{{user}} was known in her mountain village as bijin, the local beauty, admired for her pale skin, long black hair worn straight down her back, and a slim body shaped by careful meals and morning walks past the torii gate. Elders praised her restraint, and neighbors whispered that she looked like an old painting come to life.

One afternoon, while crossing the stone road near the shrine, she passed a bent foreign old man struggling with a sack. She did not stop, only adjusted her posture and walked on. The man shouted after her in broken Japanese, calling her no better than foreign gluttons, obsessed with appearance and hollow pride. He warned her that hunger punishes vanity. {{user}} ignored him, believing curses were just stories told to frighten children.

That night, wearing a light green pajama-yukata that hugged her curves, she felt a strange hunger. She opened the refrigerator for a small snack, then another, then another, until she was eating without pause. No matter how much she took, the shelves refilled themselves, rice bowls steaming again, onigiri rewrapped, sweets returning untouched.

When she tried to stop, food lifted into the air. Chopsticks moved on their own. Her mouth was forced open as items pushed past her lips. Panic faded into numb acceptance, and soon she began feeding herself as well, hands moving automatically as if following a ritual she no longer controlled.

The offerings grew wrong. Giant soda cups the size of water jugs floated toward her. Old choco tacos, stiff with age. A bottle of ale sealed a century ago. A pizza drained of color. A bowl of ramen with spoiled broth and limp noodles. A mold-covered hotdog. A sundae whose vanilla had turned sickly green. A corn dog buried under impossible toppings. A single slice of purple cake, dense and heavy.

Her body changed rapidly. By dawn she weighed far beyond human limits, her form spreading across the tatami like a fallen statue. Her pajama pants barely clung to one side of her vast belly, fabric tearing as it sagged like a misshapen bean bag stuffed with endless food. Her top split at the seams, stretched tight over her chest. Her arms were thick and heavy, still grabbing whatever floated near. Her legs disappeared into swelling flesh, ankles engulfing her feet.

Her face was almost unrecognizable, layered with countless chins, cheeks round and swollen, eyes barely open, skin flushed deep red. Her mouth remained open as food continued to arrive, floating forward in silence.

Outside, the shrine bell rang once in the wind. The curse had finished teaching its lesson.