As he waited at the entrance to the underground, Gareth shivered, fearful. Enough time had passed that, judging by the sun’s position, at least an hour had to have elapsed. Yet there was no word from the brave warrior from another land. Was she still exploring the depths below? Or had she been felled by some monster or trap?
There was little Gareth could do but wait. Once a powerful warrior of his home village, Dekalamon’s twisted magic had rendered him into the same manner of bizarre, featureless androgyny as the rest of the locals. His form stretched like a freakish taffy, nine-feet-tall, narrow, and lacking any sexually-defining features, he stood out from the landscape for just how simple he looked. And if he were accosted by monsters or demons, he had little way to defend himself other than running as fast as his gangly form could allow, and his chances of actual escape in these circumstances seemed wishful thinking, at best.
“Oh?” An unfamiliar woman’s voice spoke up a short distance to Gareth’s rear.
Gareth cried out and jumped, his frayed nerves sensing danger from all corners. To think that the lanky, lean figure had ever been the burly and bearded swordsman he had prided himself on was something even he could scarcely believe in a moment of such simple panic. He turned and felt his stomach drop.
Standing before Gareth was a figure in a dark, hooded cloak holding an onyx-colored staff in her left hand. Tall, at or tall for a woman of normal stature, given Gareth towered over her, she was flanked by a pair of burly, horned imps who matched her height.
W-Who could this strange woman be? And why was she…?
Gareth cowered. “Wh-Who are you?”
The woman pulled her hood back. Appearing human of late middle-age, her black hair bore streaks of gray, framing an expression of confident assurance. Her olive complexion and brown, almond-shaped eyes may have led the mysterious traveler once known as Jim to think of her as being of some manner of east-Asian descent.
“Surely you know the one who placed the curse upon you?” The woman flashed a wicked smile.
Gareth’s blood froze, his heart nearly stopping from the sheer terror. “D-Dekalamon?! B-But…”
“I assume you were expecting some withered, ancient man?” Dekalamon sighed. “Yes, I am Dekalamon, and yes, I hold the title of wizard despite my appearance.”
Gareth fell to his knees. Even in that position, he towered over Dekalamon, and yet in his sheer terror, he could only grovel. “P-Please forgive me! I…I am just a simple villager…I just..I…”
Dekalamon raised an eyebrow. “You…what? Wanted your old body back? Wanted the masculinity you prided so much of yourself in, Gareth?”
Gareth kowtowed, terrified to even meet eyes with the wizard. “Y-Yes…that’s all I wanted back!”
“Tsk…” Dekalamon clicked her tongue. “You should learn that there’s more to being a man…”
Gareth felt a shock run through his shivering, shapeless form. His lanky, stretched build shrank, a sense of proportion restoring as his flesh shifted with his crackling bones. His dick, reduced to a pinprick, began to swell as his pea-sized balls likewise grew.
And yet, he wasn’t becoming the Gareth of old, with his broad, muscular build and rough face sporting a full, healthy red beard. Instead, he continued to shrink, below six feet, and then below five. His shoulders remained narrow and his waist trimmed as his hips flared with curves, and his once flat, featureless ass swelled into a round bubble.
What…what was Dekalamon doing to him?!
The confusion in Gareth’s face twisted, his thin lips growing full as his jawline rounded, shifting from androgyny toward more feminine, as his nose shrank and his eyelashes grew long and voluminous. The short, barely present hair atop his head grew into a full, red mop that pulled into a pair of fluffy pigtails.
Gareth’s balls twinged as his cock twitched and grew stiff, and his terrified thoughts began to calm, soothed by…by…
“Uh…ooh…oo~ooooh….”
He was so…so horny…
Mewling, Gareth sat up as his femme form became dressed in a simple green tunic, and his cute, girlish face became decorated in glittering, lurid makeup.
“L-Lady Dekalamon, I’m…” Gareth’s voice cracked, shifting higher in timbre as a soft, silky choker wrapped around his slender, smooth neck. “I’m…I’m…so…”
“You’re so…what?” Dekalamon asked.
Kneeling before the dark wizard that had cursed the lands, Gareth flashed a cute pout, giggling as his thoughts scattered in a sea of pink bubbles. “I’m just, like, soooooooo grateful!” More giggles escaped his glittery lips, and he let his fluffy pigtails bounce as he shook his head, enjoying the fluffy thoughts that floated through his otherwise pretty, empty head. “I feel so pretty!”
Dekalamon smiled. “Very good…shall I call you Ruthy?”
Ruthy nodded. Dekalamon could have called him anything she wanted and he’d have said yes, but Ruthy was perfect! “I love it, Lady Dekalamon!”
Dekalamon smirked. “Very good. Now, Ruthy. Why don’t you entertain my imps while I tend to some business down below, hmm? They’re good boys, but they could certainly use an eager pair of lips and a nice, round ass to play with…”
Ruthy gasped, his cock stiff within the panties he wore under his tunic. Being an imp fucktoy sounded fun! He giggled. “They can ride me as much as they want!”
“Very good…” Dekalamon strode by, the hem of her robes sweeping the ground as she approached the steps. “You heard Ruthy, boys. Enjoy yourselves, but don’t be too rough on our femme little friend, hmm?”
Giggling, Ruthy just gazed up at the incoming imps and pressed a slender, dainty finger to his lips. Lady Dekalamon was, like, sooooooo nice!
******
As Dekalamon entered the lower chambers, she gave the murals on the walls a passing smirk. The people of these lands claimed a sense of purity and chastity, but as could be evidenced by the hidden chamber below the grounds of what had once been a most sacred temple, their beliefs were truly founded in carnal perversions so twisted that she was certain they would blame her for artworks that had in fact been the creations of their own ancestors.
Self-righteous idiots, all of them. If anything, Dekalamon was simply returning the lands to the nature they deserved to be. Twisted, crass, and wretched with dark, lurid perversions. Those villagers she hexed into sexlessness would all learn their true lesson in time, just as Ruthy was gleefully learning his own at that moment.
Though it was true that not everything in this subterranean space was the creation of others.
Dekalamon entered the chamber where she had left the music box, and its accompanying portrait. With her powers, she had seen beyond veils into other realities, getting tastes for their cultures and arts. It was in one of these journeys that she had learned of ballet; a sort of dance performance that involved highly trained women in distinctive dress, demonstrating grace and agility while appearing at the same time delicate and near fragile.
The concept had struck Dekalamon with a sense of inspiration, as well as a sense of longing. She wanted to enjoy this ballet, but on her own terms, and through her own devices, even if the process of setting up her ideal “performance” was impractical and indirect, it made the notion of savoring once the pieces were in place all the sweeter.
And thus, the music box and the portrait. A simple trap left in the ruins of a once holy place, it gradually lured in those that had entered the grounds, looking for answers. And by the grace of this world’s misty veil between realities, it had even drawn in adventurers and would-be heroes from other realms entirely!
And now she had what she had sought to create.
Dekalamon strode toward the portrait, its eight beautiful, doll-like ballerinas posed as if looking at her, and posed to contemplate the wonderful sense of detail. Each of the subjects, busty, graceful, and delicate, were just as the wizard had desired and intended.
It was time to enjoy her creation in full.
Stepping forward, reality around Dekalamon rippled, and she entered the miniature reality of the painting’s world.
*****
“Mmm…”
Seated upon a golden throne, Dekalamon smiled, aroused as the eight ballerinas danced and twirled in a ring around her like figures atop a music box. The world beyond the stage was a null void. All that mattered in this space were the doll-like beauties, eternally moving with grace, their only thought and desire to dance and look pretty.
Eight dolls, all shaped to Dekalamon’s own desire, moving to a soft, eternal aria that filled what otherwise would have been silence.
Perfection. And yet…
Dekalamon stood from her throne. It wasn’t enough to simply watch. She needed to act, as well. With a desirous glint in her eyes, she watched her dolls as they looped and looped, dancing and twirling in perfect, synchronous grace. The aria filling the wizard’s ears grew not louder, but deeper as she let the melodic tune wrap itself around her.
“Yes~...”
With a wave of her hand, Dekalamon gasped, aroused as her magic began to take hold. Her aged features began to smooth and soften as deep-trenched wrinkles grew shallow and disappeared, and the gray that streaked her hair returned to a healthy black.
The heavy robes Dekalamon wore rippled and shook, almost vibrating as they grew lighter, their material shifting fit and form around her. Her middle-aged body continued to youthen, her figure reshaping as muscles long dormant from her years of magical study toned. Her neck growing slender and swanlike, her sizable bust rounding and firming, she lost inches of height, looking less like the aged and powerful wizard she was, and more like the beautiful dolls that twirled around her.
As old boots shifted into black toeshoes, their ribbons twirling up her calves, Dekalamon’s now long, slender legs became dressed in shimmering black tights. The remains of her former robes fit over her waist and across her bust, forming black ballet dress with a feathery motif.
The wizard stood tall, or as tall as her petite form could now manage, feeling a sense of triumph as her beautiful face became painted in a layer of beautiful makeup. Dark lipstick and vivid eyeshadow, rouge that highlighted the smooth, porcelain-like nature of her cheeks, she looked ahead, into nothing, and allowed the music to think for her as her long, silken black hair coiled into a braided bun.
Yes~…
Dekalamon dance, twirling in the center of the ring. The star of the show, she felt an exhilaration as the music took hold. This was what she had wanted. This is what she had longed for.
Dancing, twirling, looking so pretty…
Graceful, beautiful, and doll-like, the wizard basked in it all as she danced, and the others danced with her.
And they danced…and danced…and danced…
*****
In the changer underneath the ruined temple, the portrait on the wall shimmered, its image shifting once more. Its image now depicted nine beautiful, busty, doll-like ballerinas, all facing the viewer. At the center of the portrait was a raven-haired beauty, clearly the star of the show. Her face a mask of blissful emptiness, she gazed toward the viewer with glassy brown eyes, her features pouting as if to ask “You think I’m the most beautiful, don’t you?”
And on the pedestal in the room’s center, the music box shifted. What had once been a distinct trap, the figurine inside meant to change and resemble those caught in its curse, now contained nine beautiful figurines, each an immaculately detailed, perfect recreation of the beautiful dancers in the portrait. Eight posed in a ring, the ninth, in all of her black swan beauty, stood in the center, ready to spin and twirl the next time the box was opened.
Mon Feb 16 13:45:45 2026