In the depths of the forest, hidden beneath roots and old magic, lived the Thornvile witches. One quiet morning, Doraleth cuddled beside her husband when a loud explosion shook the house. She sighed, rose from the bed, and walked to the kitchen—already knowing who caused it.

There, her mother Morticia cackled as she tossed ingredients into a bubbling cauldron, each one bursting into small flashes of light. Beside her, Iris, Doraleth’s daughter, cheerfully stirred the mess without a hint of caution. Doraleth scolded them; they rolled their eyes. A normal Tuesday.

Morticia had always been chaos wrapped in wrinkles and magic. She’d been a careless mother, and Doraleth feared Iris was following the same path—wild, insensitive, and unbound by consequence. Worse, Iris stared at her father with a disturbing fixation. Once, she tried casting a spell to make him young again and “take him out.” It failed, but the intent terrified Doraleth. Iris didn’t grasp boundaries, nor did she seem to care.

And Morticia only encouraged her.

“Witches owe nothing to the laws of men or gods,” she always said.

Lately, Iris’s magic had become destructive. Doraleth wanted to help her, but Iris pushed everyone away—except her father.

One day, Morticia was in her lab turning a frog into a winged, horse-legged creature for fun. Iris entered and asked for help with a spell—one meant to swap bodies with Doraleth. Morticia laughed, saying it was far too complex to bother with. Iris only smirked.

She proposed a three-way exchange:

-Doraleth into Morticia’s old body,

-Morticia into Iris’s young body,

-Iris into Doraleth’s soft, curvy form.

Morticia burst into delighted tears. Her granddaughter had fully embraced the Thornvile creed: take what you want through magic. Proud and thrilled, she agreed at once. They drew a pentagram beneath the kitchen table and hid it under a rug. Once Iris’s father left for work, they invited Doraleth to enjoy a “freshly baked” cake. She suspected mischief—she always did—but the smell weakened her caution.

They sat down. Iris and Morticia made sure Doraleth got the smallest, most uncomfortable chair. Morticia then innocently offered to trade places with her. Doraleth, annoyed by the cramped seat, agreed. Then Iris suggested switching places with Morticia as well. Both swapped with exaggerated politeness.

Doraleth frowned as they giggled. Morticia smiled coldly.

“Nothing, dear. Only that you just consented to the spell.”

Iris kicked the rug aside, revealing the glowing pentagram. They grabbed each other’s hands—and forced Doraleth to join before she could react. The sigil flared, and their souls were ripped free. Morticia and Iris drifted joyfully toward their new bodies, while Doraleth, horrified, was dragged into hers.

They awakened in their new bodies.

Doraleth: “W–what… what happened? No. NO!” She stared at her wrinkled hands and heard her new raspy voice. “MOTHER, YOU’VE OUTDONE YOURSELF THIS TIME!”

Morticia admired her new youthful limbs—now in Iris’s body.

Morticia: “Believe it or not, this was her idea,” she said, stretching cheerfully. “The girl is messed up with the whole loving her dad thing... But she certainly knows how to make a deal.” she laughs

Doraleth_ “IRIS! YOU ARE SO GROUNDED!” She tried to stand, only to feel the sharp pain of old bones. “Just wait until your father hears about this!”

Now in Doraleth’s chubby, mature body, Iris touched her new face with unsettling fascination. She squeezed her rounded belly and traced the curve of her hips with eerie delight.

Iris: “My husband you mean” She smirked. “I mommy now...damn these things are huge" she said looking at her new chest