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The sun had been setting on another day in the kingdom, but a dramatic story was only just beginning. There had been a royal kidnapping – a witch had taken the princess away from the castle. It was an event every citizen and guard witnessed, as the crime occurred before their very eyes, no discretion involved in the plot. They heard the princess’s shrieks from up above as she was carried, high over the rooftops, past the castle wall; they feared the thundering pattern that proceeded through courtyards and intersections, booming beside houses and wagons. There was no obstacle that the witch could not surpass, as she towered above every structure, a titanic woman dressed in purple that had appeared without warning. Never before had the princess’s kingdom faced such an unstoppable enemy, despite herself existing in a realm of fantasy and fiction – a story world, whose words were under the pen of a new author.

Step after step created pops of destruction and spun roars from the townsfolk, yet Cursey’s expression remained flat and unimpressed from start to finish. It was only when she first caught glance of the tiny princess that she showed a spark of emotion, a shimmer in her swamp-green eyes as she stole the royalty from her tower, as effortlessly as pilfering a cabinet. The rest of the story bored her, largely overlooked beneath her black skirt as her loafers leaped above shops and homes, crashing into medieval scenery that instantly became debris stamped into the soles. Between steps, Cursey would sometimes shake the wreckage loose, but arrows and swords remained stubbornly stabbed into her footwear like thorns from a bush, not unlike how leaves and acorns routinely snagged onto her twin braids of hair. Elsewhere was evidence of bite-sized resistance: tears in her dark-mesh leggings and bolts in her swirl-patterned sweater, the best of many attacks lobbied against her giant form, all proven ineffective. As straightforwardly as when she invaded, Cursey casually continued towards the border of the city, increasingly callous to the consequences of each step she took, eager to exit back into her own realm.

The princess was limp with exhaustion after so many vain calls for help, barely able to tremble within Cursey’s clutches. She winced whenever the huge fingers adjusted around her, each digit thicker than her limbs, curling with an uncanny sense of control. Their nails were colored midnight black, yet despite how the princess feared them, they were surprisingly sensitive – never too tight, but firm enough to prevent the silk dress from slipping loose, the thumb in particular fixed in a position to buckle her safely into the palm. The sensation was almost tender – so what purpose did the witch have for kidnapping her? She madly wondered as much, but dreaded finding out; she feared what intentions were behind those tired eyes, with deep, dark bags drawn beneath them, as though sleepless nights were spent scheming.

Before the princess could beg again for those answers, the unstoppable was stopped – Cursey stood in place, somewhere still within the city. “This should be far enough,” she spoke, introducing a hauntingly quiet voice despite her tremendous size. The remark made the princess shiver with fright, but she immediately went stiff again when that dull stare burrowed into her. “I have to write us a way out,” she plainly explained, lifting up from her side a gray-covered tome, “so, I’m going to need both hands…”

The princess babbled confusedly, making sense of what was said until it was whimmed upon her that next moment. She was craned in front of Cursey, then aimed head-first at where the witch wanted her, pointed at the cleavage that her low-collared sweater left exposed. Mid-breath, the princess was submerged between the globes, pushed deep enough to be held by their heft; her legs stuck out and kicked wildly up in the air, both made bare to her bloomers when her royal dress pooled around her waist. Muffled protests buzzed from the bosom while Cursey quietly continued with casting their exit, equipping a quill in one hand while the other flipped open the tome to an unfinished page.

As straightforwardly as when she invaded, she wrote, Cursey casually continued towards the border of the city, increasingly callous to the consequences of each step she took, eager to exit back into her own realm. As the ink dried into the parchment, so too did swirls of eeriness spawn all around the witch, including her upside-down captive. Those designs grew numerous, surrounding the two while Cursey twiddled her quill; “Ehh… Too wordy… but it will do.”

Swimming between walls of skin, the princess strained to flip herself around, unable to save any grace in her flailed attempts. She eventually undug herself from the cleavage, resurfacing as a frazzled image of herself, her twirls of hair plastered with sweat and her dress riddled with wrinkles. More pressing than her untidiness, however, was where she found herself, turning towards the greater scene around her while her legs spilled and shivered for balance atop the breasts. The world she knew – the kingdom she once governed – had disappeared entirely. Her eyes grew wide assessing this new reality, which she recognized as a library of gigantic proportions: shelves that stretched taller than any castle, a sky defined by a distant ceiling, and shadowy blotches residing in the corners, where the autumn color of dim candlelight failed to glow.

The awestruck princess scanned from left to right, until she was turned around and looking up at Cursey, herself looking directly down at her captive. The witch was expressionless, barely tilting her head with curiosity before proceeding onward. She traversed the aisles with memorized familiarity, slinking around the corners and stepping over piles of disorganized details – messes of incomplete thoughts that Cursey’s imagination tended to produce. Like a hoarder, she knew how to navigate the maze to the center of the scene, where a cobwebbed chandelier hung above a clearing in the library: the foyer, distinguished by two flights of stairs ascending from either side to the upper level, a lonely writing desk established there in the middle.

Cursey sighed as she claimed the chair to the desk, a motion that rocked the princess, sprawled out across the witch’s chest like an accessory. She was nearly thrown off by the bounce of Cursey sitting down, but would later be dismissed from her perch when black-nailed fingertips grabbed her at the hip, plucking her away and then down onto the desk. The princess’s own panicking resulted in her immediately stumbling to her knees when she landed, falling pathetically onto a scattering of pages. The writings she opened her eyes to were instantly enchanting, regardless of whether or not those sentences ended in frustrated swirls of dissatisfaction.

“Don’t read that,” Cursey warned her. She hid inked words under her creepy fingers, popping the princess free from a mystical trance. Those same fingers then crawled closer to her captive, shaping into a shell around her. “The dialogue in that one is terrible…

“Which reminds me,” Cursey huffed amusedly, “that you don’t have any.” With the quill in her other hand, she pointed at the perplexed princess. There was a pause; the princess opened her mouth, but could only stutter and gawk. Cursey drew nearer with interest over her trying to speak, her earrings dangling particularly low; “You have no dialogue. You weren’t written with any. Currently, you can’t even ask for answers as to why this is all happening to you…” The quill moved idly in endless circles in the air; “Your mind must be a complete swirl…”

Washed with paleness, the princess pushed away from Cursey’s palm, dashing around the net of fingers as though they were going to spring around her. She was allowed to get away, for she only had so far to go, confined to the limits of the desk – a location which spun her with intrigue and worry, its witchy details dwarfing her. Bottles and vials occupied the corners, variously filled with neon liquids that promised arcane effects; books and papers stacked intermixed with each other, neighboring depleted inkwells and candles; most unfittingly were some number of empty birdcages, sized and styled differently from one another, waiting to be occupied. These potions and trinkets were as tall as she was, if not taller, distracting her from one last realization: the layout of the desk mirrored the foyer itself, with miniature staircases curving up to a second level, and tiny closed doors hinting to unseen rooms.

Dizzily, the princess turned back towards Cursey, the witch that loomed larger than everything else. She looked to her for answers, which Cursey was prepared to provide as she hoisted a thick novel onto the desk– bam! The princess jumped when the hardback was dropped down behind her, stumbling over her high heels as she fretted from the impact; when the book was opened wide, however, she was drawn right to the pages, a story that was knee-high to her. She hesitated to look into the book directly, but when Cursey did not dissuade her like she did before, the princess leaned forward into the novel.

It was an atlas, the princess learned, depicting lands she was familiar with – the continent of kingdoms, her own central among them, locked in the middle of formidable forces. She was reminded of the impending issues at hand, the unrest at the borders and the politics she played. If this was an explanation, she feared her purpose for being kidnapped was to be judged for her royal work, punished for mishandling her domain, as it was widely known how her kingdom was in decline – she had a hundred excuses as to why, but without any dialogue, the princess could only stagger with regret, weakly turning towards the witch with a shambled expression of an apology.

“... That’s a cute face,” Cursey commented, lurking even lower until her head was nearly laid on the desk – close enough that her breaths blew around the princess’s dress. “You have a lot on your plate; I’m well aware. You see, you’re a character in this story I was reading… Unfortunately,” she closed her eyes, “you’re not a very important one.” The truth cut the princess from trembling, digesting what she had been told. “You’re mentioned in passing, but a lot of your character is left to be inferred. Running a kingdom on the brink of ruin, yet living lavishly while ordering adventurers to do your bidding… You’re referred to as haughty and smug, even unwise at times, overly stressed and looking for easy answers… How tragic that the story goes on without you; you play only a small part in the narrative surrounding the main characters. You never even get to speak…”

As she rambled wordily, Cursey also cast a spell, channeled through her quill and into the novel. The princess watched as inky effects of purple magic leaked onto the pages, fluid like dust and spreading out to encompass the two pages of the atlas. It settled, then dispersed, as though a fog were lifted to reveal something new within the book. Miraculously, there was color and texture and depth to the drawings of the atlas – were they drawings at all?

A compulsion possessed the princess to touch the edge of the book, where she felt the warm wetness of sea water on her fingers. When she leaned farther forward to observe a southern island more closely, she confirmed her dream-like theory, gradually understanding the spell’s power. Beneath her was a living world, a portal to her realm, made real to the proportions of the map; in disbelief, she watched the diminutive indications of life, noting the trade ships sailing in and out of port, the crowds of townspeople in between tiny buildings, and the beachside fortress bunkering against the tidal waves of her appearance. The princess gasped and lifted away, aware then of her massive consequences – biting her thumb, she sat and watched the tragedies unfold, held in place by a grim fascination.

A pointed prod at her behind, however, broke her from that stillness. In a squeak of noise, the princess fell fastly forward, itching away from where Cursey’s quill touched her uplifted butt. She spasmed into the ocean, kicking her knees quickly onto the pages as she twisted around to defend herself from another unexpected touch; she heaved and growled, glaring at Cursey with a dark blush, but that emotion drained away upon realizing the disaster she was the center of. The southern island, a vital corner for international trade, was in remnants of itself; laid to waste by the princess, it existed as a stain on her dress, where only sparse chunks of land held together. Countless ships were smashed together, overwhelmed by the impossible force, their mightiness made brittle under the power of the princess’s meteoric lap. Even more was ruined when she then reacted by raising her legs, survivors swept into a subsequent storm of hazards that treated them like dirt rolling down a royal dress, appropriately then attacked by a swiping hand that sought to clean them off the jungle of fabric. That was, at least, until the princess again remembered her relative massiveness, freezing there mid-motion and shivering as she assumed the horrors happening around her.

“Occasionally, I discover a character that inspires me more than anything else,” Cursey continued, effectively unseen by the princess who gawked over the disastrous mess, but keenly listened to the witch’s narration. “You may have been a minor role… but I became obsessed over your every detail… What little of you there was, I wanted to see grown into a spectacle. You deserve your own story, so I think, anyway.” Their eyes eventually met, Cursey’s calm stare clashing with the princess’s confusion. Cursey’s lips were then veiled behind the black feather of her quill; “Your personality is almost perfect for the story I want to read…

“That being said, a few improvements can still be edited in.” Cursey reached into the atlas, her hand sprawling in the sky for miles – a divine-like force that was leagues more impressive than the princess she then took. Plucked up from the page, the princess was airlifted elsewhere, debris of the island civilization dripping from her dress as she soared above mainland territories. Cursey had decided on a new setting, planting the royalty right on her feet within the midst of a mountainous region. The reddish terrain and dry climate were soon recognized as belonging to a neighboring nation – her kingdom’s western enemy, the tyrants that threatened her border and the reason she called for the aid of adventurers. As she stood stiffly above that country, glancing at the cities and palaces dotted around her, Cursey’s comments rumbled on, “You need a little wickedness written into your character. So, here’s a chance for you to develop that.”

Cursey’s fingers bridged together under her chin, set to rest there as she studied the scene playing out: a doll-sized princess towering above a map-sized world. At first, the princess was slow and careful, shifting her heels across rocky canyons and inclines to first test the sensitivity of the world – proven to be fragile under even the lightest brush of her foot. She paused to imagine the terror being brought upon those populations, how overwhelming of a force her toes must be, the frightening suddenness of her arrival. But then, after that consideration, the princess blinked and looked differently at the land; her interest drilled into the glamorous palaces perched between mountain peaks, where she knew her enemies resided, certainly plotting the downfall of her kingdom. She thought about the armies stationed in their fortresses, then about the mines rich with precious materials, and then the cities that manufactured their weapons – the trade routes between towns, the farms that fed soldiers…

“You wanted easy answers to your problems,” Cursey cooed persuasively. “It will never be easier than this…~”

Outposts all across the nation had been alarmed of the arrival of a behemoth force from the heavens, their requests for direction left unanswered during the time the two titanic high heels curiously inspected their surroundings. Hysteria had broken down all chains of communication, but there was never a choice to begin with, only to submit to the immense power suddenly imposed upon them. They took solace that the giant stood quiet and idle, but that uneasy peace evaporated the instant those feet began to sway into motion, careening high into the sky; a shadow eclipsed all light that shined onto a proud palace and the civilization encircling it, so wide that the whole mountain was targeted. Apocalyptic panic rightfully spanned out – stampedes to flee the gates, last-minute revolutions to upend the tyranny – but the chaos existed for only a dwindling few seconds, the cacophony overblown by the rushing winds of a meteoric attack.

The noble high heels claimed its first victim, that of a city containing tens of thousands of lives, a number the princess vaguely considered only after the location was flattened. She felt the environment disintegrate underfoot, how the fantastic palaces fell apart like glass, the mountains of earth fissuring like ceramic; with an extra push from her leg, the princess stomped deeper into the valley, initiating a dusty collapse over the crater of her creation. The heel remained there, its pristine and sparkling quality barely besmirched at all by the devastated civilization, until she finally lifted it up to witness the wasteland underneath. She awed at the destruction shaped like her sole, the remnants of the city blurred as unidentifiable rubble, a dead zone of lifelessness, except for perhaps some fortunate few at the very edges. Even after stepping back and away from the carnage, her expression was like stone, only her lips curling closed as her wide-eyed gaze shifted onto somewhere next.

On the other side of a mountain, a subsequent city earned the princess’s focus. The population had only just acknowledged her hugeness across the horizon when she began her assault; her other foot reeled back, then launched into an unforgiving kick that stamped through the mountain itself. The landmark exploded outward from the force, bursting into boulderous mudslides that cascaded into the city at its base. Terrain fell like a rainstorm, hundreds of missile-like rocks crashing through rooftops and obliterating entire blocks of buildings at a time. The attack was overwhelming, soon consuming the community’s uproar as more mountain spilled over them, burying the remains underground. Plumes of earthy dust billowed upwards from that streak of a disaster site, reaching no higher than the ankles of their destroyer; far above them all was a judgmental smile, a sign of the princess’s satisfaction to see her enemies be rightfully crushed after generations of disagreements.

“Heh… Hahaa…! That’s right, you worms…” Another stomp obliterated a town and the farms outside it. “Just hurry up and die in the ground, all of you…! You wanted war, didn’t you? Well… this is the battle you get to die miserably in~” A heel bulldozed through hillsides, wrecking mines into gravel mounds. “Maybe years from now, you’ll be honoring my footprints as memorials~ I hope they serve as strong reminders to never challenge my kingdom again…!”

Cursey hummed distantly. “That’s quite a mean thing to say,” she remarked upon the princess’s newly awakened voice. “Was all that bottled-up inside you? You sound so natural.”

The princess winced upon being spoken to, her confidence quickly cracking as she turned to face Cursey. Beneath the witch’s looming watch, the princess cowered and froze, remembering how small she truly was – by extension, she realized how minuscule her whole world was, dimly looking down at the spots of destruction throughout the atlas. Effortlessly, she had wiped out entire cities, but Cursey could do the same even more easily; she imagined a singular, cold finger breaching the sky to strike down an entire kingdom, grinding through its miles of territory until the land was no longer recognizable. The princess swallowed those thoughts, heatedly envying that obscene power, that which could succeed at any conquest.

Cursey could seemingly read those emotions from the princess like an open book, her unblinking eyes staring studiously throughout the silence. She slouched closer to her desk, resting her chest onto the edge as her arms stretched and circled the novel. “Your character has come along nicely,” Cursey said, “but there’s a few more details to adjust…”

That apparently meant the princess’s attire, as a pair of fingers then appeared over the atlas to pinch the frilled hem of her dress. The princess gasped sharply, “No! Y-You cannot just–!” She resisted with both hands pulling the dress inwards, leaning back to add her weight to the struggle, but the fingers could not be refused; by lifting the dress upwards, Cursey flipped the princess onto her rear, a mountainside catching her within its curve. From that supine position, she still kicked and squirmed, but with a more forceful maneuver, her gown was stripped up and over her head, abandoning her in long bloomers and a tight corset. Caught up in the situation, the princess completely overlooked the farmlands beneath her, thousands of fertile acres crushed into a barren desert shaped distinctly by her ass.

“Don’t get me wrong – this is cute and all,” Cursey elaborated, examining the doll-like dress between her polished nails, “but… I imagine you in something sleeker, something sexier.” Flicking the royal gown aside like scrap, Cursey’s hand lowered onto the atlas, the sprawl of digits too wide for the princess to evade. The fingers claimed and enveloped her shivering form as much as they could ring around her, but otherwise, the princess was left atop the enemy nation. Cursey’s other hand, meanwhile, wrote out a spell; “I’m not much for visuals, but how about something like this…?”

The princess persisted to fight the grasp, but she was only released when Cursey whimmed it. When the hand was relieved from her half-naked body, it was revealed that she was no longer half-naked at all; she was clothed in a different fashion of dress, black like shadows, its dark color emphasizing the windows of skin from her chest and legs. It was heavier and more regal than the gown she had before, embellished with blood-like rubies and studded with spikes, no frills to soften the image. The princess slowly adapted to the new dress, feeling down its sides, familiarizing herself with its design, peeking into the slots that exposed highlights of her body. It was while in awe of those changes that she then noticed an extra weight atop her head: a sparkling platinum tiara, dazzling with details that her previous crown lacked.

“You’ve earned a better title with all this power,” Cursey explained. “No more being just a princess. You’re a queen now– mm, actually…” She tickled her chin with the feather of her quill, her eyes drifting up with thoughts. “I think empress is more fitting, don’t you? The Empress – with a capital E. Very official…”

Since nothing stopped her, the Empress shakily rose to her feet to admire the newly spawned dress. She dusted down its tighter backside, cleaning off the rubble and debris stained in the fabric; though Cursey had belittled her, she cherished the rush of energy that came with towering above her world, instilled with confidence wearing the darker, bolder attire. Scanning the nation below, she smiled greedily and hoped that the vast populations were also enamored with her appearance. She found the nearest city to her – the nearest she could distinguish, at least – and approached that small square with sultry strides and deliberate footsteps. Outside that location’s border, the Empress’s shadowy stare narrowed on that point at the tips of her high heels, watching the hysteria break out in response to her presence.

“Delicious~” the Empress whispered, a gloved fingertip pulling at her lip with desire. Her legs quaked together, a shiver of suspense that shot up her spine. “I could stand here all day and enjoy this~ Hah, should I put them out of their misery…? Maybe another example should be made~”

Sweating on the edge of that choice, the Empress took aim at the city with the shade of her foot, but before her decision could be brought down, she was interrupted – picked up from behind, swept off the atlas by a claw of fingers. She squeaked and squirmed, no longer the unstoppable character she got to play, returned to the role of a doll in a witch’s possession. Cursey then examined the Empress with a few tilts and turns; “Let’s not skip ahead,” she said, “or else it would be… a boring story.”

The Empress did not understand, still burdened with the question of what purpose the witch had for her. If it were up to her, she would happily act out the part of a gigantic ruler, dominating the planet and making it her plaything, but that was seemingly not Cursey’s plot as she quietly flipped to another page. The living atlas disappeared and in its place was a plane of paragraphs, that which the Empress was dangled above, and then unceremoniously dropped into.

But rather than thud onto the solid pages, the Empress splashed into the paper. Surprised by such an impact, she spiraled into spasms, reaching as high as she could to swim free, but she was quickly losing strength – she was dissolving, melting into words made of ink, details that drained from where she struggled and slowly crawled into the sentences. A far contrast from the divine supremacy she expressed just seconds ago, the Empress was back to how she debuted, begging to be helped, pleading to a deadpan Cursey until her crowned head was fully submerged into the novel…

It was a new era for the world and its nations, a time of dramatic change as leaders and citizens alike realized their lowly place at the feet of true power. One day at a time, political control was siphoned into a single entity, a lone woman with uncontested rights to an international domain; a goddess among mortals, she wielded a might that made games out of armies and respected populations as pawns. The reign of the Empress was gradual but undeniable, kingdoms subsequently submitting themselves to her rule – though not all nations would quietly forfeit themselves, not until she was upon them.

The Empress blinked free from a tired spell. She stared forward, as if meditating on the span of territory wide in front of her, when truthfully her thoughts were staggered and swirled, making sense of a scene she seemingly knew. She understood that she sat where she belonged: atop her throne, that which was an elaborate fantasy castle, its dimensions constructed specifically to be the seat from which she ruled. The Empress shifted there, familiarizing herself to its design, sensing the faint indications of life rumbling under the roofs and behind the walls. Beyond her chair-shaped keep was the rest of her immediate domain, a sprawling city surrounding her prestige, with specified lots and roads that were vacant for her footsteps to travel. Memories of walking high above her subjects were pieced together in her mind, but she was confused by lingering dreams that told her she was once a far bigger, more powerful ruler – as well as nightmares of being pitifully small.

But the reality she surveyed was truly believed to be her own. Castle guards and servants awaited orders, and there was an agenda to meet with other nations, to discuss how they should worship her supremacy. Annoyingly, there was also her troubling neighbor to the west, refusing to submit and warring ferociously against her armies. The Empress sighed, but was not disappointed; she secretly looked forward to the fun of crushing her enemies flat.

Before making that quest, however, counsel was sought. The Empress moved a hand to her collar on instinct, her fingers feeling at what she assumed was a pendant hanging around her neck, but on touch, was revealed to be something else – a someone, living and breathing, flinching when her fingers embraced her sides. The Empress gasped and gawked straight down, learning then who was chained to her like an accessory: a witch robed in purple swirls, the braids of her hair itching to come undone.

“You…?” the Empress wondered of the witch. Details trickled to the front of her mind, explaining the story of how the mysterious spellcaster was captured in a gambit and made into a servant – it was the witch’s magic, after all, that granted her a fantastical size with which to maintain absolute order. Yet there was another story the Empress recalled, maybe just a legend or rumor, but in any case did the witch belong to her, a tool with which she would ascend to greater leagues of prestige.

The witch weakly looked up at her, straining her neck back to perceive her captor’s face. She struggled with the cuffs around her wrist; “Y-Yes, y-your Majesty…?”

The Empress’s fingers curled around the little woman, gently tracing the slender shape with every fingertip. The questions about her dreams faded from her interest; she focused on the grand future destined for herself. “Tell me, witch,” she began, “if this historic enemy of mine holds the means to enhance my power…?”

The witch limply nodded. “W-Within their treasures… is a source of magic… F-Find it, and I-I will expand your strength further – b-bigger, a-and more powerful… your Majesty…”

“Very good,” the Empress giggled delightedly. She rose to her full, magnificent height, imposing her noble presence onto the castletown and its lists of citizens. The ground rumbled from her weight as she balanced herself atop her high heels and aimed herself to the west. She lifted the witch onto her palm, but only as far as the necklace allowed her; lenient enough, at least, to bring the witch to her grin and offer a grateful kiss that covered her from head-to-chest. “Let us go obtain what is rightfully mine… and have some fun along the way~”

Alone in her library, a devious chuckle clicked from her and rang across the aisles of shelves, an itching amusement that continued for hours, like the scratching of her quill making sentence after sentence. Cursey muttered words and thoughts, melted atop the novel as she wrote those ideas into existence. With spiraling pupils, she observed the story unfold, a fantasy tale now bound to fetishistic exploits – an entire world rewritten around the character of her obsessions.