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They made their way through the nearly deserted streets, hand in hand. Emilia glanced anxiously from darkened window to darkened window as they passed each building, wondering if anyone would be looking down at them. Wondering who knew that they were on the run. She bit her lip in apprehension, but a quick squeeze of her hand from Dario set her somewhat at ease. It will be all right, she told herself. No matter what happens, we will have each other. With Dario by her side, she knew she needn't be afraid.

According to the sign they had passed earlier in the night, the name of the town was Montemirtillo. Emilia didn't consider herself a worldly traveller, so it wasn't all too surprising to her that she had never heard of it before. But its remote location in the hills would serve her and Dario's purposes well. Montemirtillo seemed the perfect place for a person to disappear.
“I'm tired, my love,” she said. She had tried not to complain overmuch as they had made the long days' journey from the casa de Bianchini, transferring from stage coach to stage coach in an effort to mask their trail. But the pampered noblewoman was so unused to such rigors that her composure was wearing thin.
Former noblewoman, she had to remind herself. It was all so surreal. So frightening. So exhilarating.
“Soon, my love,” Dario responded, squeezing her plump hand once again. “Once we find an inn, we'll be able to finally rest.”
“As husband and wife,” she added. He looked to her and smiled, and suddenly Emilia felt she had the strength to walk another hundred miles.
“Exactly, my love. As husband and wife.”
The streets of the mountain town were steep, so by the time the couple came across the cozy-looking inn, Emilia was nearly panting with exertion. “A moment, please,” she called out to her lover. She straightened her brown hair, readjusted her dress. She may be a noblewoman no longer, but old habits died hard, and she wasn't prepared to be seen so disheveled. When she was ready she nodded to Dario. “All right,” she said, her voice steady. “Lead the way.”
The interior of the inn was dark, lit only by the flickering flames of a few lanterns. The only other soul to be found was a man who appeared to be in his fifties, big and broad, but possessing a friendly demeanor. He sat behind a bar and idly wiped at the counter with a dirty rag.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said when he saw them enter, his smile revealing missing teeth. “I am Antonio, and this is my inn. If you're looking for a room, we have plenty available.”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Dario replied.
“Perfect! Just sign in our registry, and I'll get my daughter to show you to your rooms. Maria!” he shouted this last word down the hallway.
Emilia sidled over to Dario as he entered their agreed-upon aliases into the guest book. She smiled. Seeing him sign with a fake name somehow made the whole ordeal feel that much more illicit and improper. And that excited her more than she would have expected.
“Perfect,” Antonio said, taking the guest book from them. “Is there anything else you'll be needing?” Dario shook his head, but Emilia couldn't help herself.
“Is the kitchen still open?” she asked. When the others turned to look at her, she gave an apologetic smile. “It's just... we've been traveling for hours and haven't had a proper meal all day.”
Antonio shrugged. “I'm afraid suppertime was quite some time ago, but if you'd like I can see if we have anything in the pantries. If I find anything, I'll have Maria bring it up to you. Would that work?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said, hiding her disappointment.
“Ah, speak of the devil!” the innkeeper said as a young woman entered the common area. “Please escort our guests to their room. The eagle bedroom, I think?”
“Yes, papa,” the woman replied, taking a lantern and a ring of keys from her father. “This way, please.”
Emilia and Dario followed Maria up the wooden stairs.
“So,” Maria began as they climbed, “we don't get many visitors this time of year. Are you here for any special occasion?”
“We're on our honeymoon,” Emilia answered, squeezing Dario's arms. Well, that much, at least, was true. This woman didn't need to know why they had arrived so late at night, or just who it was they were running from.
“Oh, is that so?” the other woman replied, turning to regard the couple. She gave Emilia an appraising look. Emilia frowned. “My congratulations.”
“Er, thank you,” Dario replied, stealing a confused glance at his wife as Maria turned and continued on. Soon they came to a heavy door at the end of the hall.
“Here we are.” Maria unlocked the door with her ring of keys, pushing it open to reveal a small yet comfortable looking room. It was mostly dominated by a soft bed against one wall. A gloomy fireplace sat across from it, a painting of an eagle hanging on the wall above it, but otherwise the room was mostly bare save for a few small tables and chairs. “I hope it's to your liking.”
As Maria went about lighting candles, Emilia regarded the room with a mixture of emotions. Her first instinct was to sob with disappointment. This room... was considerably smaller than any bedroom she had been used to. In fact, it was probably the same size as one of her closets back home.
But as soon as she thought the word “home,” she shook her head. Casa de Bianchini is no longer my home, she reminded herself. Nor do I wish it to be. The large estates, the expansive gardens, the walls lined with tapestries... those were exactly the sort of things she was running away from. This was the life she had chosen, small room and gloomy fireplace and all the rest. She looked to Dario, then let out a little chuckle.
“It's perfect,” she said, and she truly meant it.
“I'm glad to hear it,” Maria replied, handing Dario a key from the ring. “If there's anything you need, just let us know. Either my father or I will be up all night.” And with that, Maria retreated down the hallway, leaving the newly-wed couple alone.
“She seemed nice,” Emilia said as Dario locked the door, though she was aware that her voice betrayed her true feelings.
“Hmm?” Dario said, turning to face her. “Is something the matter?”
“It's just...” Emilia frowned, thinking back to the look the other woman had given her on the stairs. “When she looked at me. I.... I think she knows, Dario.”
A flicker of unease flashed across his face, but he quickly regained his composure. “What? What makes you say that?”
She bit her lip. “I'm not sure. It could be my clothes. I... I worry they give me away.” She looked down at her dress. When they had eloped, Emilia had made sure to leave behind her most extravagant dresses, well aware of how she might stand out. She was currently wearing a simple silk turquoise gown, its gold floral stitching basic and unassuming. But even after having sold all her jewelry, this modest little number seemed luxurious compared to the clothing worn by the peasants and villagers and farmers she and Dario had passed in their travels. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but stick out. “I... it's clear that I don't belong here. What if she sends word to my father?”
But if the prospect of capture worried Dario, he didn't show it. Instead he just smiled and put his arms on Emilia's shoulders. “If she does, then we'll deal with it. The same way we'll deal with any hardships the world sees fit to throw our way. Together.”
Emilia had to admit that though she was less certain than her husband, his confidence was infectious. Besides, she reminded herself, he had so much more to lose than she did. If her father's men captured them, that would mean a proper scolding for Emilia, and perhaps even forced confinement until her father could successfully marry her off to a rich merchant. For Dario? She didn't even want to consider what would happen to him. Emilia had heard rumours of Count Giovanni de Bianchini's enemies turning up dead for much more minor offences.
So if Dario could maintain a brave front in the face of all this, then certainly she could as well. She smiled and kissed one of his hands.
“You're wrong, you know,” Dario added. She looked at him, pursing her lips.
“Oh?”
“You do belong here,” he explained. “Because there is absolutely nowhere else in the world I'd rather you be, than by my side.”
Despite her nervousness, she laughed at this. A full, hearty laugh that was free of anxiety and worry. When she was finished she wrapped her arms around him and put her face to his chest. She felt his warm embrace, and she knew the truth of his words. There was nowhere she'd rather be than right here, right at this moment.
“I love you, my baker boy.”
“And I you, my favoured customer.”
They held each other like this for several moments, until a knock at the door brought them back to reality. The couple shared one more lingering glance before Dario called out, “who is it?”
“It's Maria,” came the familiar voice.
Emilia made a face of annoyance, but Dario shrugged an made his way to the entrance. He unlocked it and opened the door to reveal the innkeeper's daughter holding a plate of something, though from where she was standing Emilia couldn't make out just what it was.
“I pray I'm not disturbing anything,” Maria said, glancing into the room at Emilia. Emilia frowned. She found herself liking the other woman less and less. But why? Emilia couldn't say.
In many ways, Maria seemed the complete opposite of Emilia herself, perhaps due to the circumstances of their upbringing. Where Emilia was short and plump, Maria was tall and thin, her hair long and dark. The soft, fun-loving attitude that Emilia prided herself on was nowhere seen in the other woman. Maria came off as hard and serious as the life she had no doubt lived.
Was this why Emilia found herself distrustful of the innkeeper's daughter? Because she was so different? Or was it because Maria represented the life that Emilia was struggling to fit in to—the world to which Dario belonged?
Heaven help her, was she... jealous?
Well, that won't do, she told herself. The insecurities and machinations of court had no place among the common folk. So she smiled as broadly as she could and approached the door.
“Not at all!” she said. “What can we help you with?”
“My father asked me to bring this to you,” Maria replied, holding up the plate. Emilia could now see that it held a fork, a knife, and massive pie. “Leftovers from suppertime, for the donna bella. He'd like for you to enjoy.”
Emilia looked at the dessert and her mouth began to water. How long had it been since her last meal?
“Your father is my new hero,” Emilia said, taking the plate. “Please give him my thanks.”
“Of course,” Maria said. “Have a good night.”
“You as well.” As Dario closed the door, Emilia placed the plate on the bed and sighed. “You know, my love, I think I may just love it here.”
Dario laughed and sat on the bed beside her, watching his wife as she cut herself a slice of the pie. Dark blueberry filling oozed from the cut, and Emilia sighed in contentment, eliciting a laugh from her husband. “Should I be jealous? Didn't I woo you with similar desserts once upon a time?”
“Oh it was more than just your desserts, my baker boy.” She put her hand on his knees, remembering the early days of their meeting, many months ago. How a simple trip down to the village to run errands had brought her to the bakery where Dario had just signed on as an apprentice. How that chance meeting had turned into regular visits as she kept finding more and more excuses to patronize his shop. How the only clues of their secret encounters was in her own growing plumpness, which the other noble ladies at court were quick to speculate on.
Just thinking back on their scandalous relationship was sending small tremors of excitement through Emilia, and she bit her lip. She looked to her husband. “Dario....”

“Yes, my love?”
She didn't say anything, just handed him the fork. As he took it from her hands, she pushed herself up on the bed and slowly lay back against the pillows. Dario licked his lips. She didn't have to tell him what she wanted. He knew well enough from her gesture.
Feed me.
Emilia's eyes glittered as Dario picked up the plate and speared a hearty forkful of the crisp blueberry pie.
She barely moved as the fork came closer, her heart beating wildly. Only when it was millimetres from her face did she open her mouth wide and lean forward, taking in the entire forkful. It was slow and deliberate, and she took another moment to suck on the utensil. All the while, neither of them spoke.
This was a ritual that they had performed many times before. It had begun innocently enough, back in the bakery, all those months ago. During one of Emilia's frequent visits, her hands had been full for some reason that neither of them could recall. So Dario had placed the pastry she had purchased in her mouth.
And in that simple gesture, something had blossomed between them.
They had shared an intimacy they felt rather than understood. One they had returned to again and again. Dario feeding Emilia his newest creations by hand, whether pies or biscuits or butter tarts. It became their own form of foreplay, always heating their passions before they would engage in more physical acts.
And as her body grew chubbier and more plump week by week, Emilia began to revel in those feedings. Her growth at her lover's hands was their own obscene little secret, one that sent ripples of excitement through her body.
But now, on the night of their elopement, that excitement was magnified tenfold. For tonight she would finally offer her maidenhood up to him. Tonight her body would truly belong to him, to mould and fatten however he pleased. The thought of it was driving her mad with passion. And, from the way Dario's eyes took her in, from the way his hand trembled, he seemed to be feeling it too.
“Mm,” she moaned, not daring to say more than that and risk breaking the spell. Instead she swallowed, licked her lips, and looked up at him again. He shovelled another forkful of pie and brought it to her lips.
She chewed and moaned again, this time noticing the sweet rich flavour of the pie. The innkeeper was certainly a talented chef, because even a few hours old this pie was delicious. The crust was flakey and soft, and the blueberries were sweet and practically oozed with juices.
A third bite, and then a forth, and Emilia could feel herself growing very damp with arousal under her dress. She saw that the slice she had carved for herself was no more, but was excited to see that Dario was nowhere near finished as cut cut her another, this one bigger than the last. She made an exaggerated show of rubbing her soft belly. “Ohh, this pie is so filling, my love,” she cooed. “I feel so stuffed... I couldn't possibly eat another bite.” She looked up at him in anticipation, hoping her show of fullness wouldn't faze him.
Evidently it did not, because he collected another heaving forkful of pie and held it out to her, his face spreading into a grin. “Nonsense,” he laughed. “You still have so much more room to fill out. Now open wide.”
She did as she was told, squirming with delight as he reached his free hand up the skirt of her dress and squeeze a pale and chubby thigh. “Hmmm,” he said seriously. “You've certainly grown bigger, but I think we can still do better, don't you? After all, what sort of baker would I be if my wife wasn't the fattest woman in the village?”
Emilia said nothing, just eagerly accepted bite after bite, rubbing her full belly all the while. When that massive slice of pie was finally finished, Dario held the fork out to her. She slowly ran her tongue along its edge, lapping at any remaining morsel she could find. Then her eyes widened as he cut a third slice.
“M-my love,” she said, astonished. She wasn't sure how much more room she had in her stomach, large though it was. But she was looking forward to finding out.
“Hush,” he said gently. He didn't even use the fork this time. Just held the slice out to her. “You need to save all your energy for your meal if you want to grow nice and big for your husband.”
So Emilia said nothing more, save for muffled grunts and moans as slice after slice of that delicious pie was fed down her gullet. Crumbs spilled against her pale bosom and pie filling stained her cheeks. Her belly bulged and ached, but a gentle caress from Dario's expert hands against her stomach was all it took to calm her quivering gut and set her at blissful ease.
Once the entire pie was no more than crumbs, Emilia licked her lips and settled back against the pillows. The pie had been so satisfying, yet it left her aching with an altogether different need. She watched as Dario dabbed at her chin with a napkin to clean any excess crumbs or blueberry filling. Her baker boy... her husband. In a few moments, they would finally make love. She supposed she should be nervous or anxious at this momentous occasion, but all she felt was resolve and anticipation.
“Mmm, that was quite a dessert,” she said. She grabbed Dario by the sleeve and pulled him close, nearly on top of her. “But now I think I'm ready for the main course.” She could feel him pressing into her thighs as she began to undo the buttons of his tunic. God, how she wanted this! Her pulse was racing. She was nearly dizzy with need. “My love, I've looked forward to this day since we first met.”
“As have I, Emilia,” Dario said, nearly breathless with need of his own. “Not a day goes by where I haven't dreamed of...” He paused.
“Dario?”
“It's nothing,” he said. He reached forward and gently brushed Emilia's nose. “You just have a little bit of filling on your nose.”
She giggled at the awkwardness of the moment, then batted her eyelashes at him. “Now, I believe you were telling me how desperately you wanted to ravish me?”
“Of course,” he said, stroking her hair. But when he looked her in the eyes again he frowned. “Hmm.”
“Is it still there?” she asked him. When he nodded, she reached up and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. She didn't feel anything, and when she looked to her husband he seemed just as confused. “I didn't get it, did I?”
“No... in fact it looks like it's spread.” He cocked his head this way and that. “It's very odd... almost as if your nose has turned blue!”
She laughed again, but he continued to regard her with concern that was making her uneasy. “Are you feeling all right?”
She considered this. “I... I suppose I still feel quite full from that meal. But otherwise...”
Her words were cut off by a low gurgle coming from her stomach. She gave a nervous laugh. “S-see?”
But Dario only frowned, his face filling with alarm, so Emilia shakily got to her feet. Surely there was a mirror somewhere in this room? As she stood up, she was aware how heavy her body felt. After a meal like that, she would have preferred nothing more than to lie down and nap for several hours, but she had more pressing concerns. Emilia slowly made her way to the fireplace, but no mirror was to be found on the mantlepiece, nor on any of the walls.
“Here,” came Dario's voice from beside the bed. He had found a small hand mirror in one of the dressers, and held it out to her. She took it with a shaky hand. She had no idea what to expect, but Dario's face was only making her more and more worried.
She glanced at her reflection and immediately let out a small yelp. Whatever she had been expecting... it hadn't been this. Her entire nose—and indeed much of her face surrounding it—was completely blue. But this wasn't a blue caused by a simple stain or even a trick of the light. No, it was clear that it was happening beneath the skin. She tilted her head and leaned in close, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. That same blue shade was slowly traveling across her face, spreading along the capillaries on her cheek like tiny blue tendrils. In no time at all, her face was a mask of blue that stretched from her chin to just above her eyes, and it seemed to have no interest in slowing down.
The mirror clattered from the floor, falling from a hand numb with shock. Dario was on his feet in an instant, hands wrapped protectively around his wife. “Emilia! What is it? What's happening?”
She slowly turned to face him, mouth working wordlessly, unsure what to say. Eventually she found her voice. “D-Dario...” she stammered. “I feel... strange...”
Again her stomach gurgled, and her hands clutched it above her silken gown. “Ohh... h-have I... have I been poisoned?”
Dario wasted no time with a reply, instead throwing open the door to their room. “Help!” he shouted down the hallway. “I need help!” He turned back and grabbed his wife's arm, leading her forward, gently but with urgency.
With Dario's other hand around her hips, Emilia was led out into the hallway and towards the stairway. With each step her body felt queerer and queerer. She clutched the railing tightly for fear that she would lose her footing and tumble down.
Her mind was racing as she descended the staircase, step by shaky step. She had no idea what was going on. Of all the cruelties, why did this have to happen on the night of her wedding? When she was so close to true happiness? Emilia choked back a sob.
Antonio and Maria were waiting for them on the ground floor, concern etched on the innkeeper's broad face. “What's happened?” he asked.
“I... I'm not sure,” Dario answered, “but she needs to see a doctor! I fear she may have been poisoned!”
“Poisoned, you say?” Antonio said, then looked at Emilia's blue face. “Oh my.” He pursed his lips. “The local doctor lives near the north gate. Maria can take you there.”
“Ohhhh,” Emilia moaned, sitting down on the nearest chair and clutching her stomach in misery. The blue now covered her entire face and most of her neck. As they all watched, the colour spread downwards. The plunging neckline of her dress afforded them all a clear view of her ample bosom as it darkened to match her face in pigment.
“She's in no shape to travel,” Maria said. She looked to her father, and then the couple. “Stay here. I'll fetch the doctor.” Dario and Antonio both nodded at this, but as Maria turned to go Emilia called out after her.
“Wait!” The innkeeper's daughter paused and turned back. Emilia grasped her husband's hand. “Go with her.”
“My love?” Dario seemed uncertain. “I should stay here. By your side.” Emilia pulled him close, as if to embrace him.
“I don't trust her,” she hissed in his ear when their faces were close. “I... I think she may have done this to me! You must find out if she's planning anything else.” They pulled apart.
From Dario's expression, it was clear he was unconvinced, and wanted nothing more than to be with his wife during this surreal event. But Antonio clapped a large hand on his back. “If there's one thing I've learned,” he said, his voice upbeat despite the situation, “it's never to argue with the misssus. Go. She'll be fine. I'll make sure of it.”
Dario hesitated another moment before nodding. He glanced towards Maria, who waited patiently by the door. “All right,” he finally said. “Let's go.”
The pair stepped out into the night, leaving Emilia and the innkeeper behind. Antonio watched them go from the doorway before finally returning back inside and regarding Emilia with a warm smile. “They shouldn't be too long. Is there anything I can get you while we wait?”
Emilia shook her head, too preoccupied to offer a proper reply. Her insides were squirming now, her belly offering a constant procession of gurgles and groans. She felt... wrong, all over. Was this what dying felt like?
“Hmm, let's get a proper look at you.” The innkeeper pulled a chair up and sat down across from her. He reached out and grabbed an arm, not unkindly, lifting it up so he could look more closely at her. “It looks like it's spreading fairly quickly.”
Emilia was thrown off by the sudden contact with the stranger, but this paled in comparison to the sight of her arms changing colour. Starting at the shoulders, the pigmentation worked its way along her veins, spreading its colour, turning flesh that was once pale and soft a rich blue. Emilia and the innkeeper both watched as the blue spread until it reached her hands and finally the tips of her fingers. She gave them a wiggle, barely able to believe that the limb was hers.
He let go of her arm and stood back up, looking down at her thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, I think you'll do most nicely.”
Emilia looked up at him. “W-what did you say?”
But before he could respond, a knock came at the door. Antonio's face immediately brightened. “Ah! That must be them!” He made his way to the doorway.
Emilia only stared at him uncertainly. Just what had the innkeeper meant? What was going on?
“I was wondering when you'd show up!” She heard Antonio's voice as he spoke to the people outside. “Yes, she's still inside. Come in! Come in!”
She let out a sigh. Maria and Dario had been quicker than she had expected, though not a moment too soon. In the few short minutes she had spent alone with the innkeeper, she found herself growing more and more uneasy.
Antonio reappeared, followed by a tall figure. But when Emilia laid eyes on the new guest, her heart sank. It wasn't Dario or Maria, and she strongly doubted it was the doctor.
Whoever it was wore a long dark red robe, their hood up to obscure their face, save for a grim mouth that neither smiled nor frowned. She could feel the figure staring at her, their eyes obscured in the darkness of their hood but palpable nonetheless. Whoever they were, they loomed over her, tall and imposing.
Two more figures followed after the first, these ones clad identically, though not nearly as tall. They regarded her with that same unsettling expression, none of them moving.
Two more came, then two more after that, and so on and so forth until the common room of the inn was crowded by these robed figures who surrounded Emilia, staring down at her with identical blank expressions.
She looked up at them, fear stabbing her heart as she absently rubbed her aching belly. “P-please,” she whimpered. “What's happening...?”
The figures said nothing. Just continued to stare that empty stare as tendrils of blue travelled down Emilia's plump pale legs.
She wanted to sob. She felt like she was being judged by some infernal tribunal, only she had no idea for what crime, nor by what measure.
“See? What did I tell you?” Antonio reappeared beside the lead figure. “Is she not perfect?”
After a moment, the tall figure nodded.
“You will come with us,” the figure said in a soft yet distinctly masculine voice.
Emilia didn't move from her chair. She wasn't certain if she'd be able to even if she wanted to, so paralyzed was she with fear and uncertainty.
Please,” she repeated. “I... I need help.”

“Yes,” the figure said. “Come with us. Now.” He stepped aside, allowing a clear path to the open door of the inn. Two of the robed figures grabbed Emilia's blue hands and gently lifted her to her feet. For her part, Emilia was too bewildered to protest, and took a step forward as the figures urged her towards the door.
She hesitated.
“M-my husband,” she began. “He went to get a doctor. I should... I should wait for him.”
“Yes. Your husband, yes.” The figure nodded. “He is waiting for you. We will take you to him. Now come with us.”
The figures were tugging on her arms now, more insistently. Emilia was at a complete loss. Nothing made any sense to her. Was Dario with the doctor? Why didn't they return here? Why send these robed men? She felt like she was in some strange fever dream. One where images and events flew by you too quickly to register and although you couldn't find any rhyme or reason to what was happening, still you found yourself carried along helplessly on its currents. Just as Emilia was finding herself led towards the exit by those mysterious figures.
“Will you be joining, signor?” the tall man in robes said to Antonio. The innkeeper laughed.
“What kind of question is that? Of course!” He made his way to the now empty chair and put it away. “But do go on without me. I'll catch up with you once I've properly cleaned up here.”
“As you wish,” the robed man nodded his head at the innkeeper, then turned to join the rest of the group as they led Emilia out the door and into the chill night air.

TO BE CONTINUED...