The maid sighed and wiped her brow. She was almost finished cleaning the witchâs room, and it had not been easy. So much furniture, so many different kinds of lights and fixtures⊠It was a fairly eclectic and, frankly, disorganized arrangement. But her job wasnât to criticize peopleâs ways of living, it was to make their living spaces nice and clean.
And yet⊠there was just one thing, sitting out on a table. A dark, glistening rock with an uneven surface. It was clearly out of place, and the maid knew there was a drawer full of weird rocks over in the kitchen (for some reason), so surely she could safely put away this one thing, right�
It felt cold and damp, and she was thankful to be wearing her lace gloves⊠What a gross rock⊠But she felt a dull sting anyways, as if her gloves werenât even there! Had the rock cut her? How was that even possible? It didnât look particularly sharp. Sheâd dropped it on the floor⊠When did that happen?
The maid realized sheâd broken out into a cold sweat. She felt clammy and gross. Her breathing quickened. And her hand, the one thatâd touched the rock, was throbbing with a terrible pressure. Was it swelling inside her glove? Whatâ
With a sPLORCH and a rRIIP, her glove, no, the hand inside it, no, both of them exploded. Something sticky and green flew everywhere. The tattered remains of her glove hung loosely over a dripping, greenish stump. A stump at the end of her arm.
Weird sensations flooded the maidâs mind. Not pain, thankfully. Even her hand exploding hadnât hurtâ gods, her HAND had just EXPLODED! And she could taste the floor, and some of the wall, and there was a pressure in her side, and sPLORGTCH
She felt a wetness under her dress, because part of her torso had just burst into more slimy, green grossness. The cold sweat on her skin was getting stickier. She gagged, and slime flooded her mouth, and she tried to vomit or scream but there was just more of it, always more of it, and she cried, and that was slime coming out of her eyes too.
Her arm was getting shorter as it melted. The opposite should detonated, and the attached arm dropped to the ground. Falling, it was solid, but as soon as it hit the ground, it splashed into more goop, popping the glove around it like a water balloon. Her legs were going, and she couldnât balance anymore, and the pressure was behind her eyes too, and she could taste everything, andâŠ
Slime filled her shoes to bursting. Her hair was sticking together and fading into her. Finally, that pressure blew one hole in her face, taking an eye with it, and then another, and that was it, she was dead, she was gone. Only the remains of a maid outfit were left in the witchâs living room, which was also covered in disgusting green slime.
⊠No. No, that wasnât right. She could still see. She could still taste. The floor, the furniture⊠The maid was still there, in the slime. She could move. Anything she touched, she could taste, and that shouldâve been nasty, but it didnât really register as such. The taste of the floor shouldâve been vile, but instead it simply⊠tasted like the floor. Like her brain (did she have a brain?) no longer had the part that decided certain things taste âbadâ.
She snapped out of the introspection and looked at the room around her. Something vaguely humanoid formed from the slime as she instinctively tried to embody the form she was used to. Everything was a mess. Sheâd soaked into the couch, and the rug, and she was all over everything, and just so, so sticky, and she was supposed to be cleaning all of this, and and and sheâd just watched herself explode, and it was just too much.
A pitiful, burbling sound came from the tiny humanoid shape sitting there in its pile of Self. She was crying. Less viscous slime flowed from her eyes(?) and back into herself. It was too much. She was a thing of grossness. Grime incarnate. The witch would return soon, and would surely be furious.
In fact, there she was now.
âHello? Iâm home!â she said from the entrance. She stepped inside, took one look at the living room, and dropped her bag, her eyes wide. âOh⊠Ohhhhh, you⊠You poor thingâŠâ
The maid tried to calm herself down a little bit, to at least preserve some semblance of dignity before her client. The witch knelt, and the look on her face was one of concern, remorse, and care⊠Not anger, as the maid had feared.
âI knew there was something⊠I left it out, didnât I⊠That rock⊠Yes, I see it over thereâŠâ The witchâs voice was incredibly soothing, as embarrassed as she was⊠Wait, she was embarrassed? She wasnât the one coating the living roomâŠ! âThat rock is highly⊠Well, not so much âdangerousâ⊠It isnât a threat to your health, but it certainly does, um, affect itâŠâ She gestures around at the whole room. âAnd with no magic of your own to resist such things⊠Oh, gods, Iâm so sorry⊠But, but donât worryâŠ!â
The salty taste of two or three tears splashed into the maidâs senses. She almost felt sorry for the witch, if it werenât for the fact that her own life had effectively just ended⊠Hadnât it?
âI can change you back, dear, I promise.â Oh. âBut I need you to do something for me first.â The witch giggled through her tears. âThis room is a mess⊠Kind of. I assigned you to clean it, did I not?â Uh oh. âAnd you got so close⊠But I see you arenât sure how to complete the very last step. Donât worry, Iâll help you. Itâll be easy.â
Easy? The room was filthy! Filthy with⊠with her! The contaminant was the maidâs own being! ⊠And then, before the witch even said it, she understood.
âI need you to gather yourself. Draw yourself out of the rug and the couch. Pull yourself down off the walls and across the floor. Bring yourself together here, next to me, atop your dress. Thatâll be your âcenterâ. Itâs yours, after all.â The more the witch explained it with that soothing voice of hers, the more sense it made. All of that slime was the maid. All of its mass was her mass, able to be moved however she wished. So, she converged.
Down the walls⊠Across the floor⊠Out of the cushions⊠She worried for a split second that a stickiness would be left behind, but then she remembered that the stickiness was her, too. So she took it along, and everything in her wake was spotless. The room sheâd cleaned was still there underneath her, so as she confined herself to the growing, increasingly recognizable mass in the center, more and more of that well-cleaned room was revealed.
At last, the maid sat atop her tattered dress, a fully formed humanoid that looked just like her old self⊠only larger, and translucent, and shiny, and green. She looked down at her hands and let out a surprised yelp as the witch suddenly embraced her. The maidâs surface tension held! She wouldâve blushed if she was capable of anything other than âgreenâ.
âYou did wonderfully, my dear!â said the witch. âItâs perfect, absolutely spotlessâŠ! I knew youâd be able to reform yourself quickly with your knack for cleanliness and order.â Sheâd be blushing really hard, seriously. âNowâŠâ The witch released her hug. âI suppose I should get to work changing you back. Feel free to rest however you wish until thatâs done.â
âO-of course, Miss,â said the maid, gasping lightly at the sound of her own voice, almost perfectly recreated by slime alone.
âAnd⊠th-thank you.â
