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Agatha's past and big pants.

You figure you'll most likely find Agatha in her workshop, and make your way, albeit reluctantly, back to the library, through the secret passage and up the stairs again. By the time you reach the top, you collapse, gasping for air, little spots running across your vision from the work out you've put yourself through. "Ag.... Ag....," you pant, trying to call the ghost witch's name, but not being able to sum up the oxygen to complete the 3 syllable word.

The ghostly woman hovers over you, "How did it go?" she asks curiously. Unable to speak, you simple raise a thumb weakly, sucking down air as you try to recover. "Your looking a bit warn out, though." she remarks, "Perhaps a drink?" A ladle of water hovers over, and you thankfully gulp it down. After a short rest, you pull yourself up into a sitting position, your stomach spread over the ground between your legs like a matress. "The potion wore off," you tell her, "All my weights back." The witch considers this, "Well, at least that is one less problem we have to fix." she says. "Must have been too unstable to hold for long. Sometimes botched potions do that. Your lucky."

"Nearly blew my cover. And now my clothes have ripped, I'm fatter then ever!" You wail miserably, "I'm probably just going to get bigger and bigger until I explode!" Your current trend seems to suggest it, even if little by little, your putting on more pounds with each meal, and if your clothing is any sign, you can imagine it isn't going to stop until your a immobile blob, if you don't hit some sort of limit and just burst.

"Now your just being melodramatic." says Agatha in a not to impressed tone, "Let's see what we can do about clothes. It's offensive enough having you running around half naked." Judging from her conservative clothes, you can tell Agatha is definitely from an older time. She floats over to a chest, which opens, long wheels of fabric unfurling, while spools of thread and needles leap through the air as if by their own accord. "Hopefully I have enough here," she says examining you, "Havn't done much sowing since my last grandchild passed... oh well, we'll make do"

"Wait, you had kids?" you asked, a little shocked to hear something like that from a witch. Agatha laughs, scissors cutting the fabric into shape while the needles fly, apparently Agatha needing only minimal concentration to perform such tasks that would send your head spinning trying to keep up. "Of course, I'm only human. Or was at one time. Even witches fall in love dear, and like any other woman they have children. Many good witches were midwives you know."

"Well... hmmmm, I never really thought..." You can't really think of anything to say about what you thought. "Don't fret about it, many people don't, they think witches are just cackling old crones. Well, I do cackle every once in a while, but that's besides the point. But you do get your crones every so often. Blathory for instance, lived well into her twilight years and became crooked with age. Now try this on."

A pair f massive garments sail up towards you, at first you think she is handing you a tent before remembering how truly massive you are now. You force yourself to your feet and pull the remnants of your shirt off, and pull the new garment on. It is a large white short sleeve shirt, the style obviously remnant of Agatha's time, the neck v shaped and lined with a few cords. Other then that it is quite comfortable, and drapes over your form quite well. The pants are next, made of simple brown fabric with a hole for your tail. You pull them on and tie a lengthy rope sown into the waistline as a belt. Like the shirt it was made with plenty of room to accommodate your bulk, and despite their simplicity, it feels almost luxurious compared to the skin tight clothing you had been enduring.

In the end your left looking somewhat like a giant ice cream cone, rolls of love handles and your stomach spilling over the edges, but at least your not running around naked. "Nice job." you admit, as you shift around testing the fit. Nothing pulls or feels tight, which feels a little strange with the sense of girth you possess. "Your welcome," says Agatha, "Now we need to get that black root. Have you decided where you want to get it from? The Swamp, or my sisters lab?"

Written by Spots

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