no, it was too scandalous to imagine! A lady of her status couldn’t be seen having fantasies like these! What if it were to get out? Her lust turned to worry, worry that she might make the wrong choice and find herself with a most unsavoury reputation should her relationship not be true love.

“If I were to, as it were, find myself in a relationship with a man, I have a duty to make sure I have only the finest gentleman.” Morag declared a little too strongly. “He must be handsome, and gentlemanly, and kind, and intelligent, and refined, and… do you think that’s, you know, a little too much to ask? Men can be such cads, after all.”

“Not at all, Lady Morag.” Brighid said swiftly. “A lady such as yourself deserves only the finest man. Anybody else would be undeserving of you. A man of high status, preferably.”



“Yes, although I shan’t look only for his place in life. One should marry only for true love, after all.” Morag said with adorable honesty.

“It’s only natural that you would find yourself with a suitor, Lady Morag.” Brighid said. “All of Uraya’s bachelors should be lining up to win your heart and your hand in marriage.”

“Maybe a bit later, though!” Morag hurried to specify. “I’m married to my position, as they say. I can’t let myself be distracted! And I certainly can’t let every philanderer in the kingdom think they can try to woo me!”



“A wise decision, Lady Morag.” Brighid decided to not push her too hard today. She’d seen the way the men looked at her, and was sure that when the time came, she’d make the right choice…

…still, she could not resist throwing one last teasing comment her Driver’s way. “Best not to delay too long though, these are your most fertile years after all.”

Brighid could no longer restrain her giggle as the monumental woman behind the door squeaked like a mouse. She’d no doubt be getting an earful about appropriate comments for a lady’s companion to make, but it would be well worth it in the end.

–

Niall, the young emperor of the Ardainian Empire, peered out the window of his personal airship while he waited for his procession of guards to line up, hoping to see a certain figure waiting for him at the end of his long trip to Uraya. His face fell as he failed to find the person he was looking for, the only woman waiting for him being a woman as round as the moon in a large hat that obscured her features, but he assumed based on her generous figure that it was the Baroness who had been kindly hosting his sister for what was over half a year by this point, strangely accompanied by Brighid despite any visible sign of Morag..

 His kind personality rationalised that his sister Morag must have been too busy to meet him in person, instead sending a proxy and Brighid as the next best thing, but even then it was enough that his spirits fell and his smile was only out of politeness as he stepped off the ship. He had communicated with Morag only through regular letters since he had sent her on this little expedition, one that she claimed had gone swimmingly and that there was no reason to retrieve her, far from the constant pestering for reassignment that he had expected. Regaled with stories of how successful she had been in her role on top of the occasional mention of her by travelling Urayan nobility that spoke of her as some sort of immaculate figure, he still couldn’t imagine her as anything but the stiff, formal military woman he had last seen her as.

The woman lumbered towards him, the young emperor finding himself speechless as he realised just how enormous the woman in front of him was, the usual mindless pleasantries stuck in his throat as he was confronted with more fat than he thought capable of belonging to one person . Although he was used to the portly wives of travelling Urayan nobility, he couldn’t help but be taken aback at the immensity of the woman before him, three, perhaps four times his width and looking like she might start an international incident should she stumble and flatten him.

“Oh dear brother, how I’ve missed you so!” The woman cried, Niall gasping for breath as he sunk into her flesh, softer than the finest bed the Ardainian Empire could prepare for him, with two mighty pillows that were currently suffocating him and causing the poor boy to reel in confusion. He had recognised that voice, although it was far more emotional than he was used to. She finally released him, Niall stumbling backwards as he gawked at the grand figure before him.

“M-Morag? Is that you?” He stammered out, unable to process his sister’s transformation that “dramatic” failed to describe. Yet even with the heavy makeup, the fat cheeks, the bulging second chin, and whatever on earth she had done to her lips to make them at least three times the size he remembered them being, it was undoubtedly Morag.

“Indeed, it is I!” She said theatrically to confirm it beyond any doubt, removing her hat and brushing her hands through her veritable cape of hair, grown out to reach almost her knees in length and left to flow freely. “You may have noticed that I’ve undergone a few changes for the better since we last met, but regardless, I remain your beloved sister.”

“You’ve gotten… bigger!” He said dumbly, stating the obvious. He had been prepared for her to be a little softer, knowing the country’s tastes, perhaps with a fuller figure that she’d be embarrassed by. Instead, she seemed downright proud of herself! No, not proud, this was beyond that, the way she was puffing herself up, sauntering with each step. And what on earth had happened to her face? Her lips… he couldn’t stop staring!

“Urayans prefer women with a bit of embonpoint, you see. In order to fulfil my duties, it was necessary to revise my image a touch.” She said as if it was only obvious that she be morbidly obese and wearing a fancy dress. And the jewellery, the jewellery! Just how many necklaces and rings was she wearing? It was like she was wearing half the Empire’s yearly budget on her person! Hadn’t Morag protested adding unnecessary decorations to her uniform a few years ago?

“I… see.” He smiled weakly. “Um, how have you been?”



“Oh, I’ve been doing rather well for myself, I’m sure you’ve heard all about it.” Morag bragged. “I’ve charmed practically the entire nobility, you see. It seems that there are no doors that won’t open for a beautiful woman, even moreso if she’s well-spoken. It was nothing, really. Perhaps I should throw a party to celebrate your arrival, I could have every notable man and woman in the kingdom rewrite their schedules for me. Wouldn’t that be just lovely? Our Empire”

“So you’ve been busy then?” He said dumbly in response to her extended babbling.



“Perhaps a tad.” She giggled. Did she just giggle? Was Morag capable of giggling?

“Oh brother, I’ve a confession to make.” She said, taking his hand and pulling him in close. “I believe I’ve blossomed as a woman in our time apart, truly realised my own potential. No longer am I so boorish a woman, with mind for naught but muscles and military might. With beauty and grace, I’ve surely achieved far more in the field of femininity than I could have brandishing a sword and threatening our dear allies! Why, I daresay that none would badmouth our Empire while I’m around!”

Niall had hardly the opportunity to sneak a word in edgeways before Morag prattled on, looking supremely proud of herself.

“Our economic deals, our relations both political and trade, all have gone most favourably under my tender care and loving bosom! They all vie for my favour, even more than between themselves! I’m considered a beauty amongst beauties here, the peak of femininity! And I never would have gotten the chance if you hadn’t seen through me, seen through to the woman I could become!”

Before he could sheepishly suggest that he had merely wanted her to take a little time off to relax, she leaned in, and two pillowy folds pressed against his cheek, held for a second before breaking away with a loud smack as she kissed him, leaving an enormous red imprint of her lips on his face.The entire regiment was shocked speechless at the display, Morag practically glowing with happiness.

“Come, brother! I’ll have you settled in before you know it.” Morag turned on her heel as if nothing interesting had happened at all, leading the charge and giving him a good look at her wobbling and rocking ass. He rushed over to Brighid, the two staying a safe distance behind her and out of earshot as he whispered, most of his cheek still covered in lipstick.

“Brighid, I don’t suppose you could tell me what on earth is going on?” He asked weakly, Brighid putting on a diplomatic air of neutrality as she prepared for the arduous task of acting as if Morag’s behaviour was nothing unusual. And for herself it wasn’t, Morag’s pompous persona was carefully moulded under her loving care for months, but the emperor didn’t need to know that.

“The world of diplomacy in Uraya is a delicate affair, your excellency.” Brighid said coolly. “Much as she adopted an appropriate display of diligence and honour as the Grand Inquisitor, she has become an exemplary example of a woman of status. You’ll find the nobility here are quite receptive to such a display, though it may take some adjusting to from our Mor Ardain sensibilities. It would be unbecoming of her to break her act, so to say.”

“I see, that makes sense.” Niall nodded. It didn’t, but he wasn’t about to question it and risk shattering the image that Morag seemed to have carefully constructed in her time here. She had been a woman who would do anything to get a mission done,  and if that meant playing against the rigid personality he associated her with, he supposed it wasn’t out of the question for her to reinvent herself. “And her, um, weight?”

“As you should be familiar with as part of your understanding of Urayan customs, her weight is a proportionate sign of her importance.” Brighid bent the truth without a hint of shame. “Lady Morag has made herself one of the most important women in the world of the nobility, and must adopt a stature appropriate to her status, in line with Urayan beauty standards. It has taken quite the effort to bring herself so far. As she explained, this also makes her a woman of great beauty, in line with Urayan tastes.”

“Oh, I see!” Niall seemed satisfied with this. “I get it, I knew she’d never let herself end up like this if it wasn’t for a good reason. That makes sense!”

“I’m glad you understand, your excellency.” Brighid nodded humbly. With any luck, he’d get so used to the new Morag that he wouldn’t ask too many questions, and knowing him, she was sure that he’d be overjoyed to see how well she was doing for herself.

“I’m just glad she’s happy the way she is.” Niall whispered as Morag obliviously winded up another rambling explanation of her various achievements, peppered with self-compliments and a dizzying explanation of all of her various friends and acquaintances she had made so far. Niall followed almost none of it, Morag’s intended explanation of the importance of networking and currying the favour of others sounding a lot more like she had just spent her time in Uraya at tea parties and balls enjoying herself and making friends.

“By the by, dearest brother…” Morag  said in a tone that made it clear that she wanted something, suddenly changing topics and stopping in place, Niall nearly bumping into her gigantic ass, blushing as she turned to face him. She towered over him with her bulk, pressuring him with her size. “About the length of my assignment. I do believe it would be quite the waste if I were to return to Mor Ardain so soon, having entrenched myself so thoroughly in Urayan politics. I was rather hoping that you would see the value of my presence, and extend my stay for the foreseeable future. It would be a shame, no, a tragedy for the Empire to be denied my skills in this time of need! What say you, brother?”

Even more intimidating than her girth was the size of her ego, and although Niall was currently giving her the benefit of the doubt that this was merely for show, he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he were to insist that she return to Mor Ardain, like she would simply accuse him of mishearing her or accidentally misspeaking.

“Well… Since you seem to be enjoying yourself so much… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you stayed here a little longer.” Niall smiled, Morag quivering in delight for a moment before catching herself.

“Oh no, this has nothing to do with enjoyment. It’s purely a matter of duty, you see.” Morag did her best to sound humble, but her hips betrayed her excitement, widening and almost bouncing in delight. “I’ll redouble my efforts as to meet your expectations, your majesty! I’ll be the biggest woman in Uraya in every sense of the word! Now, I was going to discuss brunch, but I was just thinking that if I’m to take up more permanent residence, I should have an estate of my own…“