You'd heard whispers of great riches for those willing to take the risk. Make the right deal with the fae in the forests, and one could walk away set for life.
You go when the sun starts to dip just below the horizon. Summer heat is just cooling down. A pleasant breeze kisses your face.
Fireflies are already bobbing between bushes and branches. There's so many despite the season coming to a close soon. In fact, there are almost too many. They surround you, the bio-luminescent bugs creating a trail for you to follow.
The trails turn and twist deeper and deeper into the woods. The sky grows darker, the air colder. When you're finally in a clearing, even the breeze has stopped. The fireflies disappear, leaving only the moonlight for the shadows to flicker in. Silence is all-consuming. The ringing in your ears grows until you think you might turn tail and give up this venture.
"My, my," a voice whispers on the wind. "It's been so long since we've had a visitor."
You turn this way and that, straining to find the source of the voice.
Another voice, closer, muses, "much too long. Poor little lamb seems lost."
Before you can think better of it, you call out, "I came to make a deal."
A cacophony of sounds pick up with the sudden return of the winds. You cover your ears trying to block it out. The wind settles in one final gasp. You open your eyes.
What was an empty, dark clearing has been transformed. You find yourself in the midst of a party. Lanterns are strung from the trees. Fae are dancing and mingling by fires. In the center, there is a table heavy with food and drink. It's a miracle the legs aren't bowing under the weight of it all.
A fae, tall and lithe, strides over. "Welcome, little lamb." You begin again about deals and bargains.
"Hush," they coo. Their nails trace up your neck until they hold your chin. "We've so missed having a human to entertain us. In exchange for your company, we will send you off with more gold and riches than you can walk away with just as soon as the feast is over."
You nod. It's a simple deal: spend time with the fae and you'd be made. The fae smiles wide and leads you to a seat. The chair is sturdy, lavish even. A golden plate is pressed into your hand. All kinds of food fill the surface. You can't quite recognize some of it, but you're tantalized all the same. Fruit juices coat your mouth, the flavor blooming across your tongue. Hot, yeasty rolls in butter help sop up the many sauces you try. Bread pudding and liquor cut some of the savory flavors before you return to the cuts of meat laid out for you to try.
Fae-folk flit in and out of conversation. They're charming and polite, always smiling and refilling your plate and cup. You can't say how much time has passed or how long you've been at the table.
There's a point where everything seems warmer. Sweat drips down your face. Why were you breathing so heavily? You pull at your shirt collar to try and loosen it. The fae simply disrobe you.
"It's a party," they say. "Don't think so hard." So you don't. You must get tired at some point too, because it's getting harder to lift your arms. It seems like it'd be hard to leave this seat, even if it is more cramped than you remember. You try to lean forward to grab your cup again. Though, try as you might, your fingertips can hardly reach it. The cup topples over. The clatter awakens you from your stupor. It’s as though a veil had suddenly been lifted.
Whatever cotton was dulling your senses can no longer hide what has happened to you. Your arms have plumped up like the hams on the table with fingers resembling sausages. Your hips must have spread across the seat too, because you can feel the arms of the chair gripping your love handles more surely than any lover ever has. You try to look down, but your thicker neck and double chin have to fight for space. A plumper chest greets you. The largest change was the heavy belly that crested beyond your knees. It was burgeoning with all the delicacies you’d been plied and stuffed with all evening. With a small hint of dread, you realize you’re still hungry.
“How long have I been here? When will this end?” You fret and try to rise from your seat. The fae that greeted you puts a hand to your belly. Their touch is appraising, paired with a gaze filled with a hunger of their own.
“It seems our lamb isn’t so little anymore,” they tease. Already, other fae start preparing more plates for their guest.
“Oh, darling,” their voice drips with faux sympathy. “Here, in this realm, the party is never over.” You feel a cold chill down your back, but don’t fight the cup being brought to your lips again. As the spiced, warm cider flows down your throat, you find your thoughts flowing away too. The last realization you have is that any gold would be too much to walk away with when soon you won't be able to walk at all. You thought you were so clever.