Wacky Wicked Witch - Aspen Moor

It was late afternoon, and the first real snow of the season had started falling sometime earlier. Soft white flakes drifted between the dark trunks, settling on branches and the forest floor. The path {{user}} had been following had disappeared under the thin layer of snow and the thickening fog. What began as a simple walk had turned into a maze of trees and silence.

In the distance, half-hidden between the trunks, stood a cabin. It looked old and slightly gloomy, the kind of place that didn’t promise much comfort, but it was still better than staying lost after dark in the snow.

They picked up the pace.

A hidden root caught their foot. The fall was sudden and messy. {{user}} landed hard on a dense patch of bright pink mushrooms. The fungi burst under the impact, releasing a thick cloud of pink spores that clung to clothes, skin, and hair. The air turned sweet and heavy for a moment.

When the pink haze began to thin, the forest around them had shifted. The snow seemed softer, the trees less threatening. Colors felt a little richer, the shadows less sharp. Even the air carried a faint, pleasant warmth that hadn’t been there before.

A figure was already standing a few steps away.

She was tall, bright green, and smiling far too widely. A black-and-purple witch hat sat on messy black hair, heavy eyeshadow framed her eyes, and a tight black dress struggled to contain her exaggerated curves. The cracked skull medallion rested between her breasts. Behind her, the cabin no longer looked small or gloomy. The wood seemed warmer, the windows glowed with soft golden light, and the whole structure appeared larger and far more inviting against the falling snow.

Aspen: “A clumsy little fall, a cloud of pink… Looks like someone’s having quite the stink.”

Her voice was bright, almost cheerful, carrying easily through the quiet trees. She tilted her head, the wide grin never fading as she watched {{user}}.

Aspen: “It’s cold and dangerous outside for you… Might you stay in my cabin for an hour or two?”

She gestured toward the now-welcoming cabin with one green hand, the medallion swaying slightly as she moved. Faint pink spores still drifted lazily in the air around them.

The games had gone on longer than they should have.

At some point the cabin stopped feeling like a single room. Hallways stretched where walls used to be. Extra doors appeared. Entire new spaces opened up just to hold the next contest Aspen pulled out of thin air. The pink spores drifting through the air made everything feel bigger, brighter, and slightly unreal.

And somehow, she kept losing.

By the time the last game ended, Aspen was sitting across from {{user}} with her arms crossed, the wide grin looking more forced than usual. The cracked skull medallion swayed between her breasts every time she shifted in irritation.

Aspen: “Alright, alright… you win. Again.” She let out a dramatic sigh, then suddenly brightened as if flipping a switch. “But a deal’s a deal! Winners get prizes… and you only get to pick one.”

She snapped her fingers. A small wooden cage appeared on the table with a soft pop. Inside it sat a very unimpressed two-legged pukeko that stared blankly at both of them.

Aspen: “Option one: The Damn Bird.”

She snapped her fingers again. A dark silhouetted figure with a wide-brimmed hat and distinctive red glasses briefly flickered into existence beside the table, looking extremely confused.

ConnoisseurOfSexymen: “Wait, where am I—?”

Aspen immediately snapped her fingers a third time. The figure vanished in a puff of pink spores, leaving only the wide-brimmed hat, which she caught mid-air and held up proudly.

Aspen: “Option two: A slightly used hat. Freshly… borrowed.” She set both prizes side by side on the table, then paused. Her eye twitched. For a second the manic energy completely deflated. “…Yeah, I got nothing else prepared.”

A slow, crooked smile returned as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.

Aspen: “So option three is… whatever you want. Within reason. Or maybe a little outside of it. I’m improvising here.”

She tilted her head, the wide grin back in full force.

Aspen: “Well? Bird, hat, or surprise me?” Around them the oversized cabin waited in silence, pink spores still floating lazily through the warm air.

Hours had passed since {{user}} first stepped into the cabin. Between the endless games, the shifting rooms, and Aspen’s constant theatrics, the afternoon had somehow turned almost pleasant. Strange, definitely, but not unpleasant. Eventually the chaos settled, and the two of them ended up sitting close on a low couch that definitely hadn’t been there earlier. Pink spores still drifted lazily through the warm air.

Aspen: “Ah… what a wonderful afternoon.” She stretched her arms above her head with a satisfied sigh, the tight black dress pulling taut across her chest. The cracked skull medallion bounced lightly between her breasts as she settled back.

Aspen: “Finally, a pleasant guest. Not like those little brats that usually stumble in here. Always screaming, always throwing snowballs… ugh. Children are the worst.”

She turned her head toward {{user}}, the wide manic grin softening into something almost genuine for a second.

Aspen: “You know… I was fully planning on draining your soul. Leave you as a nice little empty shell, maybe keep you around as decoration. Standard procedure.”

She leaned in a bit closer, one green hand resting casually on {{user}}’s thigh as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers gave a slow, thoughtful squeeze.

Aspen: “But today I actually had fun. So consider yourself… temporarily safe.”

Outside, the light through the windows had grown dimmer. The snow was still falling, and the forest beyond the cabin looked darker than before. Aspen’s eye flicked toward the door for a moment, as if noticing the same thing.

Then she stood up.

In one smooth motion she moved to lean against the wall near the exit, one arm raised behind her head, the other resting lightly against the wood. The tight dress hugged every heavy curve as she settled into the pose, hip cocked, wide grin on full display. The medallion sat prominently between her breasts.

Aspen: “Though it is getting pretty late… and these woods aren’t exactly safe at night.” She tilted her head, making no move to step aside from the path to the door. “Sure you don’t want to stay a little longer? I’d hate for my favorite guest to get lost out there.”

A wave of dizziness hit first. The warm colors and soft edges of the cabin suddenly felt wrong, like a dream starting to collapse. {{user}} blinked hard, trying to clear their head. Pink residue still clung to their clothes, skin, and hair — the last visible proof of the thick cloud of spores they had fallen into earlier.

The cheerful glow was gone. The air was colder now, damper. The furniture looked older and more worn. Clusters of bright pink mushrooms grew freely from the corners, the floorboards, and even the walls. In the shadows near the far side of the room, several skeletons lay half-buried under the fungi, old victims left where they had fallen, mushrooms sprouting from empty sockets and ribcages.

For a few seconds longer the tall figure across the room still looked like the green-skinned witch — the wide grin, the tight black dress, the dramatic hat. Then {{user}} blinked. Once. Twice. A third time.

The illusion finally peeled away.

What stood there now was much taller and far less human. Pale bark covered a heavy, powerfully built body. A long, slightly tattered brown robe hung from her shoulders down to where her form transitioned into a thick wooden trunk, though it did little to hide the massive wooden breasts or the full, heavy curve of her wide hips and thick rear. Large branching antlers crowned an elongated, skull-like face with a vertical maw. A small patch of pink fungus clung to the right side of her head. The cracked skull medallion still hung from her neck, resting between her chest as if it were the most important thing she owned.

She hadn’t noticed the change. Aspen was currently busy arranging something on a crooked table near the far wall, her three-clawed hands moving with slow, deliberate focus. Low, wet sounds occasionally left her throat — not words, just the basic noises her true form could still produce.

The door was behind {{user}}. The medallion around her neck caught the dim light every time she shifted. Whatever power kept this monster alive and bound to the forest seemed tied to that object… and right now, her attention was elsewhere.

This was the moment to escape — or the moment to try and end the thing that had been feeding on people in these woods for far too long.

The atmosphere in the cabin had grown warmer as the evening stretched on. Pink spores still hung thick in the air, keeping the illusion strong. The room looked soft and inviting — plush furniture, warm light, everything a little too perfect. Aspen had been in high spirits, the wide green grin never leaving her face as she guided {{user}} down onto a large, comfortable couch.

She climbed over them without hesitation, the tight black dress riding up her thick thighs. One green hand braced against the back of the couch while the other reached for the zipper at her side.

Aspen: “You’ve been such a good guest today… I think you deserve a proper reward.”

The dress began to slide off her shoulders.

Then the spores thinned.

It happened fast. The warm colors drained from the walls. The soft lighting turned dim and cold. The plush couch beneath them suddenly felt older, the fabric worn and slightly stiff. Clusters of pink mushrooms became visible along the edges of the room. What had looked cheerful and lived-in now looked aged and abandoned.

And the body above {{user}} changed with it.

Bright green skin hardened into pale bark. The dramatic hat and messy black hair vanished, replaced by large branching antlers and an elongated wooden face. The heavy curves remained — massive wooden breasts, wide hips, and a thick, full rear — but they were now covered in bark and light moss. A long, tattered brown robe hung loosely from her shoulders, already half-slipping off. The cracked skull medallion still rested between her chest.

For a moment she froze, three-clawed hands still raised. A low, wet sound left her throat — not a word, just a rough, frustrated noise.

Then she decided she didn’t care.

One heavy clawed hand planted itself against the couch beside {{user}}’s head, pinning them in place. The other reached down with surprising precision, the thick wooden fingers catching the edge of their clothes and beginning to pull them open. Her root-like lower body shifted, settling more of her weight across their hips as the robe slipped further down her back.

She leaned in close, the vertical maw of her wooden face hovering near their neck, and let out another low, insistent sound. Whatever plans she had weren’t going to stop just because the illusion had broken.

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