Game 3Game 3 Outline| Game 3 |
Game 3 Outline |
"Oh Master, I'm so happy you think about me," she says, her mood remaining cheerful. You let out a small sigh of relief that she didn't take it personally. "I'd be happy to show you Master," she says, "I just finished decorating the room, you'll love it."
"Ok...." you say, a little confused at the statement, but regardless she begins wheeling you through the castle towards one of the upper rooms. As soon as she opens the door, you can see she has put a lot of labor into this room in particular. A red carpet runs the length of it, more of a chapel then a regular room. You wonder it it was actually that beforehand. The walls are lined with portraits leading towards the end of the room, which is so far you have difficulty making out the details, but Angela doesn't wheel you there, instead she wheels you to one side, where a large portrait is hung, depicting a large family. The man, his wife, and several children stare out, though their expressions are sour.
"My Master, Lord Bathory and his family." she explains, a reverent tone in her voice, "I served them all my life." Your not sure what to make of it, they don't look particularly friendly. "They look.... interseting," you say. "Oh yes, they worked me to death you know." Says Angela happily, which sounds extremely concerning. She sighs dreamily, "They knew how to make a girl feel so needed, I swore at my death to always serve the master of the castle, and so I stayed."
"That is..." your not sure how to finish that, so it falls silent, but Angela continues, with a surprising note of frustration in her voice, "Then the rebellion happened and they were all killed, and I was left alone." she says unhappily. You think on this, it doesn't match up with her original story. "I thought you said you master went out?" you ask, confused.
"Oh yes, but not my first Master," she says. She wheels you along the wall, to another set of portraits. "Eventually someone else came to claim the castle, and he became my next master." You see three pictures. The first depicts a young man in lose with linen cloths. He looks like a peasant of sorts. The next shows another man, dressed in the same garb, but portly in build, the shirt tight against his belly. The final picture shows an even fatter man, this one with his stomach hanging out from under the same shirt which is far to small for him. Only after looking at the portraits a few times do you realize, this is the same man.
"And after him came another," says Angela, moving to the next set, then the next. Each set of portraits depicts former masters through the ages, starting out thin but all ending up as grossly fat . It is all too easy to guess why, Angela's method of service was so insistant and excessive, it was no wonder that anyone she served ended up like that. Each person, after years of being served must have fled when they got to the point that they knew they wouldn't be able to run if they continued.
"Then finally, my newest master came," says Angela, finally arriving at the raised area. In it's age, it may have been where preachers preach, but it has been converted into something of a shrine. You see three pictures. Only this time, it not looking at a past figure, it is... you!
The first picture is like looking in a mirror, at least, you think it is, the last time you actually looked in one was at the hotel before you came looking for the witch's lab. The fat you after the leprechaun cursed you, belly hanging out over your knees , cheeks like basket balls. It actually unnerving when you realize that this was painted by Angela as it is almost as good as a photo.
The next picture is you again, only your belly now hangs down to just above your feet, your cheeks have grown outward. In comparison to the other photos, the difference is not quite as pronounced, as you were already fat beyond belief, but a side by side comparison shows just as drastic increase. The third photo is even worse, you barely fit in the frame, and you realize in this picture you are seated in the wheelchair. Your stomach hangs out between your legs, your cheeks are beachballs in size. As you look at the portraits, you gulp. "Um... Angela... these pictures... are they... the future?" you ask nervously. Angela giggles, "Oh master, you are so funny, I painted that one three days ago, that one I did yesterday, and that one today, see, the paint is still wet."
You can't stop yourself, you feel at your cheeks, sure enough, they are huge, merging with multiple chins, you feel downward, trying to feel at your stomach and reach for your toes, and are horrified to find yourself having trouble even reaching past the curvature of your chest, two huge mounds on top of a even huger sphere with rolls of flab along you sides and a rump like two beanbags.
Then a further realization comes to you. Every former master wasn't served for years. She painted them each day. each was with her only a few days before they fled. "Master? Are you okay? You look a little pale." Says Angela
Written by an anonymous author
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