1301

1301

Lady Hughes appeared in a grassy field surrounded by makeshift wooden cottages with thatched roofs. Above, a bright blue sky rolled with fluffy clouds. An ominous silence pervaded the area and, despite the cheery weather, Lady Hughes couldn't help but feel the hairs standing on the back of her neck. Something was wrong.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Qrde3zdHKK_fxh9bhWGYzj9xsLEjPh-q/view?usp=drive_link

She looked at her clothing and saw a simple, long black dress cinched around her tiny waist by a strip of black leather. Around her head, and covering her hair, was a white cowl with a black cloth surrounding it. It was a nuns habit.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/11fbccnqgD3wO5FguKVZW8fPJt1_WFJ2U/view?usp=drive_link

The bulky, loose fitting dress obscured the majority of her curves and the material was scratchy and rough against her skin. The cloth shoes on her itty-bitty feet provided only the barest of padding. She slowly crept along the grass, hyper aware that a palpable tension hung in the air, as if something serious were about to happen. Her ill fitting clothing provided very little support and her altered body was struggling to adjust with her movements.

Breaking the silence was a loud crash from a nearby woodpile. It made Lady Hughes' heart nearly leap from her chest and she yelped with surprise. She turned and saw Isla tumbling against a stack of lumber. Isla dropped to the ground before standing upright and shaking bits of debris from her clothing. She wore a green, linen dress that swept across the dirt. Her pregnant belly bulged against the dress and her hair was covered by a white cloth. Loose stitching around her breasts provided easy access, likely for breastfeeding a child. It was a medieval maternity dress.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ZrnY0LyQXhdPiopdxS7dU2PJi_F9N-yt/view?usp=drive_link

Isla waddled her way over while rubbing her butt and complaining in her Scottish accent, "Oi, tha' feckin' hurt me arse! Ae cannae think of anythin' worse'n takin' a fall while bein' tis pregnant! Well, at least tis time ae'am no' doin' et covered in semen, I s'pose."

Lady Hughes acknowledged Isla with a nod. They were left standing together in silence. Isla stiffened as she glanced around the area. Both women instinctively huddled closer together and froze. A breeze gently swayed the nearby trees and lazily shifted the fluffy clouds across the sky as they waited for something to happen.

A man in a brown tunic emerged from a nearby thicket of trees. He wore an arming coif and a small knife bounced around his waist in a sheathe. He had grey stubble and a serious expression.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/15dNnreGM0Abzh6NYE9mBWZO4YnBt0tDZ/view?usp=drive_link

Lady Hughes and Isla each turned to face the unknown man who stood about fifty feet away. His eyes narrowed and his head twisted in confusion and worry as he examined the frightened women before him. He glanced over his shoulder warily and jogged towards them.

When he spoke, his voice sounded strange- almost as if he were reciting a poem, "A nonne?" He looked Lady Hughes up and down before continuing, "Thou must be Suster Margery. Thou generous bosom hath given thee a reputation! Thou hast choosen a timme most unfortunate for meeting. Mein dearest Sister, thou and thy frend with child be in terrible perils. This village is to be assailed by the Frenshmen! Thou knowest not the things they do to upright English wommen such as thee! Escape while ye still yet can!"

Sister Margery struggled to follow the man's words as his cadence, accent, and inflection were particularly unusual. Despite that, she understood his general meaning. She exchanged a worried glance with Isla before returing her attention to the man and opening her mouth to speak.

She tried to say, 'Can my friend and I still escape before they come? Can you protect us, sir?' But what came out was, "Can mine frend and I yit escape ere they cometh? Canst thou protect us, sire?

Her voice had the usual pitch and soft-spoken timbre, but her cadence, accent and inflection matched the man and felt strange coming from her throat. Her words seemed to calm the man and confirmed to him that Sister Margery and Isla were indeed the 'upright English wommen' he had pegged them for.

He contemplated for a few seconds before nodding, "Yea, Suster. If thou followest me, I will lede thee away from thine peril."

In the distance, the sound of a drum began to echo through the village. The sound was far away but deep and loud. Sister Margery could feel it in her chest and it struck fear into her heart. A second and third drum joined in, beating steadily in the distance. The sound seemed to be getting progressively louder and It appeared to be coming from all directions. An unmistakable panic gripped both women and they rushed towards the man for protection.

"Come!" He shouted before turning and running further into the village.

Sister Margery and Isla hiked up their dresses and scurried to follow him. The crack of the drums seemed to bounce louder and louder from every wall as the party made their way through the abandoned village. The man had to stop or slow down multiple times to accommodate the women who were naturally slower than he was. Sister Margery was particularly slow with her exaggerated feminine proportions and diminished stature. Her body tired quickly, but the increasingly threatening drums pushed her to keep her little feet moving.

Near the center of the village was a stone wall that surrounded a larger, fortified house on a small hill. The drums were so loud at this point that Sister Margery was sure the French would jump out at any second. The man stopped before an open wooden gate wedged between the stone walls. He turned to beckon the women forward with a quick movement of his hand. He looked into the distance just as a sudden *THWACK* ripped through the air.

The man groaned and collapsed against the stone wall. His face was twisted with pain and he grabbed at a wooden shaft protruding from his chest. A dark red stain quickly formed beneath his hand and expanded outwards. Sister Margery's eyes shot into the distance and she noticed a man in a uniform brandishing a crossbow. He was only about a hundred yards away!

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1_bqFAEVenFw_ADyvTsJkg12tATdv6sey/view?usp=drive_link

The uniformed man was loading another bolt into his crossbow as a flood of similarly uniformed Frenchmen streamed onto the street from behind him. They were fully armed and their steel weaponry gleamed menacingly in the sunlight. The men noticed the defenseless women in the distance and charged towards them. Sister Margery could see that these men had no intention of being friendly.

The English man slumped to the ground and sputtered, "I am sorry, suster! Ther is a tunel under the hous within these walles that leadeth away! Run while thou mayst still be able!" He laid his head back and closed his eyes before muttering to himself, "May God taketh me into his armes. I sought but to protect two of his daughters and ther babe."

Sister Margery's heart was pounding and adrenaline was narrowing her vision as she sprinted through the gate with Isla closely behind. Though the approaching men were heavily armored, they were still faster than the women and the gap between them narrowed with each step. Isla pushed Sister Margery from behind as they scrambled up the hill. They heard the death throes from the English man as the soldiers finished the job with steel. Isla threw the sturdy door to the house open and slipped inside. The interior was simple with stone floors and a table. Light streamed in through surrounding windows.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1qlXsvbg6mDoQDfMIepXHIMgqm4JHS921/view?usp=drive_link

Isla took in a gulp of air and winced as her hands caressed her pregnant belly. She looked exhausted! When Sister Margery finally crossed the threshold, Isla slammed the door shut and started pulling the table, trying to move it across the floor.

She croaked, "Oi! Get yer head oot o yer arse an' 'elp me! Our cunts won' be enouf tis time. Thae blokes want tae kill us! "

Sister Margery scurried to the opposite side of the table and pushed. It would have taken almost no effort for her to move the table without any help when she was a scrawny, male college student. But now, she could barely manage to budge it with maximum effort and another person helping. They slid the table in front of the door just a moment before one of the soldiers tried to push it open. Isla and Sister Margery leaned against the table as the soldier put more effort into his second attempt, nearly knocking the women to the ground. He shouted something through the door in an unknown language which Sister Margery could barely hear over the echoing drums.

Sister Margery yelped as another hard push sent her reeling. The sound of men surrounding the house sent a fresh chill down her spine and she could see their outlines blocking the light in the windows.

She turned to Isla and shouted over the drums, "We needeth to finde the tunel and getten out of hither!"

Isla's head swiveled around and her eyes scanned the room just as another, stronger push knocked both women away from the table. Sister Margery tumbled to the stone floor while Isla fell into the nearby wall. The drums were louder than ever, angry male voices filled the house and the front door was about to swing open.

But just as the noise and fear was crescendoed into certain demise, the drums and the voices suddenly stopped. The door remained closed and everything was still. Sister Margery struggled to her feet and Isla rested against the wall.

The sinister hiss of the old woman's voice sounded as she emerged from another room, "Allow me to spoil it for you: There is no tunnel. The poor man you heartlessly abandoned was basing his belief on rumor and speculation. There is no escape from here. You've certainly found yourselves in quite the predicament."

Sister Margery and Isla turned to face the old woman who wore modern attire and an emotionless expression.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1SXMIGslkE9euISnds_cvGIurJeRz2aHG/view?usp=drive_link

Isla wiped sweat from her freckled brow and asked, "Whit happenit tae the men? Are they still comin tae kill us?

The old woman nodded, "I'm afraid so, dear Isla. I've put them on a...bit of a pause while we discuss a proposition."

Sister Margery wrapped her arms around her tiny waist as she inquired softly with her uncontrollable accent and weird inflection, "What maketh thee think we woulden agree to aught thou offerest?"

Isla nodded and added, "Aye! Av'ryting ye dae makes our situation sae much worse!"

The old woman examined her fingernails as she casually answered, "Because if you don't, I'll let those soldiers resume their assault and they'll brutally kill you both. Well, brutally rape you first, then brutally kill you. I promise you that these men will make your Indian friends look like sensual gentlemen in comparison."

Isla and Sister Margery exchanged a worried glance. Isla may have received the overwhelming...attention...from the Indians, but neither woman wanted to experience whatever the French soldiers were offering. Sister Margery remembered the look in the men's eyes as they targeted her. She had to at least hear the old woman out.

Sister Margery sighed, "What art thou to offeren?"

Isla looked at Sister Margery incredulously, "Ye cannae be serious! Dinnae listen tae her lies!"

The old woman cracked a smile and stared down at Sister Margery, "I'm glad at least one of you understands the gravity of your situation. I can get you out of here and save your pathetic lives...but you have to give something to me."

Sister Margery responded with tears welling in her eyes, "What moore coude ye tak fro us? Looke on me! I'm a humane fertility idole and this lasse is a pregnant scottish whore!"

The old woman scoffed, "Oh my dear, there is always more to give! I'll be honest with you now." She removed her glasses and sighed, her voice was wispy and her eyes were tired, "The truth is I want to stop this game with you girls, but I still need something from you first. In the simplest terms, my power derives from your...for lack of a better word, let's call it 'Essence'. 'Essence' is everything from your personality to your thoughts, memories, skills, likes, dislikes- It's everything about what makes you...you, at least on the inside. I've been slowly siphoning your 'Essence' each time a change occurs in your body. Every little expansion of fat or restructuring of bone gives me an opening to infiltrate your little heads and acquire just a little bit [b]more.[/b]"

Sister Margery gasped, "But..but that meens I am nat going madde and mine original persone is verily disappearing!"

The old woman nodded in agreement before speaking, "You're not crazy, you're just becoming somebody else entirely. Luckily for me, a brain drained of 'Essence' will quickly replace it with whatever it can find. In this case, you'll truly be adopting mental characteristics of a buxom 14th century nun or a 14th century scottish commoner pregnant with a bastard."

Isla growled, "Whit dae ye neit tae tell us this for? Why no juist keep stealin' from us 'til thare's nothin left?"

The old woman rested against the wall, "In all honesty, time travel takes too much out of me and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up. I've been trying to bring you further and further back to speed up the process."

Isla ripped the white cloth from her head and let her curly red hair drape down her back as she asked angrily, "Why brin us back further!? Why brin us back at aw!? A dinnae understand!"

The old woman slipped her glasses back onto her face and responded, "The less equivalent the characteristics you gain are to your original self, the more susceptible you become to further corruption. In other words, the less compatible your corrupted brain is to your original body the easier you are to drain. What could be less similar to a strong, modern feminist college student than an ignorant, pregnant medieval slut?"

Sister Margery nervously gripped the sleeves of her nun dress and inquired timidly, "But tyme travell? Why usen thy power to tyme travell if it be so wearysome? Why not just chaungen us over and over agayn until we enden up wholly under thy governance?"

The old woman sighed, "If only, if only...Isla may not remember this, but I'm bound to follow the terms of our agreement that kicked this whole adventure off. I may have found a loophole to trap her in it as well, but there are some aspects that even I can't trick my way out of...Which is why I'm here to negotiate."

Isla spit towards the old woman and bared her teeth, "Nogotiate with me feckin' arse ye daft cunt!" She turned to Sister Margery, "Dun't lissen te her, Sister Mar- Sister- Feck! Ay cannae remember yer real name, but dun't lissen!"

The old woman chuckled and grinned, her voice was sickly sweet, "If you don't agree to relinquish your 'Essence' to me fully- then I'll have to free the soldiers and let them take care of business. Believe me, ladies, being stabbed to death is as painful as it sounds. You'll feel every inch of metal as its forced into your flesh. Your blood will paint the walls and your screams of agony will be met with mocking laughter."

Sister Margery felt her breath catch in her throat and she shot a frightful glance at Isla who had her hands balled into fists. The light filtered in behind her like a halo and Sister Margery felt resilience rallying her spirits.

Isla smirked as she asserted, "But ye wonae dae that, ye neit us alive! Ye canae let thaim kill us, can ye?"

Any mirth evaporated from the old woman's face and it twisted into disdain. Her voice came out like a hiss, "So you think you're clever? You think you've got the upper hand, huh? All I have to do is make them [i]torture[/i] you until you [b]wish[/b] you were dead!"

Inspired by Isla strength, Sister Margery chimed in, "Controlling the minds of a groupe of knyghtes soundeth as though it would take much magik. I wondere if thou canst hold out? How much magic doth it take to put them on a 'pause,' I wondere?"

Isla added gleefully, "Ay! A think we juist neit tae outlast ye. Yer magic will run oot eventually. If ye're here talkin' te us, ye must be desperate!"

The old woman gritted her teeth and her black eyes glowed menacingly. Sister Margery yelped and shot a delicate hand up to her mouth as a pulling sensation began in her teeth. At the same time, Isla fell back against the wall and and winced as she ripped at the strings of her maternity dress.

Each woman dealt with their newest afflictions while the old woman shouted, her voice was louder, deeper and more spiteful than ever, "We shall see who outlasts who! I wasn't taking this personally before, but you've convinced me otherwise! I will absorb every last iota of your 'Essence' and leave you as husks- as the worst parts of humanity's depravity, as dredges of flesh fit only for disposal!"

A tickle started in Sister Margery's throat before she erupted in a fit of coughing. Her whole body reeled as her tiny fist worked to cover her mouth. The pain intensified before a small object shot into her hand. She let the object fall and saw one of her yellowed teeth drop onto the stone floor with a *clack*. Her eyes opened in shock and realization just as another fit of coughing erupted. More teeth dislodged and dropped into her shaking hand. She desperately tried to hold them in, but the coughing was unstoppable and she was totally powerless. *Clack* *Clack* *Clack* rang out through the house. Sister Margery panicked and ran her tongue around her mouth which only worked to dislodge the remaining stragglers. She spit the last of them onto the stone and began to sob. Every single tooth she possessed was now strewn across the floor and the immediate area around her gleamed with spit coated, yellow pebbles. The feeling of her tongue sliding along smooth gums was bizarre, but what really threw her off was closing her mouth and feeling gum touching gum.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1VTgESweR50HAzkKH9NvSuWw0svwbjfhr/view?usp=drive_link

Sister Margery's hands trembled as the shocking realization that she no longer had any teeth wracked her brain. How would she eat? How would she talk? Would she have access to dentures or some sort of false teeth in the past? Distracted by racing thoughts, she felt the sudden urge to swallow and did so, only to feel a slimy chunk of meat slide down her gullet. She recoiled and took a sharp breath.

Her tongue.

Her tongue was gone!

She dug her fingers between her lips and found two soft gum beds and a wet, warm, empty throat. There was nothing! Her fingers dug further into her throat and she didn't even feel a gag reflex.

Sister Margery's eyes darted to Isla who tore her maternity dress open. Her breasts had grown considerably larger and her pregnant belly had light stretch marks carved into the sides. It wasn't just the breasts themselves, however, her nipples had become thick and extremely puffy. They looked unbearably sensitive to the point that Sister Margery was sure wearing almost any type of covering would be uncomfortable for her.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Vu5-S1Wik0-mWikwft6BU06NkpyTNSSk/view?usp=drive_link

Sister Margery's sob turned into a full on ugly-cry while she grinded her gums together. Her mind raced. Eating, drinking and swallowing in general would be extremely difficult for her now. She would have to re-learn spitting and whistling and laughing. But, as she worried about the day-to-day implications of her change, the realization struck her.

She tried to form words but only a pitiful, high-ptiched moaning sound came out.

She couldn't speak.

Not one word.

Her speech was completely gone.

Meanwhile, Isla shook her expanded tits and winced as her sensitive nipples sent an arc of goosebumps down her spine.

Sister Margery's watery eyes found the old woman who wore a maniacal smirk. She wanted to give her the nastiest, most intimidating look she could muster. However, when they locked eyes, Sister Margery's gaze shot immediately to the floor and she submissively stared at the woman's shoes. No matter how hard she tried, she simply could not raise her gaze. She was resigned to an existence of silent passivity. The tears flowed again as she realized that more of her brain had been filled in with somebody else.

Isla attempted to pull her top back into place but it simply didn't fit any longer and she winced as the material touched her new nipples. She turned and found a sobbing Sister Margery. Isla examined her for a few seconds before appearing to recognize what had happened. The fight in her waned as it was replaced with pity.

She opened her mouth and spoke, "A bheil thu ceart gu leòr, a phiuthar? Dè tha ceàrr?"

Sister Margery sniffled and turned to face Isla. She had no clue what she was saying. Isla's eyes narrowed and she tried to speak once again. The words came out slower, but they were still in a completely unrecognizable language. She no longer had an accent, she simply didn't speak English.

The old woman cackled, "I'm done going easy on you two. If you won't agree to willingly give up your 'Essence', I'll take it by force! You want to try and outlast my magic? Fine, let's see how you handle yourselves when you can't communicate and everybody is against you! Good luck, you'll need it."

Lightning crackled and Sister Margery felt a momentary sting before darkness overtook her.

*****