Can't talk without some caloric monstrosity being shoved between my jaws whenever they open, can't pace when my own stomach begins to pin me down, can't think about problems when I'm too addled by burps and aches and sensation of limbs fattening, blubber mounting, flab spreading...

I’m just saying- you could /call/ it a bad ending that I’m swelling into a taut, ripe blueberry of a vixen with no possible cure, but like.

I’m still gonna be Not Normal about it, so who’s to say if it‘s good or bad….