Chaldea was, for sure, not the worst place Medea had ever been summoned to. Compared to the Grail Wars, it was positively peaceful. Even if the responsibilities of a Servant in this scenario weighed heavily on all, it was in some ways much better than a usual summoning. Not having to murder your fellow historical figures, heroes, and assorted other spirits summoned by the holy grail was a unique, and not altogether unpleasant, experience.

In some respects it was the best summoning she’d had. In other, very important respects, though, it was the worst. In some of her recent summonings, in the modern era, she’d taken to collecting figures, models. Or even in some cases making her own. It was a wonder of human invention, to be able to have near perfect replicas of characters real and fictional, in easily stored miniature. Oh, the wonders of plastic injection! When she was summoned in a modern age, she’d been so looking forward to a new collection - and crushed utterly when she heard that humanity, and by extension it’s varied methods of creating figures and models, had abruptly gone extinct but for the staff of Chaldea.

In a world with no humans, there was practically no way to get models. And it wasn’t like Chaldea would have the proper tools and molds. It was hard to find motivation to work, to do much of anything - why bother, when the things that made it all worthwhile were gone? If she had even one figure, to dote on and admire, she might be able to motivate herself to give proper aid. Others might call her laying despondent on her bed, hardly able to move for her despair, melodramatic, but those others have clearly never loved and lost in their lives.

She had no idea how long she’d laid in her bed for when she heard a knocking on the door. “Oi, you in there!” a gruff female voice said.

“Leave, whoever you are.” Medea said, muffled by being face down in a pillow. Even the softness of modern bedding could not cheer her.

“Master said to drag you outta there, and I’m not going to make a bad first impression, alright?” The voice said. “If you don’t come out, I’m going to come in!”

“Then come! See the despair my modeler’s soul has fallen into, and know that it is a futile effort.”

There was quiet for a few seconds, confusion clear, before Medea heard the door slide open. A hand landed on her shoulder. “Come on, then, I don’t care if I’ve got to carry you out, you ain’t staying here.”

Medea swatted the hand away and turned to look at this brutish assailant. And what she saw was the face of an angel. She knew that face, she knew it well, her beloved Artoria - this wasn’t her, there were subtle differences that defined her as different. And her rough attitude, that was poor as well. But her face was perfect, and the rest Medea could work out after. “Ah… who are you…?”

The gruff woman with a lovely face pulled back. “Mordred. What about it?”

“Nothing - your name is all I need to know about you.” Medea said, waving off the question and standing.

“You gonna come after all? What happened to all that ‘woe is me’ crap?” Mordred grumbled. Medea hadn’t seen her before, despite of course knowing the face. For a moment, she idly wondered how she was connected to Artoria, or if she was at all, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant. She was newly summoned, and thus not likely to be missed.

“I was struck by inspiration. If I can’t purchase models, I must make them myself!” Medea declared.

Mordred frowned with confusion. “Alright…?”

“Thank you, Mordred, for being that inspiration.” Medea said, placing a hand on the short knight’s head. And beginning to channel her spell.

“Hey, hands off!” Mordred shouted, pushing the hand off. She moved to back away… but when she tried to move, her feet were frozen to the ground. “The hell is this?”

“You shall also be material!” Medea said cheerfully. “A face as cute as yours has no place on a real battlefield. I think you’ll be much better, much happier, this way.”

“The hell are you on about!?” Mordred said. Her noble phantasm appeared in her hand and she went to strike at the witch, but when she did it bounced without visible injury.

“Careful, don’t want to ruin the plastic!” Medea said cheerfully as she watched the spell work. The transformation had begun with Mordred’s feet, freezing in place as they turned to plastic. “Oh, you’ll look great, I’m sure.”

Mordred snarled and swung again - even plastic could make for a decent weapon if you swung it hard enough, right? “You- you disgusting witch!” she shouted as she swung. Medea was nonplussed, raising a hand to block the sword and pulling the blade from the handle with a swift and firm tug.

“You’d be surprised how easy it is for a Caster to work if they manage to get close,” Medea said cheerfully. “Smile! That glare ruins your perfect visage!”

Mordred looked at her sword hilt in disbelief, the plastic peg the blade had been stuck onto practically taunting her. “I-I’m not going to give up so easily!” she said, moving to brush away some hair that had fallen in front of her face. Or trying to. It didn’t move. She tried again. Nothing. “What the-” she started, grabbing onto the hair and feeling that it, well, wasn’t hair anymore. It was a solid piece of plastic fitted to her head.

It wasn’t stopping there, the transformation moving as fast down her face as it was up her feet. She felt her expression pulled into a soft, cheerful smile. She tried to speak, to talk down to the Caster-class Servant more, but her mouth would no longer move. She felt at her face, and while she still had some sensation, her fingers didn’t feel skin, but hard vinyl. Even her eyes didn’t register any irritation when she touched them, no longer actual parts of her body but painted onto her plastic head.

“Stop touching there!” Medea demanded, “You’ll smudge your paint!” she said, taking hold of Mordred’s hands and pulling them from her face. Mordred tried to resist, but as the plastic had crept up to her knees she was having trouble keeping her balance anyway - she couldn’t fight back, physically or verbally, no matter how she shouted and spat in her mind.

Medea took her time as plastic started to cover Mordred’s clothes. It wasn’t a particularly knightly outfit, if she were being honest - of course it wouldn’t be in the middle of Chaldea, without the prospect of imminent combat - but she didn’t mind so much. The striking red was a good look for the rough Saber, and she couldn’t help but enjoy how much skin it showed, and even in the parts that didn’t show skin it was equally sexy - if she didn’t appreciate the view she might question the skin-tight leggings, or the fact her chest was primarily covered by a single band of cloth.

As the plastic crept down Mordred’s neck and up her hips, Medea started to pose the poor knight. Mordred could no more resist than she could fight back, as her legs were brought together into a more casual stance just in time for her plasticizing hips to freeze them in that position. The same went with her arms; Medea brought her right arm up and pointing the sword hilt over her shoulder, so that when the blade was present it’d be resting on it. The left, she pulled down to casually rest on her hip. The witch with a modeler’s soul made a few, careful adjustments, making sure to get the pose perfect as the plastic started creeping into Mordred’s shoulder joints and then further down. “You should be happy, you’ll be so much better off as a model than a warrior. It’s far safer, and all you have to do is stand there and look pretty. Once I’m done with you, even your bad attitude won’t have a chance to ruin your dashing looks!”

Ah, she was turning out great! Medea couldn’t be happier, losing herself to the joys of modeling. It would be difficult to get more, but even this one would reinvigorate her! She made some subtle adjustments as the plastic crept down Mordred’s chest and up her waist, making sure she was in the right pose and definitely not just using an excuse to feel her up. Mordred didn’t have enough mobile parts to even put up a token struggle anymore; she was Medea’s toy to play with as she pleased, looking as if she was enjoying it with her face frozen in vinyl no matter how loudly she swore vengeance on the inside.

Soon, Medea replaced the plastic blade of Clarent to it’s socket, and stood back to admire her work. The Saber stood before her in a jaunty, ready for action kind of pose, sword over her shoulder and hand on her hip as she smiled at Medea. “Oh, you turned out better than I could imagine!” Medea sang, hands on her cheeks in awe as she felt her heart practically skip a beast. And then the life-sized figure fell over backwards. “Oops!”

Medea picked the figure up - made entirely of vinyl plastic as she now was, she was rather lighter than she’d been in the flesh - and checked for scuffs and dust. Once she was satisfied, she created a base stand for her and slotted Mordred into it at the feet. “My apologies, I completely forgot your base! Won’t happen again.” she said. “Now, to get you to a more manageable size…”

She placed her hand on Mordred’s head again, and the Saber started to shrink. Down and down she went, rapidly losing mass until Medea had to crouch to maintain contact. Mordred had never been that tall to begin with, and was even less so as she wobbled to a stop at a height of around 9 inches.

Medea picked up her new figure, taking the time to admire it. “Ah… I’ve been in such despair, just having one figure truly soothes my soul…” she sighed, as she gently began to feel up the figure. She’d made sure to include in the transformation a preservative topcoat, making sure that no matter how she handled it, the paint would never wear or fade. She held it in one hand as the other stroked the figure’s head. She brought a thumb down to feel at it’s hard breasts. “You’re my finest work yet, I’m sure you’ll appreciate…” Medea said.

Mordred, for her part, was continuing to scream and shout internally - but there was nothing she could do but take it, her sense of touch still quite present as she felt Medea begin to play with her. It felt good, as much as she hated it. “This is a relief for me, but you can’t get any kind of relief now, can you?” Medea said, a cruel smirk on her face as she let her hand drop to the figure’s finely sculpted thighs. “You can feel good, so good, but can’t get any relief from it… Ah, what a way to live, I’m almost jealous…” she said. Mordred did feel good. Especially as Medea’s fingers travelled up her thigh to rub against her expertly constructed and painted panties.

Medea groaned softly, the simple pleasure of playing with her newest toy doing wonders for her mental state - and severe damage to Mordred’s. It felt so nice, she didn’t want it to but it did all the same. She needed relief. She desperately needed it, but her body could no longer provide. She could only exist as a toy for Medea to play with, she could only hope she stopped soon while at the same time part of her hoped she wouldn’t.

Medea played with her lovely model for quite a long time. Eventually, though, she wiped it off and set it carefully, lovingly on her shelf. “Now then, I do think I have things I must do. I’ll be back to continue our little play session soon, my lovely toy~” she said, before turning and leaving the room, leaving Mordred alone with her intense arousal and her thoughts.

-----

It had been months since Mordred’s ill-fated mission to rouse Medea, and Chaldea had moved on. The resident Master had grumbled and fumed, but since Mordred had completed her task of getting Medea out of bed, she didn’t grumble too much. Most of the Servants hadn’t had the time to meet Mordred at all, and thus life had gone on much the same as it always had. For reasons none of the Servants could fathom, Medea had completely turned around, being cheery and helpful, far more than she’d been when she locked herself in her room for a week after her summoning.

The secret to her newfound cheer was, of course, Mordred - her lovely little figure that she’d practically built a shrine around. She kept her on a shelf across from her bed, where she could gaze on it as she went to sleep and where it’d be the first thing she saw when she woke. She cleaned it, fondled it with love constantly, and otherwise had most of her free time revolve around it.

For Mordred, it had been a rough several months. She’d worn herself out of screaming. As it became increasingly clear that nobody was going to find her - and that nobody was even looking - she fell to despair. It was so isolating, with nobody to talk to. Eventually, she even began to look forward to Medea’s presence. She’d gotten used to long periods of loneliness, but Medea’s appearance would herald a time of conversation and play. She craved the attention, no longer caring that her owner had done this to her, only that she’d keep her company.

So when she heard the door sliding open, she was happy to hear Medea returning. But the click-click-click of boots on the ground were a different sound to her owner - was it not Medea, then? Who else ever came in the room?

A short, blonde-haired figure in white stepped quietly into the room, looking every-which-way. Mordred didn’t recognize her - of course, she hadn’t had time to meet most of the Servants, and Gudako had probably summoned more, so that didn’t mean much. The Saber idly wondered what she was doing in Medea’s room.

The white-clothed girl rested her gaze on Mordred, pausing and staring. Then she stepped close, and picked Mordred up from her stand.

The motion panicked her. She was being moved. This was her spot. The only one who moved her was Medea! Mordred was so far gone in the isolation that any deviation from the norm was stressful, and this was more than a little different. “Wow… pretty…” the girl muttered, as she turned Mordred around to look at her. Mordred desperately wanted her to let her go, to put her back. At least, she did until the person started rubbing her gently, just like Medea did…

Meanwhile, the witch was humming happily to herself as she returned to her room bearing cleaning supplies. She liked to keep her as clean as she could - it was the least she could do to thank the figure that gave her so much motivation.

“Oh Mordreeed~” she called softly as she entered her room. “It’s time for your favorite part of the week~” she said, turning to her shelf-

And finding it distinctly lacking a Mordred.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no-” Medea muttered, looking all across the shelf. Had she left her somewhere else? Had she fallen as a result of rowdy servants bumping into the wall? Something else? She had to find her beloved figure!

There was no sign of her anywhere, which could only mean one thing! Theft! Medea dashed out of the room, intent on searching Chaldea top to bottom.

Thankfully, she didn’t reach the point of having to break into other Servant’s rooms. In the dining hall - empty at this time of day, usually - she ran across a certain Saber. Artoria Lily, a youthful form of her beloved Saber… sitting with Mordred in front of her, staring at her with admiration.

Medea stomped over, ready to lash out. But when Lily looked at her, the fire of anger was smothered. “Yes, Miss Medea? Can I help you with something?”

Focus, Medea - Mordred first, gush later. “I- I- You shall return my figurine to me, at once!” Medea demanded, with only a little stumbling over her words. Gosh, Lily was so cute.

The youthful Saber blinked, then looked at Mordred as if just remembering she was there. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said, and handed the figurine gently to Medea. “I don’t know what came over me…”

“I know she’s a high quality figurine and all - the highest quality, even…” Medea said, “But that’s no justification for theft!”

“I wasn’t stealing it, really…” Artoria Lily said, unable to meet Medea’s eyes. “I was just… borrowing it. I was in your room to do some cleaning since it was my turn on the rotation, and I saw it and I just… I couldn’t help myself, I felt a really deep connection with that figure…” the girl was rambling, really, talking out her thoughts as they came to her, “So I picked it up and played a little bit, which is silly I’m not a little girl who plays with dollies anymore, but it felt so nice… I just had to spend some time with her…”

Medea could practically melt, she was so cute, so pure… “I can understand that. Figurines are wonderful, aren’t they?” An inkling of an idea started in Medea’s head, and grabbed her. “Oh, do you want to come to my room again? I can tell you about it, and I can gush about all the detail on her…”

“You’d let me do that, after I took her without asking?” Lily asked.

“Of course! A fellow enthusiast isn’t a bad thing!” Medea said, smiling.

-----

Artoria Lily had returned with Medea to the witch’s room, where they’d brought the figurine down to a small display base on the floor, where Lily could get a good look at her. “What’s her name?” she asked, looking at the tomboyish grin on the figure’s face. She looked familiar, somehow, but Lily just couldn’t place it.

“She’s called Mordred. If you were a different incarnation of yourself, you might recognize her.” Medea said, gently.

Lily stared, enraptured by the figure. “She’s very pretty… I’m sure she loves being displayed, and how much care you give her…” Lily said. She reached down and stroked the figure’s head, gently, looking at her smile…

And noticing she was starting to get closer. She hadn’t bent over. Her fingers felt stiff, all of a sudden. What was happening to her? “Medea, I feel… weird…” she said. She was getting… smaller? And her hands, why was she having such trouble moving them? Her feet were having trouble too. She tried to stand up, but Medea left a hand on her shoulder, having her remain where she was.

“Don’t worry about it, Lily. Why don’t you just take a closer look at Mordred?” she said, soothingly.

Lily didn’t feel like it was an appropriate time, but when she saw Mordred again, she couldn’t help herself. She bent down, getting on hands and knees and looking close as she began to shrink. She could feel something from Mordred. A sense of… curiosity? And some sense of desire. “What do you want, Mordred…?” she asked, her voice a whisper. She got closer and closer as she got smaller and smaller. The vinyl texture made it difficult to move, but so worth it as she felt her bond with Mordred grow.

As the plastic covered her arms and legs and started to climb her hips and neck, she was already half her original size. She didn’t care. She found it hard to think of anything but her fascination with the figure, her… her desire to be near her. And she could practically feel Mordred’s desire to be near her - the figure’s jaunty grin and casual stance seemed to beckon her to join, and Lily was having a hard time thinking of doing anything else.

Medea had stepped back and left the spell to do it’s work. It was interesting, watching it work with Lily’s instinctive connection to Mordred. Lily already was losing memory, finding it difficult to think of anything but being with Mordred.

The plastic covered her torso and was now starting to overtake her face. Lily couldn’t speak anymore, but she didn’t need to - she was so near Mordred’s size, soon they’d be together. She hardly noticed as her features became painted on, as her hair solidified in plastic. She was now one seventh of her original size, a mere 9 inches tall and fully plasticized, but she didn’t care.

She walked towards Mordred, who’s own pose seemed to shift. She sheathed her sword, and outstretched her arms. Her molded mouth couldn’t make a sound, but Lily could feel her request. She strode towards Mordred, almost skipping. When she reached her, she was slightly surprised to find her feet had slotted themselves into new pegs on the model’s display base - and how intense that feeling was, as she became part of the same structure as Mordred.

She and Mordred were one. Lily hardly remembered who she was, but that fact made her metaphorical (she was solid plastic after all, now) heart beat fast - it was what mattered to her. She and Mordred embraced on their display stand, heads coming together in a kiss. She could feel Mordred - she was happy, so happy, not to be alone. Neither of them would be alone ever again, as their plastic froze solid, locking them in place.

Medea clasped her hands together and practically squealed with glee. They’d come out better than she could have imagined! Using the connection that Mordred and Artoria variants have naturally, she’d been able to easily and quickly transform Artoria Lily - but the pose and how close they were, that was all the invention of the two of them and she’d had little to do with it.

She picked up the two of them and placed them on her beside table, taking her time to admire them. “Ah, I can just see a backstory here…” she said. “I see a Princess and a Knight, star crossed lovers…” she said. “The Princess wants to be a warrior, and the Knight helps her feel better about being a Princess… as they talk and become friends, they fall in love…”

As Medea spoke, her words worked into the plastic heads of her figurines. Lily, her mind already full of blanks from her transformation, took to the name and role of Princess easily - it seemed far more real than the name Artoria Lily. Mordred, for her part, was so dependent on Medea that she’d accept it if she said the sky was brown. If Medea said she was called Knight, then Knight she was.

“They consummate their secret love, and carry on in secret… until disaster, Princess is betrothed! Knight helps her flee the kingdom, as she’s disgusted with her suitor, but the Princess insists she return and break off the relation with Knight, to save her true love from execution that surely awaits her in the kingdom. But when she gives her a loving farewell kiss, a curse strikes them! They turn into statues where they stand, forever locked in their lover’s embrace…”

Knight wanted to hear Princess’ voice so bad. So badly. But she could be content, if she had Princess in her arms forever. Princess could sense this and couldn’t agree more - there were far worse fates than to become one with your love. The two, no longer Mordred and Artoria but Knight and Princess, embraced each other lovingly - forever and ever, a witch’s curse keeping them together for all time.

“Ah…” Medea said, laying back on her bed and removing her undergarments. She was so incredibly horny, she needed to… she needed to work it off, she’d come up with such vivid images. She could see their consummated love so clearly in her mind.

Princess had nervously asked Knight to her chambers, not sure what she was planning but knowing she had to be alone with her. Knight had questioned, and almost left… but Princess had grabbed her arm, keeping her in place. Knight had asked Princess what she was doing - and the Princess’ answer had been to gently place the Knight’s hand on her breast, and clasping her hand, helping her squeeze. Medea moaned softly as her own hand mirrored the action.

Knight had asked the Princess if she was sure, and in response, Princess had gently tugged her to the bed. Even though she was the one that initiated, though, Princess was a gentle soul, not fit to be on top - and she didn’t want to be. She wanted Knight to be on top of her, to take her gently. At her gentle insistence, Knight began to take control of their coupling. She stripped off her dress, first, slowly and worshipfully.

As Medea writhed on the bed in the throes of her imagination, the current Knight and Princess watched her with nostalgia. They could sense what she was thinking of, and remember well what they’d done that night. Knight had started with kisses, across Princess’ whole body but especially her mouth. Then, gently, she slid a finger into her lover’s waiting sex.

At first, it had been gentle, a questing finger asking for permission. But Princess had reached down and gently uncurled another finger, insisting that it be joined by a partner. And then another… she’d had her Knight take her gently, but vigorously, and returned the favor with her own hand. They kissed deeply as they made sweet love for the first - and not even close to the only - time.

Knight and Princess watched Medea, having stripped herself, begin to finger herself, vigorously, mirroring the motions of their first sex. She even commented for them. “Oh, my beloved Knight… take me however you wish, my heart and body alike are yours!” she said, in a light voice. Then, in a lower and more mature voice, she answered herself, “Oh, but my Princess, it is I who live to serve you… I shall take this with all the seriousness and dedication of my knightly duties…”

Medea worked herself over, seeing herself in the place of her Princess as her lover took her firsts - her first kiss, the first touch of her breasts in love, her first lovemaking, first after first delivered and received with love and admiration of the highest order. Knight and Princess watched, appreciating the chance to reminisce over their first night together. They felt Medea might be romanticizing it a bit - they were nervous and not exactly practiced experts when they’d gone at each other the first time - but they appreciated it all the same. She was acting more like the fifteenth time.

Medea had left words behind, moaning softly as she fingered herself. In her mind, Knight and Princess were moving faster and faster, the bed shaking under the force of their lovemaking. Her body shook and shuddered as she saw the two of them climax, juices mingling as Knight fell on top of Princess and they climaxed as one. She came just as hard, and drifted off to dreams of her figurines.

Knight and Princess watched Medea settle, listening to the steady sound of her breathing and watching the rise and fall of her chest. It was nice of her to keep them together, and they loved her for it, and for keeping them company… but they had each other, too. As much as they wished they could speak, they were happy with their kiss. And in the night, they’d stare into each other’s painted eyes, and be content with their place.