“No riddles here, deary. You wished for strength and that’s what yer gonna get. After all, what’s stronger than an orc?”
“O-orc?” the princess whimpered, heart racing and the color draining from her skin. “Y-you’re lying, you must be!”
“Oh, a wizard never lies, deary. We might deceive or bend the truth a bit, but never outright lie.”
“Wait, wizard.”
A pale, sickly shade of green spread across her face as the realization sunk in.
“You’re … you’re-“
“Veneficus, in the flesh. Yes, I know, I know. I really should call myself a witch as I suppose it’s more accurate. But it always carried too many negative connotations for me. So I call myself a wizard instead because I figure we’re living in a progressive feudalistic absolute monarchy, after all.”
The princess broke down sobbing, tears now streaming down her face as the green spread from her face to the rest of her body. The creamy, pink skin of a royal shifted to a deeper green, cracking and thickening into the hardened hide of a monster. The nails on her hands, once so well maintained by manicures and polishing, now grew out like her toenails into sharp claws.
As the transformation accelerated, she could feel her body shifting into something entirely alien. Pain overwhelmed her as muscles began to tense and swell. Her frame stretched to grotesque proportions. Veins bulged up along her arms and neck. Her once comfortable dress began to bite into her more bulky form. The sides began to tear around the lower half revealing green tree trunks where her womanly legs once were.
Trying to crawl away in shame only served to ruin the dress more as the back split open against her widening shoulders. Her barreling chest and thickening arms did away with the upper half, exposing her swollen breasts to the cold dawn air. Burying her face in her arms, the princess choked back more tears, merely trying to block out the hideousness that was her own body.
“Oh, don’t fret, deary,” the wizard chuckled in mock comfort. “I’m sorry your pretty dress got ruined. But you know beauty never really lasts.”
The last parts of the change washed over the princess. Her thickening hips and thighs tore through the last bits of scrap from her dress. Her throat stung harshly as her cries twisted from a high-pitched sobbing to rougher, moaning howls of pain.
From top of her head strands of her chestnut locks fell away, replaced by clumps of fiery red hair. Her face crunched and twisted in her hands: her nose grew into a sharp point, her brow widened, and her lower jaw snapped outward, bearing the two telltale tusks of an orc.
With one last cry of anguish the transformation was complete.
As the aches and pain slowly subsided, all that was left was burning hatred. Hatred for the well, hatred for herself, and most of all hatred for the little, old crone that had cursed her. Rising to her feet, the orc princess stomped towards her target, fists clenched and fangs bared.
“YOU,” she boomed at the wizard, huge body shaking with rage. “YOU DID THIS TO ME! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL DESTROY YOU! I’LL FLATTEN YOU!”