Staring at a blank wall would do Emily—Isolde—no good. Resigning herself to once again wander the halls, she spun around, only to bump right into a tall, slender figure. She turned about, and gazed down at Emily. She was quite beautiful: ethereal and delicate, with an air of uncanny offness which hung about her in a sort of dull haze. Emily was quite certain she would have a lovely smile. She wasn’t smiling, though. Instead, she scowled down at Em—Isolde, towering over her. Was this it? Emisolde thought. Had she been caught? Was she about to be taken away and have her free will stripped? She trembled, waiting for the words that would spell her doom. Only, they did not come. Instead, the woman stared down at Emily—Isoldily—Isolde, and huffed. “Watch where you’re walking.” She growled. 

“S-sorry,” Emily squeaked, eyes averted. She wanted to protest, tell this stranger to ease up on her, but under that imperious glare, Emily could muster only meek deference. The urge to fawn, to appease, to serve welled up her. Perhaps if she threw herself at this stranger’s feet and begged forgiveness she might avoid capture. Perhaps this lovely fae woman would see what a pathetic, helpless thing Emily was and realize she was no threat to anyone. That she was simply in need of a firm, but gentle hand to guide her. Perhaps she even had a juicy cock in need of sucking; Emily was so, so good at sucking cock. Or maybe she needed a pretty wife to look after her home, or a new addition to her garden, lounging in bliss under the warm sun. The possibilities were endless, and Emily quickly found herself lost in thought, imagining all the lovely things that might be done to her if she were to just submit. 

“Excuse me.” Her voice cracked like a whip, sending Emily scrambling back to reality. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she whimpered, prostrating herself. 

The woman grumbled to herself, then sighed. “Get up,” she commanded. Emily—Isolde, her name was Isolde—rushed to comply, and the stranger chuckled. Had Emily done well? Pleased her somehow? She hoped so. “When next you see your owner, be sure to tell them you could use a lesson or two on etiquette,” she chided. Though the annoyance was still present in her voice, the edge of venom had dulled. Shame, humiliation, and arousal crashed over Isolde as she realized why this fae woman had not reported her. She saw her as naught but another thrall. An empty plaything for whatever fae Mistress she might serve. How far she had fallen from the determined warrior who’d entered this place. It felt like a lifetime ago. And somehow, the thought of how much she’d been changed sent an erotic thrill up and down her spine. The weight of an expectant gaze drew Isolde back into the moment. That was right, a request had been made of her.

“I—yes, Miss,” Isolde answered. She couldn’t bring herself to tell the woman she had no owner. Besides, part of her felt this stranger had a point; she truly was lacking in such matters. Emily stood in silence for a few moments, mustering the courage to raise her head. She nodded, then managed to meet the woman’s gaze, and gave her a second, firmer nod. It was then that Isolde realized she and this stranger were not alone. A long line of people stretched from where Isolde stood, all down the hallway. Isolde could not contain her curiosity. “I, um. I’m sorry Miss,” she began, “but could you tell me what this line is for?” 

The stranger did a double take, staring at Isolde with open mouthed incredulity. “You don’t know?” She scoffed. “You must be new?” She shook her head. “That explains a lot. This is the line for those who seek audience with the Lady of the Manor.” 

Isolde could hardly believe her luck. Then again, she had to wonder how much anything in this place could ever boil down to coincidence. What mattered, though, was that she’d done it; she’d reached the heart of Lady Yyvain’s court. Aoife was surely nearby. Renewed determination seized Isolde. She knew what she had to. She would find Aoife, steal her back from this place, and together they would find a Mistress who could keep them both as Hers. No—that didn’t sound right. That wasn’t why Isolde had come here. It would just be her, and Aoife. Granted, Isolde had promised Miss Lucinda to find her once they escaped, but Isolde would still mostly belong to Aoife, not Miss Lucinda. She couldn’t wait to be Aoife’s little plaything. Again, something about that seemed wrong. This all felt so confusing, but something told Isolde that she wasn’t meant to belong to Aoife either? Before she’d come, they had been equals. Was that what Isolde wanted? She wasn’t sure. Such matters were not her chief concern regardless. For now, she needed to press on. 

A choice presented itself. Shaeline had stated quite clearly that the Lady of the Manor would be happy to grant Isolde an audience, should she reach this point. Did Isolde really trust Shaeline, though? Not one bit. With that in mind, Isolde set off down the hall, in search of another way. A set of tall, ornate doors awaited her at the front of the line. They were flanked with guards, though neither the guards, nor those waiting in line seemed to pay Isolde any mind. Off to the side, Isolde spied another, less remarkable set of doors which appeared to lead to an adjacent room. It wasn’t much to go on, but Isolde decided to begin her search there. Nobody paid her any mind as she crossed the hall, and slipped inside. 

She found herself in an unoccupied lounge, cozy, but unremarkable—at least at first glance. Isolde wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for, really anything at all that might help her find Aoife would be good. Tucked away at the far end of the room, Isolde found exactly what she was looking for. A fake panel along the wall just so happened to open into a small tunnel, leading into what had to be the throne room. It was small, and low to the ground, Isolde would need to crawl to reach the  other side, but she was certain she could fit. This was almost too easy. Isolde lowered herself to her hands and knees, then squeezed herself through. 

The space was tighter than Isolde had anticipated, and longer. As Isolde pressed on, she found herself needing to crawl lower, and lower to the ground. It was imperative she remain quiet, so the whole journey was a slow one. From time to time, Isolde would find herself stuck. Her head, or her wide hips, or her plush rear would catch in the increasingly tight space. But without fail, after a bit of pushing, and a lot of wriggling, Isolde would manage to squeeze through. She pressed on. Time and again, Isolde would stop to ponder just how deceptively long the tunnel was, but she was growing closer with each passing moment. The light from Lady Yyvain’s chamber loomed just ahead. 

As she reached the threshold, Isolde slowed to a stop. Better to peek inside and look around, rather than rush in. She settled, then attempted to adjust her position for a better look. It didn't go so well. Somehow, despite the tunnel starting wide and growing narrower, Isolde suddenly found her rear end was stuck. Cursing silently to herself, Isolde attempted to wriggle herself free, and back up a bit. She was stuck! What’s more, the space around her seemed to be growing tighter still, squeezing around her from behind and ushering her forward. Goddess, this couldn’t be happening, she would be crushed! In one last ditch effort, Isolde pressed back with all her unimpressive might in some vain hope that somehow she might push the walls back. All she managed to accomplish, however, was to get herself further stuck. She would be crushed if she stayed here. The only way out now was ahead, where Lady Yyvain was sure to see her. It didn’t matter; Isolde would have to take her chances. 

Summoning the last of her strength, Isolde pushed and squirmed and kicked against the walls until, with a pop, she came loose, tumbling through the exit and landing flat on her rear. Dazed and aching, but thankfully unharmed, Isolde spent a moment calming herself, then struggled to her feet. Nothing could have prepared Isolde for what she saw. The tunnel had let her out at one of the back corners of Lady Yyvain’s courtroom. From the corner, unseen and out of the way, Isolde gazed on in terror, and wonder. 

An impossible distance from where she stood, the throne towered impossibly high. It must have stood a hundred feet, at least. And upon that colossal throne, sat a giant. No, a Goddess. She was beautiful, her long, silken hair shone the same bright golden red as the setting sun. A gentle, patient smile rested on her glowing face. The smoldering embers of her eyes were fixed upon one of her subjects: another giant, this one kneeling before her, beseeching the Goddess for some favor or other. Breezy, colorful silks clung to the Goddess. They left little to the imagination, tastefully accentuating her otherworldly beauty. From head to toe, she was perfection: all round curves and unblemished, silken skin. Some part of Isolde was quite certain she could stand there and stare forever. Then the doors opened, and slammed shut as the next petitioner entered; the ground shook, and sent Isolde crashing back to reality. 

Terror took hold of Isolde. Nothing made sense. How could everything in this room be so impossibly massive? The answer was right in front of her, but no, it couldn’t be. Isolde refused to accept it—until she caught a glimpse of the newest petitioner to appear before the court. Isolde knew her. It was that same woman from before. She had always been tall, but now she seemed tall as a mountain. A frightened yelp escaped Isolde’s lips. She was small. Impossibly small. A delicate, tiny thing in a world of giants. She’d lost. Her mission was hopeless. No doubt anyone in this room could simply squash her like a bug. Her breaths were coming in heavy gasps now as she stared down at her shrunken form. 

From the corner of her eye, Isolde saw something; a pair of woman’s legs: delicate, but still towering, had just touched down from the throne. Isolde began to raise her head for a glimpse at the rest of the woman, but before she could, the legs moved, taking off into a light run in Isolde’s direction. The ground shook. This couldn’t be happening, she’d been seen. It was over, what if they hurt her? Thought she was some strange insect or rodent and crushed her under heel? Isolde tried to run, but the tremors only grew, she managed a few stumbling steps, then fell forward onto the cold tile. Shaking with fear, Isolde curled up into a ball, covering her head and whimpering. 

“Don’t hurt me,” she begged. The footsteps were growing closer now. “Please don’t hurt me. Please no.” The footsteps stopped. Isolde didn’t bother looking up. She knew what that meant. The giant had reached her. “Please don’t, please,” her voice came barely above a whimper. Isolde doubted the towering creature could even hear her. She braced herself for the worst. The gentlest of touches brushed along Isolde’s back. She flinched, and whimpered. What felt like massive massive fingertips gently prodded her, then scooped her up. 

A short tumble, and Isolde found herself lying atop warm, soft flesh. Her palm, Isolde had to guess. Crushing her would be as easy as making a fist. Another finger brushed along Isolde’s body from the top of her head and down her back, interrupting her thoughts. Isolde tensed, whimpering and shaking. She had to admit, though, It felt nice: tender and sweet. As the next stroke came, Isolde found herself relaxing. The giant seemed to take her response as encouragement. She cooed, and fell into a rhythm of short, slow strokes and gentle scritches. On instinct, Isolde began to relax further, as each brush along her body visited delightful tingly warmth upon her sensitive body. Just as the last embers of the fear she’d felt only moments ago began to flicker, the petting stopped. A low whine rose from Isolde’s throat. She sniffed, then nuzzled her face into the giant woman’s palm, earning an adoring giggle. Such a sweet voice, her touch so gentle and kind. 

The petting resumed, and Isolde found herself being guided onto her back, then up into a sitting position against the giant’s curled fingers. Isolde cowered, burying her face further into her knees and the crooks of her arms. With what must have been the most delicate care, but still felt like impossible strength, the giant worked her finger up under Isolde’s chin, and tilted her face up. An angel gazed down at Isolde, beautiful, and smiling at Isolde as though she were the most adorable thing to have ever existed. Nevertheless, fear took firm hold over Isolde. Her face loomed so close, and she was so massive. The distance from her chin to the top of her head alone must have been twice Isolde’s height. Isolde yelped, shrinking back into the woman’s palm, not that such an act would do her much good. Either way Isolde was firmly in her clutches. 

“Hey,” she crooned. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

Isolde whimpered; she found her gaze drawn back to that beautiful voice, and the angelic face it belonged to. That was when realization struck her, and sealed her fate. Somehow, amid all the fear and confusion, Isolde had failed to recognize what was right in front of her, but she knew this woman. She had changed, her features a tad sharper in some places, softer in others. That air of uncanny beauty, the one which all denizens of Lady Yvains’ manor had, now hung about her. All the same, Isolde would recognize her Aoife anywhere. Aoife. It was Aoife. She’d found Aoife. Isolde stared up at the woman she loved in awestruck amazement. 

Aoife, Aoife, Aoife Aoife Aoife, the name echoed in her head over and over again. Aoife’s soft hands cupping her, supporting her. Aoife’s fingers gently stroking her and comforting her. Aoife’s perfect, beautiful face looming impossibly large before her. Aoife’s voice cooing at her. Aoife’s gaze locked on her tiny, delicate body. Aoife’s smile radiating Aoife’s love and Aoife’s adoration. Aoife was here. Aoife was okay. The world was so big and Isolde was so small but that was okay because she had her Aoife. Aoife would protect her. Aoife would love her. Aoife would treasure her. Isolde was lost. She couldn't look away. She couldn’t blink. Could’t think, just that one word looping over and over in her mind. Nothing at all could ruin this moment. Isolde wanted to stay this way forever, cupped in Her hands, basking in Her gaze. 

A soft whimper spilled out from Isolde’s throat. It was all she could manage; she was in the presence of a Goddess, after all. Hearing the tiny sound, Aoife gasped in delight, and began stroking Isoled’s head once more. Everywhere Her careful fingers touched, they left tingling delight. Isolde half-whined, half-moaned, and collapsed sideways, nuzzling into Aoife’s palm and offering no resistance as She began to delicately strip away Isolde’s shrunken clothing. Naked and squirming, Isolde rolled onto her back, exposing her tummy for rubs. Aoife didn’t need any further hints, as she pressed her index and middle finger into Isolde’s plush body, and traced gentle circles. Isolde squirmed, and moaned, her every breath carrying an echo of Her name, but never quite enough to speak it. Aoife, Aoife, Aoife. She’d found Aoife and now everything would be okay. Isolde smiled up at Her, eyes glazed by the haze of loving submission. 

Far, far above, Aoife was smiling down at her, when a wicked gleam flashed in her eye. One of Her massive thumbs curled over Isolde’s tiny body, pinning her in place and coming to rest on one of her grape-sized tits. She licked Her lips, then pressed in. Precision was out the window at this scale, nevertheless, white-hot pleasure erupted from Isolde’s aching nipples. Moaning and thrashing, Isolde locked eyes with her love, and began to buck her hips. Aoife giggled, and pressed the base of her thumb between Isolde’s legs. She happily wrapped her legs around Aoife’s thumb, and began to grind, smearing a tiny trail of arousal as she went. “That’s it, good girl,” Aoife purred. Isolde felt the very air shake, the praise reverberating all around her, sinking into her. She was a good girl. 

Lost to the pleasure, Isolde didn’t even notice as Aoife raised her higher, up toward her face. She certainly did notice, however, when Aoife began running her long, warm tongue up and down her body. It practically smothered her, covering the width of her body, the entirety of her face. So soft, so sensitive and so, so wet. Isolde kissed Her tongue, pressing her own tiny tongue against Hers. She wrapped her arms around it, feeling it slide up and down her body, leaving wet, sticky pleasure wherever it went. She wanted to cum so bad. She was going to cum, to cum all over her Aoife’s gargantuan tongue. With one last twitch, she bellowed a long, throaty moan, and erupted into the throes of desperate climax, all while Aoife watched on, cupping Isolde the palms of her hands. Isolde wailed and squirmed, riding the climax. All fell away save raw sensation, and Her. 

The first thing Isolde saw as awareness returned to her, was Aoife’s smiling face. She lay spent in her lover’s palm, held very close to Her face, so close that Isolde would need to stretch and crane her neck to see anything but Her. Not that Isolde would ever do such a thing. She wanted to spend the rest of her life under that gaze. Her cherished toy. Isolde stared up at her, eyes full of love and trust. Aoife shifted in place, and Isolde’s entire world shifted with Her. That was okay, though, it wasn’t scary with Her. Aoife would always, always be extra careful with her. Aoife would never even dream of hurting her. Isolde knew that. 

She lay still, gazing in awe at her Goddess. She was perfection. Her warm, sweet breath was a summer breeze. Her pulse was a steady drum that thrummed and reverberated into Isolde’s delicate body. Her hands were the softest of beds. And the rest of Her body—Isolde sighed in amazement. How she longed to explore every inch of Her. To nestle into Her silky hair. To curl up for a nap on her belly. To squeeze herself between the soft hills of her breasts. Aoife was everything. Her whole world. The idea that Isolde had ever been anything close to that seemed like an impossible flight of fancy. 

Without warning, Aoife brought Isolde to her lips. It was like kissing for the first time all over again. Aoife’s pillowy lips dwarfed Isolde’s entire face, smothering her in warmth and wetness and love. Isolde nuzzled into the kiss, blanketing as much of her body as she could manage with Her. As the kiss ended, Aoife pulled away, and once again, Isolde found herself held up, mere inches from her Goddess’ perfect, beautiful face. There was a certain intensity to Aoife’s gaze, as though she were studying every inch of Isolde—though there weren’t all that many to study. As her eyes traced the length of Isolde’s diminutive form, something shifted. A sudden light, bright excitement. It was almost as though—

“Isolde,” she breathed in wonder. “My Isolde.” Tears welled up her eyes. “It’s really you! You came!” Aoife’s finger’s closed in a gentle fist around Isolde, and the whole world lurched as Isolde found herself suddenly pressed into Aoife’s chest. She was so soft, so warm. One of Her thumbs rose to brush along Isolde’s hair, down her back. The soft, yielding flesh of Her breasts pressed on either side of Isolde. Her heartbeat, and the sound of Her breathing became all Isolde could hear, ever wanted to hear. Isolde closed her eyes, and pressed herself closer. “Mistress,” she murmured, eliciting an adoring coo from Aoife. 

Some place far away, another voice spoke. “Aoife dear?” A woman asked. “What are you up to over there?” She spoke with gentle patience and affection, though her every syllable was laced with an overwhelming authority. Aoife perked up at the sound. From her place pressed close into Her body, Isolde barely noticed as her Mistress rose to Her feet, and trotted across the room. Aoife was, after all, always sure to hold Isolde with the utmost care, keeping any shaking or bouncing whilst she moved about to a minimum. Mistress came to a stop, and spoke. 

“My Lady, there’s someone I want you to meet. She’s um… important to me?” she began, uncertainty seeming to fall over her as she concluded. “This is Isolde.” The world shifted as Aoife gently lowered Isolde away from Her chest, and held her out. “She came to find me and I love her very much!” Isolde found herself displayed before a familiar figure: the divine beauty with burning eyes and sunlight for hair. Introductions were unnecessary. Isolde knew whose radiant gaze now held her in place. She could feel it. 

Lady Yyvain regarded her with the amused interest of predator happening upon helpless prey. Long forgotten fear roared to life under that gaze. Isolde began to tremble, her eyes wide. This was bad. This was so bad. She didn’t fully know why, but it was. Isolde was meant to live out her days with her Aoife, and Lady Yyvain was an obstacle. A massive, towering, obstacle. Isolde was certain. That was right, she and Aoife were supposed to run off together. To escape this place and rebuild their lives together. Isolde wasn’t sure what that meant for her anymore. She didn’t know if she’d ever be normal sized again, but none of that really mattered if she could be with Aoife and—

“My Lady!” Aoife cried, a scolding bite to Her voice. “You’re scaring her!” Aoife pulled Isolde closer, turning her so they were face to face. “My poor girl,” she crooned, showering Isolde in gentle strokes. “It’s okay, I promise. You’re always safe with me.”

“I—wh—yes, pet,” Lady Yyvain grumbled. “You’re right. I am sorry I frightened your little human.” from where she sat, Isolde watched as one of Lady Yyvane’s arms appeared overhead, and scratched Aoife behind the ears, leaving her giggling and grinning. 

“It’s okay, Ma’am!” She gazed on at the fae, eyes full of awe and adoration. “She scares easily.” Aoife returned her gaze to Isolde, her entire demeanor changing as she did. “My poor girl,” she said. One of her massive fingers brushed a tear from Isolde’s cheek. 

“So,” Lady Yyvain began, her tone laced with that frightful, predatory lilt. Isolde shuddered, and focused on her Goddess. “How did you and your little Isolde meet? She seems very special to you.” 

As she looked up toward her Lady, the gentle, doting softness to her expression melted away into blind devotion. “She’s my… girlfriend?” That uncertainty was back in her tone, and with it, Isolde’s worry. She wanted to pipe up, but at the mere thought of doing so, she could feel the sudden prickle of the Lady’s gaze singing the hairs on her neck. “Girlfriend sounds right. She’s from… before… from before I… before you?…” her voice trailed off, as though she’d just said something that made no sense. 

“Before me?” Lady Yyvain asked. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I don’t… I don’t know Ma’am.” Aoife answered.

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you?” Hadn’t she? Isolde felt strange. Lady Yyvain was wrong, right? Aoife hadn’t always been Hers. Of course she hadn’t! She and Aoife were humans! They’d lived together back when Isolde was… big? Big like them? That sounded strange. It had to be right, though! Isolde even remembered it! They’d been together, but Lady Yyvain had kidnapped Aoife to keep Her as some pet plaything. Isolde was certain of that. She needed to say something. But the thought of doing so, of defying The Lady’s will. Isolde couldn’t. She was so big, and Isolde was so small. And Mistress would protect her but it wasn’t her place to question a Goddess. Isolde whimpered, and burrowed herself into the soft warmth of Aoife’s hands. 

High above, Aoife gave The Lady an enthusiastic nod. “Of course I’ve always been yours!” She answered. She had? Isolde narrowed her eyes. That didn’t sound—and wasn’t The Lady trying to—but Mistress said it. It had to be true. Mistress had always belonged to The Lady, but that was bad! Isolde wasn’t sure why but she knew it was. And she’d come to rescue her. That sounded right. 

“But you’ve clearly known your little Isolde for quite a long time,” Lady Yyvain mused. 

“Oh for ages! Long as I can remember,” Aoife agreed, then looked down to Isolde. Every time She looked upon her, Isolde found herself adrift in a sea of blissful worship. 

“Mistress,” she whimpered. The world just slipped out. She couldn’t help herself. Aoife smiled, and gave her a gentle squeeze. For a moment, everything was perfect. And Isolde knew what she was fighting for: to spend every day like this, loved and treasured by her Mistress. They would escape, run off together, and live every day in bliss. But… if they returned to the mortal world, would Isolde go back to normal? Fear flickered in her chest. No, no no, she didn’t—she couldn’t. The world was a frightening place, and if she wasn’t small, how would Mistress hold her close and keep her safe?

Seeing Isolde’s fright, Aoife pressed a delicate kiss, covering her face. “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “Everything will be okay.” That was right. It would. Mistress said so. Isolde curled up in the palm of her hand, and gazed at her Goddess. 

“So, dear Aoife,” Lady Yyvain said. “If you’ve always been mine, and you’ve known little Isolde as long as you can remember, how do you know her?” 

“I… she’s my…” Aoife glanced toward Isolde, seeming to puzzle over her for a minute, before a realization twinkled in her eye. “She’s my pet!” Aoife declared. 

“Of course she is,” Lady Yyvain answered. “And you’ve always taken such wonderful care of her.” 

“Mhm,” Aoife nodded, puffing up with pride. It was well earned pride, too. Isolde loved her Owner so much. Mistress had always taken such immaculate care of her. Feeding her, doting on her, keeping her safe from the big, frightening world, dressing her up in pretty clothes, doing all the things a tiny little thing like Isolde never could. Isolde couldn’t even dream of a better life. Mistress and The Lady kept talking for a little while longer. Isolde didn’t pay their conversation much heed. She knew that whenever Mistress or Lady Yyvain expected Isolde to pay attention to their words, she’d be unable to do otherwise. It was an ever present, abstract sort of comfort, like the feeling of her collar around her neck. It lingered in the background, the knowledge that she could never be anything but exactly what her Owner and The Lady expected her to be. It let her drift away with ease, simply basking in Aoife’s divine presence. 

When Isolde came to, she found herself sandwiched between her Owner’s breasts, surrounded by Her soft warmth and love. It was all she could ever ask for. And all she ever would.