chapter 39 - a terrible thing to waste [1/4]

“Head up...”

Sophie gripped the edge of her platter, taking extra care to ensure the tips of her fingers didn’t brush a dollop of frosting off one of its recently-replenished yuletide treats.

"...Eyes forward...”
The well-fed maid’s thighs rubbed together as her tired feet began yet another lap around the party. Exactly how many laps she had already completed was beyond her — she’d lost count somewhere in the mid fifties.

"...And whatever you do—” Her cheeks inflated like balloons as she took a breath, eyes darting as she planned her latest zig-zagging route through the dense, well-dressed crowd, "— don’t. Look at. The food.”

She released her breath after a moment of stillness. “Okay. Here we go again.”

Had Sophie possessed the slightest clue about how to tell time, she probably would have stolen her share of glances at Mia’s prized grandfather clock every time she passed by. The last hour and a half had been more than a little uncomfortable for her, but not for the reason one might think.

Sure: Sophie’s uniform, built for a woman who hadn’t spent the last several weeks slurping down sugar, salt, and fat like a prized hog squeezed her curves like a boa constrictor suffocating its prey.

Yes: the piggish girl, running on an increasingly empty stomach, had been forced to watch tray after tray of mouth watering dishes disappear from right under her nose — a tragic sight which you, the reader, could easily replicate at home by offering a morsel of bread to your pet dog, then gobbling it up in front of the poor animal’s betrayed, hungry eyes.

Indeed: the haunting memory of her inadvertent comment in Frida’s bedroom was now coupled with the equally cringeworthy — and confusing — memory of an inebriated Frida’s unexpected forwardness and affection.

And, of course: Sophie’s neck ached from an hour-and-a-half of constantly glancing over her shoulder like a paranoid queen. Constantly, she checked if she were being watched, both by Mia’s lurking haze, and the bearded man who shared her hometown of Cottbus.

These mental factors were each ingredients in the stew of discomfort stewing in Sophie’s belly. The meat of this terrible dish, however, was physical.

“Seriously?” Sophie groaned, tickled by the constant trickle of sweat down her back. Gripping her platter tightly as she weaved through the crowd, she awkwardly shifted her waist in an unsuccessful attempt to un-stick her sweaty panties from the round curves of her rump. “Am I the only one not bothered by this? Why is it so hot in here?”

For Sophie, heat had never been a problem. On the streets, in fact, it had been the difference between life and death. With no fat to insulate her starved body, most winter nights were spent wrapped tight in a tattered blanket, blue with frostbite and green with envy as she stared at flickering fireplaces through distant windows.

That’s why, at first, the sound of crackling firewood was one of the sole aspects of Mia’s party that had put her at ease. But her body had changed since her days on the street — No longer did it cling to warmth like a newborn deer to it’s mother’s teat. It now made all the warmth it needed from its own natural insulation, making any excess heat unwelcome.

Sophie’s shocking weight gain, for the most part, hadn’t forced any major changes in her life so far. The feeling of her thighs touching each other had gotten old after the first day. The same held true with the thick folds of compressed fat that appeared on her sides whenever she twisted her waist, as well as the feeling of her new, heavy breasts settling against her chest with every step.

Mia’s party, however, was the first time her reckless appetite had caused her a real problem. Trapped in a room with three fireplaces and dozens of warm bodies, and forced to move on a near-constant basis, Sophie found her clothes soaked down to her bra in sweat.

Sophie groaned, distancing herself as best as she could from the surrounding attendees. A gust of air swept past her body and up to her nose, carrying with it the ripe aroma fermenting beneath her sweat-soaked clothes.

Her face had never burned brighter.
“Please tell me no one else can smell that…” she whispered out loud, feeling her belly peel away from her uniform as she tilted away from the trio of hands reaching toward her platter.
As she did so, her eyes drifted along, settling on the lavish feast spread across the table across the room.

There they were — The thousands of delicious calories that she had been so fortunate to enjoy the day before. By now, they were surely digested, surely reduced to the blubbery insulation causing her current conundrum —
— But she didn’t care.

She wanted it.

**She probably wouldn’t see**, she told herself, glancing in the direction she had last caught Mia’s ominous, looming gaze. **Just one spoonful of pudding, one forkful of cake…**

“...What is she doing?”

“I dunno. But she’s staring at the food table like she wants to marry it.”

Sophie caught another whiff of sweet-smelling sweat as she stood up straight, pin-sized pupils staring at the pair of young voices to her left.

“Wh-What? Um—”

“Uh-Oh. I think she heard us, Franzie!” snickered Erika, manicured hand gripped loosely by another — the taller child standing at her side.

Franziska von Wittelsbach stood one head taller than her younger sister. Each strand of her long, dark hair, combed perfectly straight, hung neatly from her head like a regiment of soldiers awaiting inspection. “You’re right, she IS bad at this…” She replied, head tilting with concern. “Hey, servant lady? Do you need help? I’m kind of bored, so—”

“Ew!” Erika sneered, “You want to walk around feeding people all night?”

“What else is there to do…? We’re the only kids here.”

“That means more sweets for us, dummy!”
Franzie rolled her eyes. “You’re gonna get fat if you eat like that.”

“It’s only for today!”

“Um—” Sophie spoke up at last, bottom bumping into a chair as she awkwardly crouched closer to the childrens’ eye level.

Already exposed to several lifetime’s worth of Erika’s brattiness, she instead looked toward the more mature — or so she hoped — of the two sisters. “Franziska, right? Frida’s other cousin?”

“Franzie. Franziska’s an old lady name.”

“O-Oh. My mistake!” Sophie’s smile somehow grew even more awkward as she nodded, pushing her platter an inch closer to the siblings. “Refreshments…? Anyone…?”

“Did you think we came over here to talk to you?” Little Erika stepped closer to her older sister, making sure to demonstrate her utter contempt by rolling her eyes as slowly as possible. “Like a servant could even say anything worth listening to. Can you even read? I’m only eight and I’m probably way more smarter than you.”

Despite Erika’s best efforts, however, her confidence failed to impress Franzie. It wasn’t so much that the older girl wasn’t listening, but rather the fact that she was far too focused on the snack-filled platter held in front of her.
“Erika. You hungry?”

For some reason, Erika hesitated, scrunching her nose as she considered her sister’s question. “I just had cake, but—” she patted her belly, "— yeah.”

“Then pick something for both of us. I can’t choose.”

“‘Kay!” Erika turned a few heads with a loud, girly squeal. Bouncing on her stubby toes, she wiggled five little fingers above the assortment of treats laid across the tray. “Servant! What are these?”

Swallowing her irritation at Erika's patronizing attitude, Sophie glanced at the array of round pastries below the child’s pointed finger.
“Cream puffs.”

“I knew that! I was just testing you!” Erika didn’t hesitate to pop one into her mouth. “Mm!”
She chewed for a moment, and once she was finished, she smiled, showing off a set of perfectly straight, but chocolate-smeared teeth. “Franzie!” She said, taking a second morsel for her sister. “Try this! It’s good!”

Franziska accepted the puff without a fuss. Unlike her sister, though, who had already started on her second helping, stayed closed as she pondered the bite-sized treat in her hand. “Hey. Let’s go. I feel bad eating in front of the servant.”

“Hm?” Was the clearest Erika’s food-filled mouth could hope to enunciate. “Why?”

“I don’t want her to be jealous. She probably eats so much gruel that she can’t even imagine what normal food tastes like.”

[ This chapter continues on the next page >> ]