PART 1:
“Perfect! Now this just needs time to cool before eating.”
A brief flare of heat in the kitchen was dissipating slowly into the air around Toriel, the matronly monster holding a pie dish in one oven-mitted hand and waving off the after-effects of a brief surge of fire magic with the other. Mostly it smelled of mint and heat, until that had faded, and the aroma of butterscotch and snails replaced it.
Toriel took a long, appreciative sniff of her handiwork before she bent down to tuck it into the oven. Having one at all was probably a bit unnecessary but if nothing else it did give her somewhere to set pies to cool. Grasping the handle, Toriel winced as an awful metallic shrieking sound filled the kitchen, followed by a loud bang of metal on stone.
Wincing as the metal scraped along, Toriel slowly opened her eyes and looked over what had just happened. The door of the oven was off, laying across the kitchen at the end of a set of scratched out skid marks on the floor. Its handle was still in her fingers, clenched tight, causing it to creak and buckle in an iron grip. Her arm looked thicker than it should, fingers a bit longer, strung tight with an unfamiliar strength that wasn’t ready to let go yet.
“O-oh dear, did I…?”
There was more worry in Toriel than her voice would suggest, though she was in the room alone. Coaxing her other hand out of the oven mitt, she grabbed at her wrist cautiously. There was tension in there, sure, but not quite what one would expect from a muscle cramp. Instead, she felt a good deal more rampant magic in the room than there ought to be, and in herself. There was a heat to it, a pervasive warmth that made her wonder if this was her own fault. If she’d somehow lost her grip on the simple act of baking her pie and now something strange was coming of it.
Taking a breath, Toriel tried to focus her way through the matter. To relax and let whatever she’d called up dissipate quietly, she hoped. To that end, Toriel started to massage her forearm a bit, it seemed like whatever had knotted up in her started there after all. She breathed again, quietly and steadily, picturing herself unwinding and relaxing. Someplace warm sunlight soaking into her body, quiet breezes and the sounds of birds, with tight, ripping noises, and-
“What was that? I – oh. Oh dear.”
Concern writ itself back across Toriel’s expression as she opened her eyes from the reverie she’d hoped would fix matters. Her arm was thicker still, the white fabric of her under-robe pulled tight and starting to peel apart at the seams around her biceps, which were visibly swollen and tight – all of her arm was. It still seemed intent on staying curled into a fist, but she could move the rest of it. Could feel the wound up, ever-ready force it was cultivating. Enough of it to ruin her outfit, apparently.
That tightness was worst around her left arm, but Toriel was starting to feel it elsewhere. Standing straighter and looking to the kitchen door had caused a couple more seams to pop loose while she debated calling for someone to help. An argument that went nowhere, as Toriel doubted anyone in the area knew more about what to do with a magical mishap than she did, and that had to be what this was.
At least, Toriel thought so. Hoped so.
“I… I must relax. This is not so bad that I cannot turn it around.”
Standing a little straighter, Toriel resolved herself for another attempt. Or tried to. Her robes caught and tugged on something between her legs that left the monster’s eyes widening and her hips buckling. Lowering her gaze, Toriel looked past her chest. Just past the gentle swell of her belly was a visible tented nub between her legs. Sticking to and caught on her robes, and oversensitive enough that when she instinctively reached out to touch it with the hand that wasn’t misbehaving at the moment, she nearly lost her footing again.
There was a moment of sharp confusion. Toriel took a good two seconds of padding around at herself, feeling the thick nub of warm, throbbing flesh at the peak of her womanhood growing a bit longer with every pulse of warmth that coursed through her, feeling everything else in herself thicken – albeit perhaps not so quickly, before she realized how she must look to anyone watching. Hunched over, hand between her legs, breathing heavily while her clothing peels itself off little by little.
“…Perhaps I should look for help after all.”
***