“A shrinking curse? How interesting. I can't I'm familiar with this kind of hexes.”

“Are you saying you can't help me?” said the ant-sized Morgan sitting on the table before the black mage Tharja and her daughter Noire. After having finally escaped from the hellish confines of his aunt Lissa's shoes, the shrunken boy had wandered around the Shepherds' base until he had happened upon the mother and daughter pair and gotten their attention, begging for their help in getting him back to his proper size. Normally he would have asked his mom Robin for help, but she was away on a mission and wouldn't be back for a couple weeks.

“Where are you getting a foolish notion like that? I never said anything of the sort,” Tharja sharply said. “It's true I can't grow you back yet, but all I need is some time to research this and I should have a good idea of how to break this curse. I'll see if I can find this book you told me about. In the meantime, you can stay here with my daughter. Noire?”

“Y-yes, mother?” the shy woman said, snapping to attention at her mother's words.

“While I'm gone, I expect you to examine him thoroughly and ascertain any properties of this curse that might be useful to know about. Think you can do that?”

“A-absolutely, mother. I promise I won't let you down.”

“Good. I'll return after I finish my investigation, then.” Tharja walked out the room, her shoes clacking against the floor. Morgan then stood waiting for Noire while she just looked around awkwardly, every so often shooting him a quick glance before turning away and hiding her face from him.

“Er, sorry if I'm interrupting something, Noire, but aren't you supposed to examine me now?”

“Y-yes, of course. Sorry, I was just thinking about something else just now. Well... let's see what we can figure out. Is it okay if I pick you up for this?” After he nodded, Noire carefully grabbed the tiny Morgan, first putting her fingers down on the table and then moving them painstakingly closer until he was lightly squished between her fingertips. “I-is this okay? I'm not holding you too hard, am I?”

“No, this is fine,” Morgan assured her.

“Really? O-okay. Then... I'm going to lift you up now.” Very, very slowly, Noire lifted Morgan off the table and carried him over to her other hand, where she gently lowered him onto her palm and let go, leaving him standing in the middle of the fleshy platform. “How was that? I wasn't too rough, was I? I'm sorry, it's just you look so small and weak, I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you in any way.”

“No, no, it's alright. Really, you don't have to be quite so careful with me. Shrinking made me more resistant, so I don't get hurt easily. You could even step on me and I'd be fine, just a little winded.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Let's just say I know it from experience.”

“This is part of the shrinking curse, then?”

“I guess so. Why do you ask?”

“Well, my mother told me to examine you for any other effects the curse might have. If increased resistance is one of them, then I'm going to have to test it out to see how it works. I-if that's okay with you, I mean.”

“Go ahead. You have my permission to do whatever you need to do to help me get back to normal as soon as possible.”

“Alright. Just hold on a bit first; I'm going to put you down.” Put him back down on the table, Morgan thought she meant, so he was a bit surprised when she lowered him all the way down to the floor a step away from the table. Then he watched from there as Noire took off her boots one by one, leaving her smelly bare feet on the floor in front of him. “Ah! Much better,” she sighed, closing her eyes and stretching and splaying her toes to let the air cool them off, apparently forgetting all about him.

“Noire? Your feet...” Your feet smell horrible, he had been about to say, but quickly reconsidered. She probably wouldn't get mad if he did, but in all his time shrunk down he had learned it was best to be safe than sorry. “Er, I'm just curious why you took off your boots, and why I'm on the floor.”

“Oh, well, you said you could be stepped on without getting hurt so I figured I should test it, but then I thought stepping on you with my shoes would be too risky; it's better to step on you with my soft bare feet.”

“I guess that makes sense. Let's get this over with, then.”

“Right. H-here goes...” Noire raised her foot ever so slowly, holding it a few inches over the tiny Morgan while peering down at him. With her sole hanging so close, the smell of her foot was even stronger, and Morgan could see all the little beads of sweat on her sole.

He braced himself for the descent of Noire's foot, but it remained in place for quite some time. As it turned out, Noire was still gathering courage to actually step on him; even though he told her that he would be fine, he still looked so frail and tiny that she feared he'd be crushed if she touched him with so much as a single toe. Still, little by little she lowered her foot until it rested on him. “Are you okay down there?” she asked, and Morgan moved a bit to let her know that he was.

The sensation of tiny little Morgan squirming beneath her sole was so delightful, Noire couldn't get enough of it. It was so adorable how he could barely move even though she was hardly resting any weight on him. It made her feel so powerful, too, and after a while she pressed down more forcefully. IS THAT ALL YOU CAN DO? BAH! HOW PATHETIC! YOU'RE NOT EVEN FIT TO BE CALLED A HUMAN AT THAT SIZE. YOU'RE JUST A BUG NOW, AND YOU'RE LUCKY I DON'T CHOOSE TO CRUSH YOU.”

Morgan was shocked by the sudden transformation, but with how hard Noire was stepping on him now, he didn't have time to dwell on it. The immense pressure had emptied his lungs on the spot, and while he struggled to fill them again, pushing with all his strength against the warm, sweaty mass of Noire's foot, she just pressed down still harder and ground him against the floor, like she was genuinely trying to kill him. “THAT'S RIGHT! SQUIRM AROUND FOR ME, INSECT! LET ME FEEL YOUR PITIFUL LITTLE ARMS STRAINING UNDER MY MIGHT!”

Morgan's struggles continued until his strength failed him and he was just about to pass out. Once he fell still, Noire underwent another sudden change. “M-Morgan? Are you alright down there?” she asked, moving her foot to find the tiny guy gasping for air on the floor. “Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry! I swear I didn't mean to hurt you, I just got a bit carried away! A-ah... let me help you out.” She grabbed Morgan and dropped him on her palm to hold him closely under her gaze, stroking him with a finger to try to comfort him, though her nervous prodding only left him more breathless than before by the time she finally released him.

“There, there; are you feeling better now? I really have to apologize for what just happened. I shouldn't have let that side of me come out at a time like this. I hope you can forgive my... M-Morgan!?” Noire gasped as she noticed that the little guy wasn't looking at her face, but instead staring intently at her chest, and particularly at the bit of cleavage she had exposed. Her cry startled him out of his contemplation, and he hurried to apologize, but by then Noire's face had undergone another transformation, and she looked at him with red-hot fury.

“WORTHLESS BUG! HOW DARE YOU STARE AT ME LIKE THAT!? DO YOU LUST SO MUCH FOR MY BOSOM? WELL I'LL SHOW YOU THAT THESE MOUNTAINS ARE TOO MUCH FOR AN INSECT LIKE YOU TO HANDLE!” Noire clapped the hand that held Morgan hand to top of her breast, mashing him hard against it. She groped herself fiercely, leaving him completely smothered between her hand and boob so that he could hardly move, and squeezed him harder over and over again. “DO YOU SEE NOW WHAT YOUR STARES GET YOU? YOU SHAMELESS WORM; TAKE THIS!”

Noire dropped Morgan between her breasts, then pressed these together and started rubbing them up and down to roll him around between the great mounds of flesh, delighting in how easily and utterly she dominated him.

She kept toying with him for a while, mocking his feeble strengths while making sure he didn't get a moment of peace between her breasts, until she heard the door open behind her and jumped, quickly snatching him from her cleavage before turning around to greet Tharja. “Ah, b-back so soon, mother? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes; I've read the book and memorized the curse,” she said, placing the tome on the table. “It's a most interesting one; I can't believe something like this had escaped my attention all this time. But tell me, did you learn anything while I was away?”

“Well... the curse has made Morgan much more resistant to damage than he appears. He can even be stepped on without being hurt. I confirmed it myself.”

“Oh?” Tharja said, looking down at her future-daughter's bare feet and the boots on the ground. Noire turned, blushing, away from her mother's gaze. Tharja quickly lost interest in that, though. “The book mentioned nothing about any increase in one's resistance. I take it that means the curse wasn't properly cast, so the one affecting Morgan isn't quite the same as the one in the book. Still, I might as well try the method given for lifting this curse and see what happens. Noire, put young Morgan on the table”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good. Now pay close attention so you can perform this yourself if you ever need to.” Noire and Morgan both watched closely as Tharja performed the lifting of the curse, gathering her magical energies and then releasing them in Morgan's direction. Her magical energies enveloped the tiny boy, were absorbed into him, and when they disappeared... nothing at all happened.

Tharja grunted in annoyance. “No good. It seems you seriously messed up this curse when you cast it on yourself. I'll need to think this over to come up with the proper way to lift it.” She sat at the table and grabbed the book, and then Morgan heard a pair of clattering noises coming from below. “In the meantime, you can start paying me back for this little favor by giving me a massage.” The black mage kicked her feet up one after the other, each heel giving a big THUMP when it landed on the table right in front of Morgan, leaving him staring up at her towering soles, each one sporting a band of thin black fabric from her stirrup stockings between the heel and ball of the foot.

While Tharja wiggled her toes and scrunched her sole, the smell of her feet—almost as bad as Noire's—wafted down to Morgan, and he covered his face while backing slowly away from them.

“Where do you think you're going? Come here and get to work immediately, you ant. Remember, I know the shrinking curse now, and I can cast it on you again if you displease me. How would you like to be so small that my toes will seem even bigger than I am now?”

The thought alone made Morgan shudder, and under Tharja's stern gaze and Noire's envious eyes, he walked forward to finally arrive at her heel, where he placed his hands against her bare skin and started rubbing it.

“Ah, how nice that feels,” Tharja sighed and scrunched her sole. “Once I figure out how to restore you, I'll have to look for some good victims to try this curse out on so I can have my own personal pets massage my feet any time I get tired.”

“Mother? Do you think I might... borrow him for a minute... just to see how it feels?” Noire slowly reached for Morgan.

“Absolutely not!” Tharja's heel barreled over the tiny Morgan, leaving him hopelessly pinned underneath. “You didn't even have to leave the room or walk around the base like I did; you spent all your time in here with him. If you wanted him to massage your feet you should have made him do it then. You'll get your chance only after he's done with mine. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, mother. I'm sorry for trying to take him from you.”

“Hmph.” Tharja slid her foot back, freeing Morgan from his war, moist prison. “If you want, you can keep watch over him to make sure he's working properly, and give him a little push if you see him slacking off.”

As Tharja went back to reading, Morgan went back to work, rubbing Tharja's foot under Noire's watchful gaze. Once he had rubbed as much as he could reach from the table's surface he climbed up her sole to reach the rest, trying not to be thrown off by the little movements of Tharja's foot, sometimes struggling to free himself from the folds of her skin when she trapped him with a scrunch of her huge sole.

Tharja seemed happy enough with his work until he reached the fabric of her stirrup socks. “Noire, little Morgan isn't doing a very good job anymore,” she complained then. “Help him out a bit, will you?”

“Yes, mother,” Noire replied, and, pinning him under her fingertip, she started rubbing Morgan up and down her mother's sole, really burying him in the flesh of the massive foot while she helped massage it. She slid him all over the smooth, warm surface, taking great joy in the closeness she felt with her mother, both women loving the feeling of the ant-sized young man caught between them, a puny thing so effortlessly dominated.

Once she finished with the first foot, Noire was about to move Morgan over to the second one, but she stopped when she realized something was off about that pitiful creature lying between her fingers. “Mother?” she said. “There's something you should see. It's Morgan. He's... smaller.”

“Smaller, you say?” Tharja reached out to receive Morgan from her daughter, then held him up to her eye. He had already been so small that she wasn't sure at first if Noire was right, but thinking back on her memories, she saw that he really had shrunk, by about half his size. “Morgan, has anything like this happened before?”

“N-no! The size you found me at is the smallest I've ever been,” the terrified Morgan shouted so she might hear.

“Fascinating. It seems my attempt at lifting your curse had some strange interaction with the altered version of the curse you cast on yourself. For some reason it's causing you to slowly shrink even smaller. But I need to confirm if that's actually the case. Noire! Try to lift his curse like I did just now.”

“What!?” Noire and Morgan exclaimed together. “But mother, what if it you're right and it makes him shrink even faster? We don't even know how small it'll make him, he might end up too small to see.”

“Then I'll have to entrust you with his safekeeping, daughter. He'll be all yours until I work out how to fix this little mishap.”

“All... mine?” Noire stared at Morgan with an expression he felt didn't bode well for him. He tried to call to her, to beg her not to do what Tharja asked, but she didn't pay him any mind. As soon as Tharja placed him on the ground, Noire started gathering her magical energies.

Morgan broke into a sprint, trying to get away before he was made to shrink still smaller, but it was a hopeless attempt; Noire released the spell before he had run even a single foot. As soon as she did, his shrinking, which until now had been so slow it was barely noticeable, accelerated considerably, and he saw the world grow bigger with each passing second. Then he felt the earth shake so powerfully it made him fall to his knees, and looking behind him he saw Noire's massive foot, already as big as a large hill.

“He's shrinking so fast,” Noire mused as she looked down at the tiny Morgan, “I... I need to put you away before you get lost.” Her giant fingers picked him up, completely encasing him in her growing flesh, and she carried him away. A moment later she let go and he fell down a great dark pit, screaming the whole way down, until he landed in a dark, leathery cave.

When he looked up, Morgan saw Noire's face peering down at him from beyond a tunnel opening far in the sky. “Hope you don't mind staying in my boot for now; it was the only place I could think to keep you. Don't worry, I'm sure my mother will figure something out in no time. Until then, at least you'll have my foot to keep you company. See you later, my little Morgan.”

A second after her face moved out of his sight, her foot appeared in the opening, sliding further and further down, wiggling toes that now seemed the size of mountains leading the hunt for the ever-shrinking Morgan. And though the tiny boy tried to flee, he was quickly barreled over by the unstoppable wall of flesh and dragged along with the ball of Noire's foot until it settled in its place to keep him captive under the countless tons of her weight.

Now a mere germ under her mountain of a foot, and soon to be even smaller, Morgan could only hope that Tharja would find a way to fix this soon, or else he might end up so small that the mere wrinkles on the sole of Noire's foot would be his entire world...