The agony that had begun in Mary's throat seemed intent on assaulting her whole body. It spread at a rapid pace, racing down her arms and legs, up her neck to her head. She pulled away from holding her stomach to clutch at her temples, as a thunderstorm of pain rippled through her mind, her very senses becoming a blurred miasma of suffering. She screamed, trying to beg any god that listened for relief, but all that came from her was incoherent yelling, a fit of horrific screeches.
It felt as if her whole body was being stretched, pulled like taffy over the rollers. Her legs and arms, she could feel them lengthening, her torso as well gaining a bit of extra mass. The sound of fabric tear filled the apothecary's chamber as her carefully-fitted dress ripped, no longer suited to hold a taller, fuller woman.
Within her brain, the agony skyrocketed, as if every fiber of her mind was being torn apart. Foreign things flooded her mind, thoughts, feelings, emotions, memories that she failed to decipher in her haze of agony. She cried, tears streaming down her face as her features filled with pain, at the thought that she might lose her very soul in this change. She could scarcely imagine what kind of person would come out the other end.
And just as suddenly as the thundering pain had come, it began to disappaite.
It took several long moments after the last traces of agony left her body before she could dare open her eyes once more. She almost expected to see a dungeon, or some evil hellscape, but instead her gaze was met with the familiar furnishings of Bertram's laboratory, and the man himself looking down at her in shock. "My Queen!" he shouted, kneeling next to her, "Can you hear me? Please, give me a sign that you still live!"
Slowly, she forced her head to nod slightly, finding it an oddly weighty movement compared to any other time she'd nodded. A hand reached forward, joined by the other in attempting to push herself up, still groggy in the aftermath of her ordeal. "I yet live, Bertram," she affirmed, though her eyes opened wider at the sound of her own voice. It was her own, of that there could be no doubt, but it had gained a certain... nobility, more akin to that of a noble woman than an anxious princess. "Your potion... what has it made me?"
He hurried over to pick up a mirror, returning it to her hands. "See with your own eyes, my queen." She took the mirror from him, bringing it to her face and almost instantly gasping in shock. She recognized her features, the shape of her jaw and cheekbones, the bright blye eyes, but they had all developed, gaining what must have been years of maturation - and a great deal more beauty in the process. A hand reached up to her hair as she examined its reflection, finding the brown locks had darkened and thickened, giving her a rich, dignified mane already styled into perfect curls, their whole mass pulled to one side.
Tenatively she stood, looking down to find the ground farther away by at least several inches. Even among the tattered, ripped remains of her dress, she could see that her body had matured much as her face had. Height increased, skinny arms and legs filled out to a healthy size, and even her bosom seemed to have become a great deal more bountiful. She blushed, guessing that her body now reflected that of a woman at least twice her age.
Her mind swirled with amazement, and within her head she began to find a great deal more than what had once been. Countless vital matters of state now seemed known to her, from finances, to maintaing loyal nobility, to etiquette, foreign affairs, even tactics and strategy for the conduct of war. In her heart she could feel a new confidence, an assurance in herself and her abilities that she never would have dared to practice before. Mary had become, she realized, a perfect balance, a blend of the beauty and vitality of youth, and the wisdom and experience of old age.
"Bertram... I believe your potion could not have produced a better outcome." She smiled, filling with excitement at her new form, at the new matters her mind seemed so apt to deal with. She would need a new wardrobe, certainly, but it was such a small price to pay to ensure that she could lead the kingdom properly, a shreweder, mature woman more than capable of handling whatever challenges her father's assassins brought her way.
Still... there was one thought. One potential other way of ensuring her reign that she ought to pursue. "Bertram, as I seem to have gained a great many more years... perhaps I might be more ready to withstand another of your potion's effects?"