Sir Roland had stopped crying, and was just lying on his bed, curled in a fetal position, not even bothering to put on the discarded clothes which would now be many sizes too big. He was a little cold, but the treacherous elf had taken his bedsheets, so now he just lay there, shivering slightly.
He looked into the mirror across the room, at his pathetic, shrunken reflection. Then, the mirror shimmered strangely, and a woman stepped out of it. She wore a dark cloak over a blue dress, and was adorned with fine jewels. She was beautiful.
“W-who are you?” the Knight stammered.
“I am the one who can help you,” came the mysterious woman’s melodic reply, “the one who can help you regain that which was stolen. The one who can give you your revenge.” Her voice caressed the word “revenge” in a way that sent chills up Sir Roland’s spine.
“How?” he asked. She laughed, causing her large breasts to heave within their silken prison. Sir Roland's excitement was easy to hide, given that his “broadsword” was now little more than a stiletto dagger, in comparison.
“I can do magic, of course,” she explained, “and magic is what this will take, since that is how you were defeated earlier this evening.”
“What’s the catch?” the Knight asked, a little suspicious of this beautiful woman.
“Quite simple,” replied the sorceress, a smile on her full lips, “swear to serve me.”
“What?” cried Sir Roland, “For life?”
“Of course,” purred the woman, “or you could remain in your current state – for life.”
Sir Roland considered his options. None looked good.