Chapter 3 - lesson 003: mending

“I've been asked to host the Witches Ball again this year?" Emerith practically squeaked. Any of the typical swagger of a witch vanishing. It was the next morning and I had mercifully allowed her a chance to overcome her hangover before informing her of the news. To host the ball was an honour, but perhaps far more importantly, an extremely public event. One that would require her be put on display for almost every witch in the nation. She had been chosen to display the confidence, poise and mystery of the title of witch. As a paragon of those virtues. But in her free time had grown plump, lax and greedy. It also meant I personally had more skin in the game than just some altruism towards a former apprentice. Her name and mine were tied together. As her teacher her results would be seen as a reflection of mine. Meaning that if she showed up, as she was in that moment, half dressed, lugging around the beginnings of a beer belly, with her over plump breasts nearly spilling out of her top, it'd be a slight problem.

“I really must know, how it is you’re only finding out about this now, the letter is designed to magically track you, to ensure its contents are read" I asked her. Emerith paused in her panic and acquired a contemplative look. Which painfully slowly turned to one of realization, as she developed a noticeable blush of embarrassment. “Ah yes, well after a busy day of research one evening...at the tavern" she started to say, and I pre-emptively let out a groan of pain. “I returned home rather exhausted and climbed into bed, at which point I felt a certain agitation of something uh, nudging against my chest” she explained gesturing at the envelope the letter had arrived in. “it was nice at first but in my..ahem...”tired" state I eventually grew irritated with whatever it was...and teleported it away" she said fidgeting. “To a different country...” she added and I nearly spit out my glass of water. “It must've spent all of its magic just...hopping back here” I muttered. It seemed my former apprentice well and truly was a mess.

“Wait, the Witches Ball..” she started to mutter. I knew the revelation that was coming. It was the same one I had experienced the previous evening, she was just slower to get to it. “That's in three months" she said her voice utterly expressionless. “I need a drink" she murmured climbing out of her chair in a display, that wobbled the excesses of her curves. “You need much the opposite actually" I said rising with her and planting my hand firmly on her shoulder. “I know it sounds rough, but you’re not that far gone” I said reaching out my hand and pushing against the slight curve of her gut. A process made easy by her nightgown. “You really think so? Even though Witches are hardly known for their physical prowess" she asked her tone almost innocent. “Well, you won't be doing cardio that's for sure, not only is it undignified but I can't even imagine the stares you’d receive from the commoners" I told her pointing at her thicker chest. “I should have a way. You'll just have to put your faith in your old teacher" I informed her, having pondered the problem the previous night.

“You seriously think just cutting out the alcohol will solve my issue?” she asked me leaning back in her chair a little and pushing her plate aside. Three days had passed since she had once more fallen under my tutelage, and I could almost swear I could see results forming. I was sure I was just seeing things, but I was nevertheless optimistic. Even though some might be confused why, considering the baking sugar smeared across her plump feminine lips. “Well, you actually don’t eat much beside what you get from this shop, which means you eat less than most commoners by a fair margin actually” I explained. “Thus your predicament is almost certainly the result of the excesses of that awful beer they produce in this town" I explained, beneath the table pushing the heel of my high heels against her soft middle. “Listen, I understand theoretically I'm in no position to be snarky, but you should hardly call it awful without trying it” she complained licking the last of the sugar off her lips before ordering another pastry.

“I'm hardly going to try it after seeing what it's done to your figure, if I hadn't seen you chugging the stuff, I would've assumed someone had begotten you a child" I informed her honestly, almost causing her to choke on her forkful of muffin. “Well, there’s zero risk of that, you know as well as I do the typical swinging’s of our profession” she protested. “Well, it seemed more likely than you drinking so much you couldn't fit into your robes anymore" I fired back as she begun to visibly pout. As we exited the bakery, we took the correct road back towards Emerith’s home, so we could return and perform some arcane research together. For the first time since showing up in the dinky little town I felt a sense of pride and confidence. Glancing at my subordinates midriff sure it was bloated a bit from her cake indulgences. But it wouldn't have even measured up to the recommended three meals a day, let alone enough to add anything extra to her figure. When we arrived at her home that evening, we worked together much like we had when I had trained her those countless years prior.

A smooth routine formed between the two of us as I assisted her into returning to proper witching routine. I would wake up earlier than she would and tend to my personal projects while brewing a pot of tea. She'd awake a little later, drowsy from the previous evenings and we’d exchange barbs. I'd attack her recent weight, and her lack of restraint, while she'd utilize my age and my lackluster social life. After we had finished attempting to attack each other socially, we would take a brisk walk through the city to that beloved bakery of hers. What she saw in it, I couldn't quite discern, but her actions, and coin purse expressed her affection rather clearly. While she indulged in pastries, we’d discuss the goings on with politics. Which apparently in modern witching culture meant a lot of gossip and scandals. Albeit none about witches growing plump due to their own greed, a fact which I was more than happy to tease her about. When she finished her breakfast of sugar and dough we’d return to her home where we'd pass the time doing magical research. Assisting one another as best we could.

Slowly I could see Emerith reacquiring the pride and dignity that had almost been torn like the seams on one of her overly tight dresses. She was holding her head up with pride once more and seemed much more conscious of her all-important image. Rather than accidentally doing so she was making sure to properly flaunt her enhanced bust, and was making sure to suck in her midriff when she could. She was speaking with confidence and my jabs about her weight were slowly losing effectiveness as she begun to truly believe she could be back in shape within the deadline. The only thing that didn’t seem to be making a return were her table manners, I could swear that half the time most of those cakes she was ordering wound up on her face. Or even more commonly in her cleavage. She hardly seemed to notice it and the volume of it only seemed to be increasing with time. Though I cut her some slack. As far as I could tell she had completely gone cold turkey on her trashy tavern lifestyle. Even though she’d mewl at me for a glass of wine or complain. She was dedicated none the less. A fact I admired her for.

“Hurry up in there, your tea will get cold" I called knocking on the wall of her bedroom. It was about a week into my stay and as was routine she was attempting to sleep in. “I don't have to if I don't want to, it's not like you can put it on my permanent record anymore" she objected bleary eyed, and I could hear her bed shift a little with a tiny groan as she turned over. “I assuredly still can, I keep all my student journals" I informed her playfully. Earning me a groan. “You desperately need a hobby..” she told me, and I heard the tell-tale signs of her sitting up in bed. “Perhaps I’ll take up drinking, see how well that works out for me” I taunted her, and I heard her emit a lady like chuckle. “It would probably suit you actually, finally give you something to work with in more erotic aspects of witch culture" she explained no doubt referring to my chest. “What I have is the perfect size, big enough to be feminine, sexy, and called big, but also manageable" I fired back. “Anything bigger just makes you look like a dairy heifer" I concluded.

Within the room I could hear the rummaging of fabrics as she no doubt picked out a fine yet sultry dress. Image was an important aspect of being a witch, so I had little problem giving her as much time as she needed. But even with that in mind my patience began to erode as time dragged on. It really did feel as though she was taking forever. While inside the bedroom the actual sound of her changing clothes continued. Before I could fire off a teasing remark there was a rather ominous noise indeed. Of tearing fabric. I asserted my authority as her teacher by immediately barging into her room at the slightest provocation, and thusly bore witness to the last thing I wanted to see. She was bent over, grunting with effort, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The skirt of one of her dresses had torn around the bottom, and thus both of the cheeks of her rear were on display. Yet I wasn't seeing her impressive tush. All I saw was despair. That dress had fit her perfectly, albeit in a tight aesthetic, at the start of the week. Which meant that somehow, in spite of my presence and management, she was still getting fatter.