(Francesca Age Progression)
Francesca turned as the door to her studio opened, a small smile quirking her lips. The smile soon faded. She’d thought that it was one of her lovely dance students, or perhaps one of their parents. The truth was more annoying: it was a dark-skinned beauty with a sour expression on her face.
“Ebonii. Back from being a child.” Francesca’s tone was curt and condescending, and she sneered at the witch openly. She’d crossed paths with this woman once before, and the woman had left doing pirouettes as a girl who hadn’t even entered her teens.
“Screw you.” Ebonii replied, eloquent as ever. She held a magical amulet in her hands, one which glowed with sinister power. It didn’t threaten Francesca. Power meant a great deal, but magic was much like dancing. It was a matter of finesse.
“Dear child, do you need another punishment?” Francesca cooed mockingly, and she leaned forwards, resting a hand on her hip. Her fingers curled around her own talisman, and she prepared to regress Ebonii far beyond what she’d done last time.
Clearly a little over a dozen years wasn’t enough. This time, she’d make Ebonii an infant. Francesca let the power grow within herself, and she prepared to cast her strongest spell in months.
Then a red-furred blur knocked into her, screeching as it pried her medallion from her hands. Francesca looked up to see a simian looking down to her, piercings clearly visible on its primate face-on her primate face. The monkey clearly used to be human, and Franceca glared at the offense.
“You would use a transformed human in a magical duel? Have you no honor?” The dance instructor’s blue eyes were piercing and hard, like daggers.
“Love and war, sugar. Love and war.” Ebonii hummed, holding out her hand and letting the monkey drop the talisman into her outstretched palm. “Besides, she’s a friend. A little magic applied, and she’ll think this was just a dream. You, on the other hand, are about to enter a nightmare.”
“Do your worst.” Francesca sneered. Given the monkey, Ebonii was probably an animal transformation specialist. That meant she’d probably end up as something like a donkey, or a cow. It’d be humiliating, but she’d prepared herself for such assaults. The animals might be beasts, but they could still in a sense ‘dance’-and that would be enough for a restoration spell.
Ebonii giggled cruelly at the defiant look on Francesca’s face. “You have no idea what my ‘worst’ is.” Her smile only widened, and she lifted Francesca’s amulet instead of her own. “I remember what this thing did to my body…” She lifted her own amulet. “And you don’t know what this can do to your mind.”
For a moment, Francesca felt a moment of panic. Her eyes widened at the thought of an outcome she hadn’t forseen, a step out of line in her planned performance. “No!” She outstretched a hand in terror.
Then the magic crashed against her, and everything changed-literally. A choking gasp escaped her delicate frame as she convulsed, feeling both artifacts’ magical energies wash across her. Her eyes widened, and she choked out a sob.
Then her body began to bloat. It wasn’t with inhuman bulk, like she’d expected. Instead, this was human pudge, soft cellulite forming on her arms and her thighs. She looked to them with outright distaste, having fought hard to keep her nubile form even though she was nearly twenty-eight.
The exact opposite feeling to having the wind knocked out of her came next, her chest inflating, causing her to inhale a sharp onrush of air. “Fwuh!” She gasped, her pupils dilating as she gained a pleasingly plump heft, her belly hanging over the waistband of-waistband?
Francesca looked down, outright yelping in distress at the sight of her clothes changing. They had been a sexy, sleek unitard. Now she sported a t-shirt and the true sign of a woman who’d given up on her figure: sweatpants.
“NO!” She clutched at the cheap cotton-poly blend, feeling her skin revolt against the peasant’s garb. Francesca glared up to Ebonii, but the woman and the monkey perched on her shoulder were blurred. She wiped at her eyes, but that didn’t help much.
“Forgetting your glasses, dearie?” Ebonii giggled cruelly, the amulets pulsating to the beat of her infernal heart. She’d never done a transformation like this before, and seeing it happen was exhilarating.
“O-oh!” Francesca blushed demurely, grabbing them from the collar of her T-shirt. “Of course, how silly of me.” She smiled in a matronly fashion, her eyes losing some of their luster, becoming a duller shade of cerulean.
The woman shook her head a moment later, whimpering as she felt her hair lengthen. Her smooth, sleek hair was curling out to soft curls, something home-styled rather than professionally groomed. “No, no! This isn’t me, I wouldn’t say something like that!”
She looked back up to Ebonii, her composure cracking and arrogance melting to the genuine panic she felt. “This isn’t right, this isn’t me!” Her doughy body rippled with her every motion, and Francesca sobbed with distress.
She wasn’t used to being this fat, had never dreamed of going to pasture like this. Even though her clothes were loose, everything felt tight and constricting-like her skin itself wasn’t used to holding this much weight. That feeling soon changed as stretch marks swept across her body, though she was used to having them.
After all, she’d had a lovely baby girl just last year.
The thought entered her head and she shuddered, whimpering in absolute distress. “Oh my! No, that can’t be right, I’m not a mother!” Her speech was quainter now, more traditional. She looked up to Ebonii, glaring. “No, this is so mean! You’re a mean person!”
“Hmm, maybe. But you’re not, are you?” The dark-skinned with smirked. “You’ve never even thought of transforming someone against their own will before, have you?”
“Goodness, no!” Francesca lifted a hand to her ample bosom, silently glad she’d worn one of her comfier, stretched bras today. “Using magic like that? It’s so horrid! Wait. Hgnh. Stop.” The woman’s pretty face contorted into a grimace.
She felt something pressing between her temples, a pressure that she knew was erasing her identity. Years of changing women into prim children were vanishing, and in their stead were years of bliss the content of being a housewife and a baker who’d sampled her own sweets far too often.
“Stop talking. This isn’t me, I’m not some housewife. I am Francesca, and I will not succumb.” Every word was like trying to step into a hurricane, her mind rejecting the words even as she forced them out. It felt like her old life wasn’t hers, but rather a role that she’d been playing-that her new life was the reality.
It was a chilling, terrifying concept, and one that she couldn’t reconcile. She was twenty-eight… No, she’d been thirty for six years now, thanks to keeping her husband from throwing birthday parties for her. No, she was… She was a baker… Not a dancer. She hadn’t even been to dancing school, she’d gone to culinary school because other classes were too hard… Right?
That indecision, that damning moment, was enough to condemn her. She allowed an instant of hesitation to set in, and the transformative spell swept across her mind, forever changing it, simplifying it.
“My head… I…” Francesca wobbled in place, her hand rising to her curls. She looked up, finding an unfamiliar woman in her… Studio? The familiar smell of baked goods wafted into her nose, and she looked around to find her baking equipment right where it belonged.
“No, not a studio. My bakery.” She mused aloud, amused by the thought. The portly housewife then turned towards the newcomer, smiling warmly. “Howdy, sweetie! Can I get you anything?” She giggled, secretly hoping that today would be another slow day, and that she’d get to snack on whatever hadn’t sold.
“No, just passing through. Though…” The dark-skinned beauty proffered a twenty-dollar bill. “Treat yourself to something. You work so hard, I insist that you have some of your own baked goods.”
“Mighty kind of you!” Francesca beamed, snatching up the bill and depositing it in her register. She waved amicably to the woman as she left, then set to work snacking on a pastry. It was sugar-coated, sugar-filled, and dipped in chocolate-the exact kind of thing that another her would never be caught dead eating.
But it was the exact kind of thing she’d want to have to help get another bun in her oven… A smile graced her lips as she pet her belly, hoping that tonight her husband would try to give her a son.