Smaller Luke Theory
patreon
Conjured - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2024-08-25 05:16:04 +0000 UTCHey wait what, this isn't one of the stories on that poll last week at all!
I'd originally intended this one as a short story. It probably still could be, but it's long enough that I thought it'd be better to break it up a little. As I'm getting ready to start another long-form project, I'm also thinking about chapter lengths. Give Yourself to Me averaged 4,000 words a chapter, which is a little lengthy! So, in the name of experimentation, I'm breaking this one up into 2,000 word chapters to see if I like that pacing. I'm guessing it will run for just 3 chapters, though it could go as many as five. I hope you all enjoy it!
______________________________
Roch cried out in shock and screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could to keep out the blinding white light that suddenly surrounded him. He held a hand up to try and shade his face, but it was no use; it was as though the light were shining on him from all directions at once.
And then, as soon as it had come, the light was gone. He opened his eyes slowly, vision still spotted and smeared. What on Earth was that? Some kind of spirit? He’d have to report it to the priests as soon as he was finished putting his daughter to bed.
…Where was his daughter?
Where was his house?
Even before he was able to see clearly, he realized that he wasn’t where he’d been. The room was warmer than his daughter’s bedroom, and the air was filled with strange herbal aromas. He blinked away the last of the spots and saw that he was in a room larger than his entire house. A long wooden table was covered in a disorganized mess of glass jars, filled with dried leaves, reptilian carcases, and exotic rainbows of different powders. An iron cauldron bubbled away on the far side of the room, and various tree branches and wreaths of flowers hung from hooks on the walls.
An apothecary’s workshop? But… why? Where was his cottage?
“Alara! Wynn!”
“Are those the names of your family?”
Roch froze, his entire body petrified as a cold sweat broke out across his skin. The voice had been feminine, yet deep and husky, with a lilting, educated-sounding accent, the kind nobles had.
“They’re safe and sound at home, though I imagine your daughter is wondering where on Earth her Papa vanished to.”
Roch had to force himself to turn around and face the woman behind him, struggling against the instinct to run.
His heart rose up into his throat as he did.
She had the most gorgeous face he’d ever seen, like a painting of a goddess come to life. Smooth skin, a delicate nose, and plump, painted lips, stretched into a mischievous smile. Her eyes were large, and… purple? She wore a pointed hat, the same lavender as her eyes, with a brim that stretched out so far it bordered on comical, so far that it cast her entire form in shadow. Or, it would have, if not for her golden blonde hair, which radiated a soft light. He watched in stunned awe as a bright shade of orange oozed down from under her hat, moving through her shoulder-length hair like syrup. In a few breaths she’d changed from blonde to red-headed, though “red-headed” didn’t quite describe the glowing, vibrant citrus tint of her hair.
His eyes followed the iridescent tresses downward, where they ended around her chest, a vast expanse of cleavage held tightly in a corset; it didn’t glow or change color, and yet it was nearly just as mesmerizing. A loose, thick robe was draped over her shoulders, the vertical lines of its edges disturbed by the swell of her hips.
The woman smiled patiently, seeming to enjoy bathing in his awed gaze. Quick bolts of gold and pink popped and fizzled throughout her orange hair like tiny streaks of lightning. Roch was grateful his wife wasn’t here; he’d never ogled another woman so openly before, and began to feel ashamed of himself. But… how could he help it? Look at her! This wasn’t a woman, this was… this was…
“Do you know who I am?”
Roch’s fear had given way to awe, but now it was back in full force. The beauty. The magic. That rich, seductive voice, so… luscious that it felt like every word might carry him away.
“I… I think so.”
She took a step forward. She was tall, a few inches taller than him, and he found himself in the shadow of her hat’s gigantic brim. The orange of her hair seemed to glow a little brighter, and for a split-second he thought he saw the hint of some other expression flash across her face, though it was gone before he could fully recognize it.
“Who am I?”
“Y-you’re… You’re the Witch of the Pale Moon.” Her smile broke into a full grin, and her hair faded into a mixture of orange and gold, the colors swirling about one another like oil in water.
…Why?! Why was Roch here? The village elders had always warned against being in the woods after nightfall, especially on full moons like tonight. But Roch had been nowhere near the woods at all! Had she just… plucked him from his home anyway?
“What’s your name?” she asked, taking another step forward and setting a hand on his shoulder. Roch’s knees went weak from the smell of her perfume. Holding his wife firmly in his mind’s eye, Roch used every ounce of willpower he had to keep his head locked straight ahead, gazing upward into her eyes and not letting himself look downward at the largest pair of breasts he’d ever seen.
“C-c-can’t say,” he sputtered, trembling. “Witches have power over you if they know your name.”
“Oh, what a brave little thing you are.” There it was again, that strange expression. It lasted a second longer this time, and dismissed with a sharp shake of her head. “Not too bright though. I’ve summoned you to my home with nothing but a word and a flick of my wrist. What greater power could your name possibly give me over you?”
Roch trembled, but remained resolute. “I-I, y-you’re not going to trick me, witch.”
A sudden wave of pink washed the orange out of her hair completely. “Mm. Very brave indeed. I wonder if you’d still feel confident enough to stand up to me if I did… this?”
The Witch removed her hand from Roch’s shoulder and swirled her fingers about in the air. A light, smoky mist began to flow from her hand, blowing over Roch’s face, turning his stomach and making his head swim. The witch and her workshop seemed to stretch outward from him in all directions, and he realized with dawning horror that he was getting smaller.
He turned and ran.
“No, wait!” The Witch called out. Her voice wasn’t commanding or angry, but… panicked? It didn’t matter. Roch sprinted around the work table, but then tripped, his shrinking legs ruining his balance. He winced and tried to brace himself before he crashed into the stone floor… but the impact never came. Opening his eyes, he found himself dangling in the air, floating. Slowly, his body turned to put his feet underneath him, and twisted around to face the witch once more.
Oh gods.
She’d been stunning before, but now… Roch had been premature in comparing her features to that of a goddess. His diminished size amplified each of them, making them all the more overwhelming. The stone found his feet once more, and he found himself looking straight ahead into her chest, each breast easily the size of his head. His mind still screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn’t obey, far too enraptured by the gigantic beauty before him, her hair once more orange, burning as bright as a flame.
“Um! Ahem. That is… Where do you think you’re going, little man? Do you truly think you can escape me?”
Roch said nothing, his mind a swirling tempest of emotions ranging from terror to shameful lust.
“Tell me. Have you ever heard any tales of a man escaping my web once it’s ensnared them?... Um.” The Witch seemed to get flustered from Roch’s continued stunned silence. “A-answer me, please.”
“N-no, I haven’t.”
“What stories have you heard about me?”
“Th-they… They say that you, you seduce men… use your magic to ensorcel them, you lure them back to your cabin, and you… you drain the life out of them, bottle it up to use in your potions.”
The Witch’s face settled back into a confident, predatory smile as the glow of her orange hair dimmed slightly, waves of pink and dark, dark blue rolling through it.
“Not entirely wrong, though it’s missing many important details. As you yourself have already experienced, I’ve no need to lure anyone anywhere. I simply find what I want, and I take it.” She was close to him again, snaking an arm around him to keep him from stepping away, standing so close that the tips of her hair were tickling his face and, as he stared straight up to meet her eyes, his chin was less than an inch from her cleavage.
“More importantly…” she continued, tracing lines across his face with her other hand. It was massive, the biggest hand he’d ever seen, and yet it still seemed delicate and feminine. He winced at its touch, at the desire he felt surging in him every time her fingertips brushed against him. “Your telling leaves out the part where the men I ensnare find the experience quite… pleasant. I’ve actually… um… Yes, I’ve actually tried letting one or two of them go with a few drops of life force left in them. They begged me to take it all, told me if I didn’t they would waste the life I left them searching in vain for anything that brought them as much pleasure as I did.”
Her hair burned more brightly the longer she spoke, an equal mix of orange, pink and blue.
“P-please… You can’t.”
“Of course I can, you silly little thing.” She tapped him lightly on the nose and his head began to swim once more, her unbelievable bust gradually rising up above his head. “Haven’t you learned yet? I can do whatever I want.”
“N-no, but! Please! I have a daughter to care for! A wife! I can’t leave them to struggle on their own. I-I know that you’re not known for mercy but, but, please, don’t make my daughter grow up without her father!”
Roch’s shrinking stopped. He couldn’t see the witch’s face over the immense mound of her chest, but the pink had almost entirely drained from her hair, and the blue was gradually beginning to swallow up the orange.
“I-I could… I could even pledge to come back! 11 years! Wynn will be grown by then! I’ll willingly let you take me after that! Just, please… Please!” Tears were beginning to run down his face. Was he really never going to see his family again? Couldn’t she have at least given him the mercy of letting him tuck his daughter in one more time? Gods, what had he done to deserve this?
The Witch suddenly withdrew her hands, her entire head of hair now such a deep shade of blue that it nearly looked black. She took a staggering step backward, and now that Roch could once again see her face, he saw that she was crying even more than he was.
All at once, she collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her hands as she sobbed, her hat tumbling to the ground next to her.
“I’m a terrible person!” she moaned. “I’m just as bad as everyone says!” She suddenly reached out and threw her arms around Roch, pulling him into a tight embrace. Even with her kneeling, he was small enough that she could lift him clear off the ground as she pressed his face into her shoulder.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so, so, sorry. Please forgive me! Oh gods… Oh gods! What have I done! Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
Roch was so taken aback that his own fear and grief were completely knocked out of him. Was this… some kind of trick? The tear-soaked cheek mashed against his face certainly seemed genuine, and besides, what point would there be in tricking him?
This was not at all what he expected from the Witch of the Pale Moon.
Not really knowing what else to do, he wrapped an arm around her back and patted her gently.
“Um… there, there?”
