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(Woman to Frog)

Gayle Winstead was a champion of war, there could be little doubt of that. She’d emerged nigh-unscathed from decades of combat, and in spite of her age she looked to be in the prime of her life. Rumor had it that every drop of blood she spilled rejuvenated herself, and given the ocean she’d made in her life, there was little doubt to the rumor’s truth.

The townsfolk called her ‘The Blonde Tyrant’ behind her back, and spoke nothing of her to her face. Terror had become commonplace in their enslaved community, especially after a waylaid revolution had brought many of the men to ruin.

Naturally, she was surprised when a young witch summoned her to the town’s square. The girl was a redhead, and a fiery one at that. Were this a kinder world, she’d likely be entering what passed for higher education. However, Gayle had seen to it that none could rise above her intellect, demolishing the libraries and universities of the land.

In spite of that, here stood a self-proclaimed magician. The girl held a book with a practiced ease at her side, speaking in clipped, authoritative tones. “Butcher of Vonas, Blonde Tyrant, Gayle Winstead! Your reckoning is nigh! Kneel and accept your defeat, or succumb to my spell!”

Gayle’s reply was to unsling her war-axe. Its surface gleamed, but a single blemish present in the crescent moon of its blade. That had been earned by the legendary vampire count Morthis, and she refused to ever work it from her weapon’s surface. It served as a reminder to all just how superior she was.

“Very well, then.” The girl’s tones were soft and flowing. A foreigner, Gayle mused, whose country would be next razed once Gayle grew bored of the redhead’s screams. Now that she gave the girl a closer look, she could tell the tome was that of some sort of law mage.

Pathetic. It had been decades since the last practitioner of those arts was ended, by Gayle’s hands no less. She hefted her axe and bore down upon the girl, letting loose a battle cry that caused nearby women to faint dead away in horror. It was loud, but somehow not enough to drown out the witch’s next words.

“New rule: You can no longer walk, you can only hop.”

The charge stumbled to an ungainly jolting as Gayle’s legs conspired against her. The beautiful woman’s breasts bounced with every rabbit-like jump she took, and her cheeks burned at the sound of stifled laughter.

The warlord cursed beneath her breath, aggravated beyond all else. Law magic was infuriating in that sense. It could be used to make someone obey by rules, be they rules of nature, rules of law, or even rules of a silly game as hopscotch. Still, Gayle had never had troubles breaking them in the past.

She concentrated, closing her eyes and focusing on breaking the curse. A deep breath in, then another out. Willpower could overcome all magic, even this. The blonde opened her eyes, and bade her body to step forwards. Another hop, more laughter, more humiliation.

“Wench!” Gayle demanded, detesting that she need waste words on such a mongrel. “How dare you afflict me in such a manner! I will see you burned alive for your crimes, from foot to thigh, in hopes that the stench of your cooked flesh never leaves your-”

“New rule: Every time you try to speak, your tongue grows longer.”

“Nothrilth awth yalp thoooawhho…” Gayle blinked, tasting dirt against the underside of her tongue. She looked down to the ground in disbelief, unable to reconcile the fact that her own tongue stretched past her lips to her feet. It slurped into her mouth a second later, making her cheeks bulge as though she’d gorged herself.

That… Wasn’t right. Law magic wasn’t supposed to be able to simply create rules. They had to follow some sort of establishment, something that could be physically obeyed. Apparently this redheaded witch dabbled in some particularly dark arts, no doubt consumed by a need for vengeance.

“New rule: Whenever you panic, you sweat slime.”

Gayle looked to the witch in a newfound light, seeing her for what she was. This was no child, this was a demon in a child’s body. A cold sensation broke out across the warrior’s form, and she hopped backwards in fear. The clamminess only grew, and she shook her head to fleck thick beads of slime from her brow.

“New rule,” the witch said. She looked up to her aggressor, innocently amused. “Every fifth breath you take will make you croak.”

Gayle gasped in shock, then again in confusion. She took three quick breaths to calm herself, then “GRRROAAKBIT.” Her cheeks bulged with the proclamation, stretching to near-translucence. The motion was so violent that it unbalanced her hopping, making her fall onto all fours.

The redhead smiled sweetly, a far cry from the delight Gayle had expected. So, the brat wasn’t after her for crushing some distant kingdom? Surely that had to be the case, or else she’d show some sign of enjoyment at this. Rather, the witch was simply toying with her, like a cat playing with a dismembered insect.

And the crowd loved it. They jeered constantly, cheering the downfall of their ruler and praising the little magician for her strength. It was as infuriating as it was terrifying. For the first time since she could remember, Gayle felt truly afraid.

“New rule: Whenever you try to stand, you shrink.”

Gayle didn’t process that at first, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t even notice her axe had fallen beside herself. All she wanted to do was lift herself and run, but her palms wouldn’t leave the ground. “HRRRRBBIT!”

The crowd was laughing without restraint, she was sure of it. She could hear their mocking calls, and once-fearful faces loomed up around her as though they were giants. “GRROAAK.” Gayle struggled further, only stopping when a cool breeze graced her backside.

She was naked. Her clothes had fallen off of her, leaving her slime-drenched form quivering above the massive faces of her subjects. “RRRRBRRRRTTT.” Her cheeks bulged again, eyes swimming with nightmarish dread. She was so small she could fit in someone’s hand, so insignificant they could crush her without effort.

“New rule: The closer I get to you, the more you turn into a frog.”

The witch skipped towards her, and Gayle began to hop away, cheeks bulging as she hyperventilated. “HRRRIBBIT GRRROAK HRRRIIBBOAK!” She sobbed, eyes turning a shade of gold, skin turning green. She wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, was so weak and small and “HHRROAK RRRRIBBOAK GRROOOAABITT!”

Warm hands clenched around her form, and her legs grew longer, thighs thicker. Her arms dwindled away, and every finger and toe splayed and stretched. Thick webbing overtook the space between them, and Gayle squirmed in nightmarish horror.

“New rule: You have to eat a fly every minute, or else you lose one more human memory.”

Gayle stared up to the witch in shock, wriggling faster, harder. She couldn’t escape the girl’s grasp, and soon forgot her forty-third conquest. “GRRROAK!” She pawed at the large fingers, staring with desperate terror up to the witch. The redhead’s smile only grew.

“New rule: Every torture, every suffering, every nightmarish horror that you forget,” the girl spoke softly, so low that only Gayle could hear her, “Will be learned by me. I could use some inspiration, especially after that last boring kingdom.”

Gayle looked up to the witch, past the redhead’s innocent mask and into the dark void that lay behind her eyes. That was her game, then. The redhead wasn’t out for vengeance, she wasn’t a savior. Gayle struggled all the harder, knowing that the sadistic dark mage would sunder all that she’d built.

A few seconds passed, and the frog forgot why she was panicked. Gayle squirmed again, kicking her way free of the witch who’d just ‘liberated’ her village, desperately hopping to a nearby pond. There she feasted as best she could, chased by the exultant cheers of her townsfolk.

By the time the cheers had turned to confused murmurs, Gayle had forgotten they were ever her subjects to begin with. By the time the murmurs had turned to horrified screams, she had forgotten her name. By the time the screams had turned to utter silence, the frog had forgotten that it was ever a human.

There, in the squalor of a fly-ridden pond, the village’s sole survivor spent the rest of its life chasing flies.