The Bloom

Chapter 1 - Prologue- The Bloom

Prologue: The Bloom

It didn’t happen all at once.

No cities collapsed. No news anchors screamed. No sirens split the sky.

Instead, it started with a few women quietly gaining weight. Slowly. Persistently. Despite diets, despite exercise, despite shame. They swelled inch by inch, month by month. Clothes got tight. Knees ached. Doctors rolled their eyes and handed out pamphlets.

“You’re overeating,” they said. “You’re depressed.”
But these women weren’t eating more—not at first. Their hunger came later.
Their cravings came last.

The height changes were harder to notice. Half an inch here. A longer stride. A slouch corrected. But after six months, it was undeniable: some women were growing. Taller, yes—but broader, heavier, denser. Their bones thickened. Their voices deepened. They started taking up space in ways the world had not made room for.

Roughly ten percent of the female population. No clear pattern. No clear cause.

The rest of the world watched, confused—until the strange part began: the unaffected women became fixated. Drawn. First to their stories. Then to their bodies. Then to the women themselves. Feeding them. Teasing them. Defending them in public arguments and quiet comments at work. Entire friend groups reorganized around them. Girlfriends stopped looking their partners in the eye. Athletic, ambitious women started bringing snacks to their once-insecure roommates and bosses.

It wasn’t cultish. It was casual. Natural. Like breathing.

Meanwhile, men withered.

Whatever The Bloom was, it drained them. Their muscles slackened, their appetites died, and they began to shrink. Doctors screamed about hormonal collapse. Survival rates dropped. Some vanished from the workplace. Others tried to adapt—but most could not. The survivors became shadows in their own homes, eclipsed by women becoming something more.

At first, the Bloomed women cried when they broke chairs. Cursed their bodies when they couldn’t find pants that fit. But after the first year, something changed.

They started to sweat sweet.
They started to attract not just attention, but devotion.
The scent came first. Then the confidence. Then the command.

Now, the world belongs to them.

Some have one woman—a feeder, a partner, a worshipper. Others? Whole harems. Little kingdoms inside apartments, gyms, old libraries turned dens of indulgence. Women draped over furniture built for no one else. Demanding more. Being given more.

No one knows where it ends.
No one knows what comes next.

But the bloom is slow.
And it always spreads.