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Nystre stumbles upon a secluded village and is declared the Chosen One, slowly pampered until it matches the title in both mindset and size...

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Pampered to Perfection
By: Indi

Nystre should’ve realized it was lost on the first day, when the shortcut it’d taken through the woods grew narrow and overgrown. Nystre should’ve turned around on the second day, when the trail was lost completely and its supplies ran low. Nystre should’ve stopped to carefully take its bearings on the third day, when nothing seemed familiar and it’d eaten the last ration.

But the jamcat was stubborn and sure of its ability to navigate the forest on pure instinct alone, and merely pushed ahead.

So on the fourth day, when Nystre’s stomach was rumbling and its legs felt more like jello than ever, it beamed with pride as it stumbled onto what seemed to be the main trail again. As the trail grew more prominent Nystre picked up its pace, desperate to find civilization and food. Reaching the top of a hill, Nystre looked down and saw the endless forest stretching across the horizon—but also a modest village below.

Nystre didn’t remember any maps showing a village in the middle of the forest, but it wasn’t eager to complain about the unexpected luck. While it may not have found a way out of the woods, at least there was bound to be a place to eat and rest.

The jamcat passed a handful of people on its way into the village, all of whom smiled and waved as it passed. Some even seemed excited for its arrival. Oddly enough, every one of them were a variety of fox. Gathering a small crowd of followers as it went, Nystre eventually found its way blocked by a rather rotund tan fox.

“I can barely believe it, but the prophecy has come true!” The tan fox bellowed, a wide smile on his face. “Prosperity will return to our village once again!”

Nystre was—to put it lightly—confused. “Um, I just kind of found this place by accident, I don’t think I’m part of a prophecy or anything.”

“But you are! We were told an unfamiliar feline would fumble upon our fine forest abode, one destined for our fantastic feast! As Keld, humble mayor of Foxholm, I welcome you Chosen One.” Keld bowed, his big belly wobbling as he did.

“Oh no, I know I’m not the Chosen One, I’m just a simple jamcat, just Nystre.” It was a title that certainly sounded nice, but if prophecy was involved it probably had all sorts of obligations and expectations. Nystre only wanted some food.

“I understand how ridiculous it must seem, but our prophecies have never been wrong, not once!” Keld said in boastful assurance. “Please, just follow us to the temple and see for yourself, as a guest if that makes you more comfortable. Even if you weren’t the Chosen One we’d still want to ensure you were well-fed. The journey must’ve been long, you deserve a
filling meal.”

There were nods of encouragement amongst the other foxes. “Alright—but I’m not your Chosen One!” Nystre relented. It would accept their hospitality, but only long enough to recharge.

The temple dominated the center of the village, a round structure far larger than anything else. It was gorgeous and grand, decorated in flowering vines and flowing fountains. The main room proved to be incredibly spacious. Yet Nystre found it oddly empty, as if it were missing an idol or central shrine of some sort, something for the townsfolk to actually worship.

Before Nystre could ponder the strange room for too long it was ushered into a side chamber. The powerful aromas of fresh food struck Nystre before it even entered the room. A large table ran its entire length, filled with a wide variety of dishes that all looked wonderful. Nystre’s empty stomach rumbled at it.

“As I said, the prophecy told us you would arrive on this day, allowing us to prepare this feast of welcome.” Keld waved his paw at the food. “Please, eat to your heart’s content, until your belly grumbles no longer.”

Nystre blushed at the fact its stomach had been overheard. “I’m sure it’s all a coincidence, but thank you. Having real food again will be nice.”

Keld led Nystre to the head of the table, where a single, oversized chair waited. It had
no back, so the jamcat’s large tail didn’t get in the way. Surely another coincidence they’d have a perfect chair for it, right?

As soon as Nystre was seated the offerings of food began in earnest. Nystre was
offered bites of this and sips of that, sampling dishes but never finishing them off. The flavors were incredible, some of the best it’d ever had the pleasure of enjoying. But there was so much of it! Nystre felt somewhat overwhelmed, mainly accepting the offerings so it didn’t offend its gracious hosts.

Slowly the jamcat’s belly swelled, filling with food and drink. Nystre normally didn’t eat so much, but the sensation of being full eluded it for a long while. By the time it’d had too much it was sporting a round ball gut, exhausted.

Plates were pulled away, no more food forced upon Nystre once it expressed the fact it was stuffed. It saw that no one else had seemed to eat while it was busy feasting, and felt guilt. Yet the meal had been too enjoyable for Nystre to truly regret.

“You look tired, Chosen One. You should rest,” Keld said.
Nystre wanted to insist yet again it wasn’t the Chosen One, but lacked the energy to do so. Instead it simply nodded.

Once more Nystre was brought into the center room, and then to a new chamber on the opposite side. It was a bedroom, elaborately decorated with statues and plants and bowls of snacks. The subjects of the art were all hefty—even immense at times. A huge bed was against the wall, filled with pillows. So much within the temple felt...big.

“I...I can’t possibly sleep here, it’s too fancy!” Nystre inherently felt like it was trespassing, like guards were about to rush in and toss it in a cell for impersonating a king or a noble or whoever this Chosen One actually was. “A room at an inn will be fine, honest.”

“But Chosen One, you’re far too important to sleep in a mere inn. This bed was meant for you, it’s been waiting for you. Just like we have!” Keld was almost begging.

Again Nystre gave in, this time because it was half asleep already. It crawled onto the bed, which felt as soft and squishy as its own jam body. The bed was as comfy as it looked, and within seconds Nystre had passed out, snoozing peacefully. Keld and the others left, smiles upon their faces.

In its dreams, Nystre ate. A lot. The jamcat was surrounded by mountains of food, and it consumed them down to nothing as if eating was all it knew. It felt its belly ballooning outward, becoming a mountain itself. It felt no fear, only joy, the joy of gluttony. Once every last crumb had been gobbled up, Nystre looked forwards and saw a reflection of a massive, blubbery fox. As it stared, it realized the fox was it.

Nystre awoke the next morning with only the vaguest memories of the dream it’d had. Whatever it’d involved, though, it’d been good. Perhaps it’d return to it later.

The bedroom was empty, but as soon as Nystre wandered into the temple’s main chamber it was surrounded by Keld and other townsfolk. “I do hope you slept well!”

“Yes, better than I have in a long while,” Nystre admitted.

“Wonderful, wonderful! And I’m sure you’re hungry. We have breakfast ready for you, Chosen One, please allow us to guide you there!”

Nystre followed, still finding it hard to reject such hospitality. The table was full of fantastic food, all of it different from dinner. And just like before Nystre was sat at the only chair and offered a literal feast. The jamcat’s small belly bulged as it was stuffed, growing slightly larger than the night before, Nystre slightly less exhausted from gorging.

Nystre had hoped to leave after breakfast, but as it looked upon its round, heavy middle it knew a waddle through the woods would be taxing. Another delay.

“This has been great, it really has,” Nystre said as it slid out of the chair, middle wobbling. “But I still don’t think I’m this Chosen One you’re all waiting for. I’m just a regular adventurer, I swear. I really have to get going today.”

“But the fact you insist you’re not our Chosen One is just proof that you actually are! Humility is their trademark,” Keld said cheerfully. “Please, if you stay as our honored guest for a single week we’ll prove the prophecy is true. And if you’re still not convinced by then you can leave--we won’t stop you.”

A voice in the back of Nystre’s head wanted to say no, to apologize profusely and leave. But it couldn’t form the words for some reason. The chance to have a little vacation won it over, against its better judgment.

“Ok.”

* * *

On that first, full day as a guest of the village, Nystre did little else but eat and sleep and eat some more. It was given a tour and greeted with kindness by everyone, no exceptions. Snacks were plentiful, and Nystre’s belly swelled more and more throughout the day, making it sluggish and easier to coax from place to place. When night came, it practically had to roll into bed.

The next day was mostly the same. And the one after. Food and massages and baths and praise. It was like being at a spa entirely dedicated to just itself. The sedentary lifestyle and bountiful meals caused Nystre to plump up gradually, the jamcat waking up a little bit softer every day. The gains were slow, though, and Nystre was kept distracted by the villagers.

After a week—as Nystre was waddling towards the dining room for dinner—it realized it felt somewhat...off. It stopped at a mirror to look at itself closely, and couldn’t deny the fact it’d clearly gained some weight. Nystre’s chubby belly was rounder, and so was its face. Small changes, really, but still surprising. Yet when Nystre gave its belly a jiggle it didn’t slosh more—like expected—it sloshed less. The same was true when it wagged its heavy tail.

Nystre shook its head. “The extra weight probably made me a bit firmer, that’s all. And I haven’t been very active these last few days, either. Yeah.” It reminded itself to relax and enjoy the spontaneous vacation while it lasted, rather than try and create excuses to worry.

When exactly a week had passed, Nystre didn’t wake up ready to leave. Its sense of time had been muddled, and it believed it’d been there for three, maybe four days at most. That belief persisted the next morning, and the next, and the next. The pounds were still steadily piling on, leaving Nystre confused but not concerned. It was just a bit of extra weight, nothing drastic. The return trip through the forest would shed them. There was nothing to be worried about.

As Nystre grew softer, the sloshing of its jam body slowed until it became a mere jiggle. It felt the difference as an inexplicable stiffness, but the true cause eluded it. A faint feeling of something missing, that something had...changed. It would have to dwell on the issue more once the stiffness had gone away.

For a few days Nystre simply remained in bed, hoping to rest and recover. The villagers were more than eager to care for it even then, bringing plenty of food and keeping it entertained. It was enough for Nystre to forget about the soreness, to truly appreciate all the unwavering attention it was receiving.

All of its dreams were of gluttony, of eating itself to immobility. Nystre would wake remembering bits and pieces. Just enough to feel hungry. It never remembered the parts where it was often a fox in them.

No matter how wonderful it was, Nystre still insisted it wasn’t the fabled Chosen One. To claim so would’ve felt like taking advantage of the villager’s hospitality. Though Nystre was getting rather used to all the pampering. It felt like a king, or at least a fancy noble. Like it was important and loved. The promise to only stay a week faded—even if by then the jamcat had unwittingly exceeded it by quite a bit. Nystre still fully intended to leave eventually, it just wasn’t sure when.

Nystre nearly flopped onto the floor when it finally left bed after the stiffness had vanished. It took a cautious step forward, as if walking for the first time. Moving was awkward at first, so much so Nystre blushed in embarrassment.

“Guess I was in bed too long. And I got a bit chubbier, too, I’m sure that isn’t helping.” It was actually fairly plump, having gained weight all over, but the extent of its gains didn’t register. Neither did the fact its paws had slightly altered over a period of days. Tiny changes, but enough to be the real cause of Nystre’s sudden clumsiness.

But when Nystre spotted its reflection in a mirror it did a double take. Was its face...pointier? It ran both paws over its face, felt the softer cheeks and chins, the slight angles.

It shook away the intrusive thoughts.

Paranoia. Just paranoia. A filling breakfast would clear away the confusion. It walked away, its concerns already being shifted to the back of its mind, being pushed away.

* * *

As incredible as the food was, Nystre had come to adore the baths just as much. The tub was more like a pool, embedded in the floor of a marble room of the temple. It was always the right temperature and filled with colorful bubbles that released a soothing variety of aromas. Attendants gently scrubbed its body, and snacks were available when desired—which was increasingly often as both the jamcat’s weight and appetite increased. Sometimes there was even music, the kind Nystre could get lost in.

When Nystre waddled up the stairs out of the bath, its gaze settled on the pinkish-purple swirls on its leg. They looked a little faded. And despite still being wet, its body didn’t have quite the same sheen as Nystre felt it should. It rubbed at the markings just in case soap suds were dulling them for some reason, but they didn’t brighten.

“Why...why do my swirls look like they’re washing off?” Nystre managed to mumble, after a good deal of effort. Admitting the issue was oddly difficult.

“But Chosen One, they don’t look different at all,” said an attendant.

“A trick of the light, nothing more.”

“You’re just as marvelous as ever!”

The consensus made Nystre doubt itself. Was it just trying to find any excuse to dislike the wonderful treatment it was getting? A weird form of guilt? Nystre looked away from its markings and took a deep breath, taking in the lingering aromas of the bath. It hadn’t done anything wrong, it was merely accepting the generosity of the village, being a proper guest.

With its mood returned to normal Nystre began thinking about dinner, and waddled away to dry before its nightly stuffing.

* * *

Nystre swayed, bracing itself on a table with one paw and frowning. “I haven’t gotten that much fatter,” the plump jamcat said. “So why do I keep getting wobbly every few days?”

No one else was in the bedroom, so Nystre was asking the question to itself. Its balance was off, and it didn’t have the faintest idea why. As it stood in place it gave its large tail a wag. Was it lighter? A ridiculous notion, of course, since even Nystre admitted it was gaining weight rather than losing it. Yet somehow the movement of its tail hadn’t grown sluggish when everything else had.

Maybe it just wasn’t gaining weight in its tail like everywhere else? Gaining weight wasn’t exactly something Nystre did often, so it didn’t have any previous incidents to compare to. Yeah, that had to be it. It only felt lighter because the rest of it had gotten heavier.

“Just more motivation to lose the weight when I return home,” Nystre said as it poked its round belly.

Had it looked in a mirror or just more closely, it may have realized the truth: that it’s tail had actually shrunk some.

* * *

There came a day when Nystre woke up and truly felt at home. It dug into breakfast, delighted the chefs had remembered its favorites (which was practically everything at that point). It enjoyed its post-breakfast soak and bathtime snacks. Lunch was scarfed down in its entirety, followed by a few hours of lazing and massages. At dinner the still-stuffed jamcat allowed attendants to feed it, and afterward passed out in bed instantly.

Nystre showed no guilt or reluctance. It had completely embraced the pampering. Perhaps the villagers were right and it really was the Chosen One. They certainly looked happy attending to Nystre’s every want and need, and Nystre was never cruel or demanding. And best of all, the villagers swore the crops had grown stronger and the river more bountiful ever since Nystre had arrived.

Maybe getting lost in the forest hadn’t been misfortune, but fate? Maybe it was meant to be there, to bring prosperity to the village. Somehow. It hadn’t quite figured out what the Chosen One was supposed to do aside from enjoy a life of luxury. One day it’d bother asking, when it wasn’t so busy eating and relaxing.

Though most days were full of comfort, there were still the occasional, unexplained bouts of awkwardness. They were most common after waking, or eating, or bathing. Pretty much any time Nystre stood following a period of extended laziness. It might stumble or feel lopsided. The colors of its hide sometimes looked lighter and its paws different in a way it couldn’t quite put to words.

But the attendants had gotten good at spotting Nystre’s looks of concern, of knowing just what the Chosen One was thinking. They offered assurances or distractions, along with more than enough excuses. And it worked. Nystre would forget about the issue for a few days more. Forgetting was easy in the temple.

* * *

Nystre entered the bath just as it had dozens of times before, the markings on its legs, tail, and ears so faint they looked traced on. There was nothing different about that particular bath, no new soap or scrubbing. But when Nystre finally left, its markings had vanished completely.

It looked down at its legs and then towards the attendants. “Wasn’t...wasn’t there something on my legs, swirls I think? I...ugh, I feel dizzy now.”

“They were merely temporary designs, Chosen One. Applied during breakfast as part of a ritual, meant to be washed away. Now you’re back to normal.”

“Oh...yes, of course. Can’t believe that slipped my mind,” Nystre said. “Shame, I think they looked pretty.”

From then on it chose to brush aside such peculiarities more proactively. When it felt it wasn’t as purple as usual it insisted it was just because it had remained indoors for so long, lacking proper sunlight to illuminate it. The fact it was gaining weight in very specific parts of its arms and legs—thus losing its original curves—was coincidence. Explaining away its steadily shrinking tail was tougher, so instead Nsytre focused on the benefits of knocking less things over with it.

But slowly the very shape of the jamcat was changing. Tiny tweaks to its body over a period of weeks, then months. So subtle Nystre had time to grow accustomed to them, the mental image of itself corrected so nothing seemed glaringly wrong. An increasingly weaker voice of reason told Nystre to be wary. Nystre ignored it. It didn’t want to give up the life of relaxation and luxury it’d stumbled into. Even if it meant stumbling into everything else.

* * *

The distant aromas of lunch drifted into the bedroom, prompting Nystre to turn suddenly in excitement. As it did, its large, blubbery gut struck a small side table. Soft pudge impacted wood, jiggling but not stopping. The table wasn’t so much pushed as bounced, crashing to the floor and skidding. Nystre’s ears perked at the noise, and it blushed as it saw the destruction wreaked by its still-wobbling middle.

It couldn’t remember knocking stuff over so frequently back home, yet now its belly was bumping things left and right. Sure it’d put on some weight thanks to the wonderful food, but its gut had always been sizable. Right?

Nystre raised a pudgy paw to its face as a headache suddenly struck. Once it’d passed Nystre remembered lunch was ready and waddled out of the room, forgetting all about the table and its confusion about its weight. The Chosen One didn’t need to be bothered by such trivial things like how fat it’d gotten, how its new chins and puffy cheeks jiggled just like its jam had, how doughy even its arms were, how small and light its tail had become.

The worries didn’t need to stick, only the pounds.

Which was why Nystre found itself subconsciously avoiding mirrors or other reflective surfaces. It swore they were distorted somehow, maybe due to age. Why else would they make its face looked stretched and less feline? Its nose wasn’t so pointy and its eyes weren’t oranger. Nystre couldn’t reject the fact its hair had gotten shorter, but that just meant it’d gotten a haircut and forgotten. Probably during one of the massages or baths. There was nothing wrong with trying a new look. It was the Chosen One, after all.

* * *

Nystre only grew fatter and fatter and fatter as the weeks went on. Waddling grew exhausting, but thankfully the attendants were more than eager to carry it from place-to-place. For a day it was embarrassing, but Nystre quickly grew to see it as yet another perk of being the Chosen One.

And of course it received nothing but praise for its girth. “Our village is a reflection of the Chosen One, and the more prosperous you are the more prosperous it is!”, they’d say. Nystre’s gluttony always intensified when told that, as if it could thank the villagers for their generosity by blimping up a bit faster. And as it was perpetually convinced it’d only gained a couple dozen pounds at most since arriving, there was no hesitation in gaining more.

Laziness gradually turned into a routine. Nystre spent nearly all its time either eating, sleeping, or bathing—it was all it found the energy to do. Odd changes were easier to miss, harder to linger on.

On one of the few days Nystre bothered to waddle around it had to catch itself every couple feet. A platter of pastries was sitting on a nearby table, and it wasn’t willing to wait for the attendant to bring them to it. But as it neared the table, something seemed wrong in the strangest way.

“Is the table taller?” Nystre asked as it reached for a pawful of pastries to scarf down. “Now that I think about it, my bed felt the same way. And the plants seem higher than usual.” Nystre suddenly found itself examining every piece of furniture in the room.

The attendant—who Nystre didn’t remember being shorter than—smiled warmly. “My apologies, Chosen One. We’ve been adjusting your accommodations to better suit your majestic form. Bigger furniture won’t fall over so easily, and the plants always go through a growth spurt this time of year. We didn’t want to bother you with such insignificant matters. Now why don’t you try these donuts?”

It accepted them, of course, and each bite made it think less and less about the fact it’d somehow gotten shorter.

* * *

Though Nystre had fully embraced its alleged role as the Chosen One, there came a point where the slow transformation it’d endured was dramatic enough to prompt persistent bouts of confusion and second-guessing. Too much about the jamcat had changed and it hadn’t forgotten enough yet.

They happened most often after baths, when Nystre’s colors tended to shift.

“My fur’s getting yellow,” Nystre insisted in a rare moment of vague clarity. It rubbed at its plump arm, as if it could remove the inconsistency like a stain. “Fur? I don’t...didn’t I...ugh.” The headaches returned, stronger.

“That’s just the dyes coming out, Chosen One.”

“A seasonal change, like the leaves in Autumn, Chosen One.”

“A reflection of the golden prosperity you bring us, Chosen One.”

All the answers the attendants gave were different. Few made real sense. They were meant to confuse Nystre further, to jumble its thoughts, to give it an excuse to latch onto. And it worked.

“Oh...of course,” Nystre mumbled in return, a distant look in its eyes. It allowed the pampering to continue without further interruption.

Every bath Nystre worried about its change in color and the presence of fur less and less, concerns eased swifter by the attendants’ lies. Believing them allowed it to continue enjoying the food and attention. Nystre didn’t want any burdens, it only wanted peace, and being a complacent Chosen One offered that.

Nystre thought less and less about what life had been like before arriving at the village, before moving into the temple it hadn’t left in months. Those memories were unimportant, maybe even just stories it’d heard the attendants tell.

After all, the person Nystre envisioned when it thought about them looked nothing like itself. The stranger in those memories was far taller and merely chubby. The stranger had a bulbous tail that was nothing like Nystre’s modest, fluffy one. The stranger was purple. The stranger sloshed. The stranger was too different from Nystre. Too different from the Chosen One.

Weeks later, the Chosen One looked at its wide reflection after being helped out of the bath, and couldn’t help but stare. Perhaps it was just a distortion in the water, but it swore its face looked faintly feline when it should’ve been vulpine. And there was a tuft of fur on its head, almost like hair. Was the fluff coming from its ears shorter as well? It was all so strange, and reminded the Chosen One of the vision of the stranger it’d put together.

It shook the odd feelings away on its own, without the need for the attendants to intervene. Clearly its eyes were playing tricks on it.

* * *

There were many things the Chosen One loved in its pampered life. Of course it loved the food most of all, that there was so much of it and that it was so delightfully fattening. Girth equaled prosperity, after all. And the general comforts of a soft bed and soft chairs. And the long, rejuvenating baths.

But as the Chosen One grew fatter and fatter, it discovered how much it loved having its fur brushed. It couldn’t quite remember when brushing was added to the usual pampering routine. It also didn’t understand why it felt like it’d never been brushed before then. As if it’d only grown fur recently—such a silly notion.

Whenever the Chosen One was stuffing itself with food it thought of how much longer the brushings would last if it gained a few more pounds. It even gorged during brushings whenever possible, watching as one attendant held up its swelling belly while another happily brushed it.

Though getting its tail brushed sometimes made the Chosen One think about things it didn’t like. Its tail was bulbous and fluffy, but it struggled to believe it’d always been that way. It simultaneously felt it should’ve been bigger and smaller, more solid and fluffier. Opposite visions of how things should be. Luckily as time passed it was able to accept its tail was meant to be small and fluffy, that it’d always been that way.

The wonderful brushing continued and the Chosen One smiled, thinking about how it’d enjoyed having its fur brushed since the first day it’d arrived at the temple so long ago.

* * *

When the Chosen One had first arrived it had only been capable of consuming a fraction of the feasts prepared for it. Of course presently it couldn’t comprehend eating so little for a snack let alone a meal. At breakfast, lunch, and dinner the table would initially be overflowing before being reduced to stacks of empty platters and bowls as the Chosen One gorged with a passion.

It’s massive belly would swell with food like a balloon, pressing against and under the table. Extra courses would be brought from kitchens the Chosen One never saw. It would eat and eat until it nearly passed out, left in an engorged daze. The attendants always carried it back to its room afterward, strength in numbers lifting the blubbery vulpine onto a groaning bed.

For almost a full year the Chosen One had happily woken each morning fatter and well-rested, ready to slide out of bed for breakfast. But on that morning it just couldn’t manage, no matter how hard it tried, only wobbling comically. It’d gained so much weight it was finally immobile.

Luckily for it, the attendants seemed to have guessed just such a thing would happen, as they poured into the room mere minutes after it woke. They rolled it off the bed and carried it away, but not to the usual dining room. Instead they brought the Chosen One to the temple’s main chamber, where an enormous, elegant cushion sat—right in the spot a forgotten jamcat had once felt an idol should be.

The Chosen One was carefully lowered onto the cushion so it rested atop its huge belly, beached but comfortable. Then Keld arrived, along with lots and lots of food.

“Chosen One, you grace us with your girth and gluttony. Our village has prospered thanks to you, our fortunes expanding along with you.” The mayor grinned. “May you bless us for years to come.”

Keld’s words barely registered in the simplified mind of the Chosen One. It saw the food, and knew it needed to be eaten. Food was good. Filling up was good. Getting fatter was good. The others would reward it if it gobbled up everything it was gifted. And so it ate.

Day after day the Chosen One’s belly spread outward in every direction. Legs and arms grew rounder, becoming doughy mounds that were unbelievably soft to the touch. Its neck gradually became rolls and its cheeks round and jiggly.

Every morning the Chosen One was a little smaller, yet undeniably fatter, as the last vestiges of its forgotten feline form shifted away, replaced by those of a fennekin. Its tail was pure fluff, like the tip of a paintbrush. No hint of purple or blue remained, only yellow, white, and orangish-red.

In between feedings attendants would brush every inch of the blobby fennekin’s body, keeping its coat looking fresh and exquisite. The Chosen One adored the brushings as much as eating, its small tail wagging the whole time. Some would sneak it treats as they brushed, and praise how big and pretty and soft it was. As the centerpiece of the temple, it was completely and excessively pampered.

And as far as the Chosen One knew, that’s how its life had always been. It couldn’t remember ever being mobile, or existing outside the temple. It certainly never entertained even the tiniest notion it’d had any other name, or been anything beside a fennekin. Silly thoughts, useless thoughts, excess thought. Why spend time thinking of anything aside from food and pampering?

“It took a whole year, but this one turned out perfectly,” Keld said to one of the attendants as he watched the immense blob of a fennekin being fed its third lunch. “I feel it’ll end up fatter than the last—maybe even fill the entire room one day. Our village was truly blessed when it was delivered to us.”

The attendant nodded. “We’ll make sure the Chosen One is as heavy as a mountain, until the temple is whole again.”

The Chosen One wasn’t out of earshot of the conversation, but didn’t care. All that mattered was eating. Eating and eating and eating. That was the obligation of being the Chosen One—no, the luxury of being the Chosen One. What more could it possibly want?