The prince eyed the vial, it sparkled in the dim lighting of the witch’s cottage. Doubt clawed at his gut, but his determination to escape the suffocating weight of his royal duties far outweighed any hesitations he might have had. He closed his eyes, put his lips to the glass and drunk, carefully counting each gulp. He’d figured that five gulps of the shimmering liquid would suffice, they would age him to be twenty-one years old; old enough to reap the benefits of maturity without forsaking the gifts of youth.
The prince finished and set the vial back down on the gnarled wooden table. He didn’t feel any different. He looked down at himself, still the scrawny, pubescent body of a teenager. He looked at the vial, and then up to the witch.
“I mean no disrespect but I don’t think it-” Damon’s words were cut short by a sudden pain in his stomach. He doubled over and feel onto his knees, clutching the woolen rug beneath him with one hand and his stomach with the other.
Prince Damon felt his body burn in a hellish fever. His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. He heaved and panted. His face contorted into a pained grimace, his eyes scrunched shut.
The witch leaned forward in her chair, she watched with amusement as the young prince’s body began to change.
With a sickening series of cracks, the boy’s limbs started to lengthen. His torso stretched and his face was pulled long, soon after which his jaw seemed to pop. His hands and feet expanded, becoming more sinewy as their veins became more prominent.
In the prince’s place laid a skeletal figure, sweating and panting from the stress. However the poor boy didn’t receive a reprieve. Soon enough his frame began to fill out. His shoulders broadened with muscle. His neck thickened to support his now larger head. His arms and legs filled out with firm, toned muscle. The skeletal figure had transformed into a strapping young man.
But the witch’s brew wasn’t finished yet. Before Damon could get back on his feet he felt another wave of unease weigh him down. Between his thick thighs, his dick grew thicker and longer and his ballsack expanded. His sparse bush exploded into a bristly mess of chestnut and gray curls. Like a weed, hair sprouted all over Damon’s body. It ran up his stomach and bloomed across his chest, it covered his shoulders and arms and wiry curls coated his long legs, it feathered out from the nape of his neck and down onto his back. Not even his face was spared as a short, scruffy beard streaked with gray pushed itself out of his cheeks and his eyebrows grew thicker and wilder. However, for all the hair he’d gained he’d lost some as well, his hairline had receded up his forehead in a horseshoe pattern, gray hairs entirely replacing his precious brown curls at his temples.
The last touches of age accosted Damon in a much more gentle manner. As the new man laid on the floor catching his breath, lines etched themselves onto his forehead, around his eyes and mouth, a small belly pushed out of his abdomen, completely obscuring his solid abs, and his muscles lost their definition ever so slightly.
The witch got out of her chair, hobbled over to the prince’s side and handed him a small mirror. The prince reached for the mirror but stopped, he stared at his hand, then at his arms, then at his entire self.
“What? What is this?” he called out, his baritone voice booming louder than he anticipated. He ran his fingers through the forest of hair that grew on him and clutched the belly that sat on his lap. He took the mirror still in the witch’s hand and looked at his reflection. He pulled at his beard and stretched out his wrinkles. He ran a hand through his thinned out hair.
“I look like my father!”
He turned to the witch.
“I only took five sips! Five! Why do I look like I’m over twice my age?”
The witch cackled.
“Look dear, magic’s more an art than science. Thank your lucky stars you didn’t turn to dust.” She produced a small, glass flask, similar to the one she’d offered the prince, and pressed its rim against Damon’s shoulders. Immediately the sweat glistening on his skin illuminated and funneled itself into the glass.
“What did you just do?”
“Took my payment.”
“Your... payment?”
“Yes, your youth,” she cackled.
Damon stood up, the wooden planks creaking under his new weight. He lost his balance and fell forward before catching himself. He was easily a foot or so taller, and the sudden height difference was harder to adjust to than he’d expected. Damon examined his new, older body, unsure of what to think.