April 2022 Story - The Finger Curse (Chapter 5) (Patreon)

Princess Agnes fell asleep in her ballroom dress. She did not wish to see anyone and fiercely rejected Penelope from helping with her dress. She had locked the door and refused to see anyone at all.

She cried herself to sleep, crying away all the hopes and dreams she had of having a grand and happy marriage. She dreamed about the proposal having gone well instead, and often had tantalizing dreams within dreams in which she thought she was being proposed to only to realize she was dreaming, and then realizing that was a dream too, and then---

A terrible cackle interrupted this dream sequence.

Agnes tossed and turned in her sleep.

She was standing outside on the balcony with Lord Filmore once more. When she realized she was dreaming she looked out at the horizon and saw billowing storm clouds accompanied by a familiar witch-like cackle. She turned to face Lord Filmore for help but only saw the eyeless face of the old woman.

Agnes woke up with a startle. She had sweated profusely and was gasping for breath.

Of course!

How could she forget?

“That wretched old woman!” Agnes cried aloud.

The memory suddenly became vivid and gripped her with fear.

The old woman’s words echoed in her mind.

THOU HAVE MUCH HUMILITY TO LEARN, NOBLE OR NOT. THOU SHALL BE CURSED NEVER TO BREAK WIND AGAIN UNLESS SOMEONE PULLS THY FOREFINGER!

“The pull of my forefinger?” she asked herself, looking at her hands. Of course, commoners played silly and crude games. Even Agnes was aware of the game where one asked to pull one’s finger in order to break wind. She knew about it because once, years ago, she walked in on the maids in the kitchen playing that game. Belinda was a frequent prankster and was the one to ask the other maids to pull her finger. Agnes had just walked in looking for her mother when she saw them playing the game. Penelope was the only decent one not to engage, standing in the corner watching. The rest all laughed at the sound of Belinda breaking wind, but then realized Agnes was staring at them and immediately stopped laughing. Agnes expressed her disgust and left the kitchen.

“That old witch…” Agnes murmured. That disgusting old wench thought it would be funny to have Princes Agnes stoop down to the level of a filthy peasant.

But it could not have been real, could it? Agnes had never experienced magic or witchcraft before. Few wizards and witches ever visited Norwich, and even if they did, they kept to themselves the secrets of magic, leaving it to everyone’s imagination. She certainly never met one in person before.

Agnes’s stomach still felt full. She sat up in bed for a while thinking if it was wind or something else. Eventually, she had to defecate and felt better.

“Maybe this witch is playing with my head…”

She finally got out of her dress and changed into something more comfortable for loitering around the castle.

“Lord Filmore!” she then uttered. The nightmare had preoccupied her morning so much so that she had forgotten about last night’s fiasco. She had to do something about the botched proposal, and fast. Lord Filmore would start to lose interest in her. She could not let him go. The Norwich family line had to continue.

Agnes sat at her desk and went about writing a letter.

About an hour later, Penelope knocked, and she allowed her to enter.

Penelope smiled. “I see you are doing better this morning after last night.”

Agnes had just finished writing, after a few scribbled drafts, and was just about sealing the envelope. She chimed, “Perfect timing, Pen! I need you to deliver a letter to Lord Filmore. Straight away!”

Penelope stared at the letter and bit her lip, but then she quickly snapped out of it and nodded. “Yes, milady. At once!”

Agnes sighed once Penelope left. She opened the curtains and looked out at the cool, fresh spring morning. No witch’s curse, real or otherwise, was going to get in the way of the proposal of the century at Norwich.

#

Penelope toyed with intrusive thoughts as she headed for Lord Filmore’s manor to deliver the letter. She could return empty-handed and tell Agnes that he never wanted to see her again. Of course, the lie would eventually catch up to her should the family invited him to another ball, or should he approach Agnes later on. Still, Penelope held the letter so tight in her hands that she nearly crushed it.

Lord Filmore’s manor overlooked the city. It was drab brown building with a front that looked like a frowning face.

When a servant ushered Penelope in, he was alone in the drawing room playing the piano.

“Ah, Penelope,” Lord Filmore said. “Is Princess Agnes better now? It is such as shame what happened last night. I hope nothing I did was, er, disagreeable.”

“No, my lord.” Penelope bowed. “You did nothing wrong. In fact, I am delivering a letter from her to you.”

Lord Filmore’s eyes lit up. “Oh?”

Penelope handed it over and Lord Filmore took out a monocle to read it. He hummed with interest as he read it. Afterwards, he thought it over, and then said, “My dear, please wait a moment whilst I conjure up my response.”

Penelope stood there awkwardly watching Lord Filmore write his reply with the smuggest smile on his face. It could have been her biased perception of him, fiercely jealous of the courtship between them.

Before Lord Filmore handed her the letter, he said, “Your lady is truly the best in all the realm. You must be so proud to server her.”

Penelope wavered a smile. “Yes, indeed, my lord.”

She curtsied before leaving and headed back for the castle.

Princess Agnes was so eager to read his reply that she snatched the letter from Penelope’s hands the second she stepped foot in her bedroom and tore open the seal. Agnes read it out loud to themselves:

“Your royal highness,

It would be my honor to see you this evening. May I suggest an alternative? I propose we promenade around the courtyard before dinner. It is after all supposed to be a wonderful evening.

Best,

Lord Filmore”

Agnes held the letter close to her heart and sighed aloud. “This is it, Pen! He still wishes to propose to me! Oh, how wonderful!”

Penelope did her best to smile through it. Her cheeks hurt and her chest tightened. Her emotions swirled as Agnes requested her personal help in choosing her dress and making her look good. Agnes kept talking about finally continuing the family line, finally giving her parents some comfort and respite knowing their legacy would continue. All these things went through one ear and out the other. Penelope could only think of her deepest fantasy dying right before her eyes. She knew sooner or later this was going to happen. Even so, she was not ready for it.

“And I wish to thank you Pen, really,” Agnes then said, holding her hands and looking straight in her eyes. “You have always been there for me and was with me during my most…ignoble moments last night.”

Penelope tried to fight back tears. She let out a whimper accidentally, but quickly recovered by blurting out, “Yes, of course, milady. Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”

“Yes, yes, of course. When you come out, you must do my hair!”

Penelope rushed to the restroom and resorted to silently weeping once she locked the door behind her.

#

At around 6 o’clock in the evening, Lord Filmore and Princess Agnes watched the sun set on a brisk spring day outside Norwich Castle. With a few clouds in the sky, the whole sight looked like a watercolor painting. Agnes twirled her parasol and closed it.

Lord Filmore had picked up where he left off from the previous night, talking about his family strife with his pickiness over a woman to wed. All the while, Agnes’s stomach was starting to trouble her again. She began straying from their concentration as her bowels filled with wind ever so slowly, almost like some drawn-out torture. Throughout the day, she was still queasy. She continued to dismiss the witch’s spell. Maybe the magic would only be as strong as she imagined it to be. Maybe she might never break wind at all! That would not be bad at all for her. She would literally be a divine princess, setting herself apart from the rest by her lack of the obscenest bodily function.

“Princess Agnes,” Lord Filmore then said, as they watched the sunset together. Agnes snapped out of it. She knew by the tone of his voice that this was going to be it. She had to bear through the troubling wind in her bowels and pay attention. She could not have a repeat of the night before.

“Despite my misgivings about the traditions of marriage, and my horrible unlucky history with women, it has come to my attention that I indeed share fond feelings of you. Do you share the same feelings for me?”

Agnes smiled and said, “Yes, my lord.”

“Splendid!” Lord Filmore took another pause and watched the sunset. He then took a deep breath, turned to her, bent down on one knee, and produced a box from his jacket pocket.

“Then, will you marry me?”

The box contained an engagement ring with a rock so large that Agnes’s first thought was that it was quite gaudy. Its shine nearly blinded her even in the waning rays of the sun, and nearly interrupted her response.

“Y-Yes. Yes, I shall!”

Lord Filmore smiled, and then slid the ring on her finger. They looked into each other’s eyes and Agnes finally found relief and comfort in knowing that her future was being settled.

The proposal went as she had always imagined. A rich handsome man offering her his hand in marriage on a beautiful day. Then they rejoiced by dining with her parents back at the castle.

Lord Filmore easily won the favor of her parents. They always found him to be quite decent, agreeable, and lordly. He would fit right in.

Penelope helped serve their dinner, along with Belinda, Marcus, Margaret, and Milly. Agnes had to admit that she enjoyed this much more relaxed setting than last night’s ribaldry. The more intimate setting called for deeper conversations and more sincere laughter.

But then minutes into the main course, Agnes really began to feel unwell. While her parents and Lord Filmore laughed once more over some posh joke, Agnes could feel her stomach literally inflating like a balloon. She kept having to lean back to allow a more comfortable position for her growing belly. Her stomach became an unending whirlwind that sounded most foul. The groans and gurgles were like a bubbling swamp with all sorts of dreadful creatures. She could hardly sit straight and kept fidgeting and adjusting her dress, to the point where her parents noticed and asked her if she was ill.

“I am perfectly all right,” she said, touching up her hair. “The day’s events have simply gotten me…excited is all. Pardon me though, I must go to the bathroom.”

Once there, she sat on the toilet breathing heavily. She strained. Instead, she only burped a couple times, which was nowhere near enough to relief her of the whirlwind inside of her.

For the entire day she had kept trying to deny it. Maybe if she ignored the spell and labeled it as some daydream or a nightmare it would go away.

But the fact of the matter was - she still could not break wind.

Worse yet, she had to continue eating. It would be terribly rude not to eat anything at the dinner of her own engagement. But they had so much to eat! It was almost as much as the night before at her party. Any more eating and Agnes would look pregnant. And if she looked pregnant…who knows what would circulate around the rumor mill? Would they say that she was forced to marry because Lord Filmore had impregnated her? That would be quite the scandal.

Someone knocked on the door. She jumped and nearly yelped.

“M-Milady?” Penelope said.

“What do you want?” Agnes snapped.

“Sorry, milady. I could not help but notice that you might need assistance again.”

“I am perfectly alright,” Agnes snapped again, wincing through the pain.

A pause. Then, “Are you sure?”

Agnes strained to break wind. No matter how hard she strained, it only resulted in nearly popping a vein on her forehead. She grunted, “Yes.”

“Just say the word, milady, and I shall help however I can.”

The daring thought came to her. She could ask Penelope to pull her finger…

Agnes shook her head violently.

“Don’t be ridiculous…” she muttered to herself.

Who knew what the maids would say once they hear of it? Then again, she trusted Penelope. A part of her indeed knew that she could ask her to do anything, and she would simply nod her head and do whatever it was with aplomb.

“Milady, are you sure?”

Agnes’s dignity would never go tarnished, even if the secret were to only be between the two of them. She simply had to remain a divine image of royalty, no matter what.

“I am fine! I will be out in a moment. Please return to the dinner and make sure my husband-to-be is taken care of.”

“Right away, milady.”

Agnes huffed, blowing away a stray strand of hair from her face.

Wedding planning filled up the coming week. King Roland and Queen Priscilla made sure to plan the most extravagant wedding that Norwich ever saw for their only child. Word spread around the city within a day of the princess’s engagement. Most of the hubbub circulated around the nobles, whereas the commoners could not care less.

Agnes would have been ecstatic, were it not for the ever-growing pains in her belly.

Each morning that came, she found it more and more difficult to get out of bed. She was becoming that bloated. She kept ignoring it, and if the witch’s spell ever came to mind, she shook her and said to herself, “No! I will NEVER ask ANYONE to pull my finger!”

The sentiment did not last very long.

For on the morning of the second week, Agnes reached a desperate moment.
 Agnes woke very groggily, feeling sick. The faint early morning sunlight through the curtains bothered her. She hid her head underneath her pillow. Her stomach was in knots, and she felt so bloated that she could hardly even sit up. The heavy lumpy feeling that weighed her down prevented her from going back to sleep. She lost track of time. She could not count the times she rolled over trying to find a better position, feeling like a stuffed pig.

A painful grumble coursed through her belly. She yelped and clutched her stomach in a fetal position. Her stomach was bigger than ever before. All the food and drink she had ingested throughout the week had created a tornado of winds inside of her. She did not need to belch or defecate – the problem was purely the inability to break wind.

“OooOOOOooooOOOOhhhhhhhhhh,” she moaned.

The pain was getting worse by the second. She was completely immobile, as it was excruciating to try and get off the bed. As the minutes ticked by, her stomach gurgled like a boiling cauldron, and she found it harder to breathe. She took slow, labored breaths as if she were giving birth. Every now and then, she groaned aloud from another pang.

Is this how I die? She thought.

Was it possible for her to even die this way? What would happen if nobody were to pull her finger? Would she continue building up wind forever? Or would she…she shuddered at the terrible thought and blocked it entirely.

Sweat beaded down her face. This was intolerable. She had to call for help. But the thought of asking anyone to pull her finger was so absurd and downright embarrassing that she seriously considered rejecting it even over her own life.

Penelope knocked on the door, rather urgently this time. “Milady? Are you unwell? I tried knocking earlier but did not hear from you. It is well past lunchtime.”

Agnes rolled over on her side facing the door. She contemplated over what to say, how to even introduce the absurd predicament she was in. Penelope was her only hope. At the very least, Agnes would rather it be her than anyone else. She was the closest thing she had to a friend after all. But Agnes hesitated, still cringing at the idea of breaking wind in front of her.

Penelope went on. “I-I-I am truly worried. This is very unlike you.”

Agnes moaned.

Penelope gasped. “Milady? Was that you?”

Agnes bit her lip. She had to go through with it. “Yyyyes. Come in. Please. Help me.”