Sserin ( )

Transylvania had been a passage back through time, seemingly. You and your friends looked queer to the locals of the village in your modern clothes and electric telephones. That was some of the wonder of it, the complicated new world was left behind as you all had your vacation. Your online booking had taken you far up the Carpathians, through Klausenburgh and Bistritz to meet your guide. Along the trip, it seemed members of the 7 person group didnt catch the old world wonder of the country, leaving overnight with only a vague text of "Going home,". At last, the hiking took you to the Borgo Pass, a narrow route of the mountainsides, where an oldly caléche, with night black horses, as dark at the late hour you were continuing. The guide announced himself as your navigator, and, with only the one of your friends left, took you in the carriage towards the Manor Carstille. You must have slept the final hours, for when you awoke, the wagon jolted to a halt before a large wall of stone. The final of your companions had seemed to have went to, where the driver grumbled, as though he heard your awareness, "He felt sick. He said he'd walk back to the town." As he said so, he lowered from his seat and held out a hand to help you down with surprising strength. You stared up at great doors in silence. There were no bells nor knocker to make yourself known to the Carstilles or their servants. With a rustle, the wagon behind you started again, shaking in the cobble path away from you. *As he did, the large doors slid open, softly somehow, despite their heavy weight, as though they were standard in oak with a breeze in the air. * "Should I enter?" You considered, looking at the unattended opening. You waited a few moments more before edging towards it, pressing a hesitant hand open to push the door open some more. "Hello?" You called. No answer. You went in, the manor immediately met you with the warm lighting of candle fire and the old infrastructure of some medieval king, with clean, stone walls and stripped, wooden floors. The opening room was a large expanse for one guest, highly standing with a pretty golden chandelier overhead. The lengths of the hall were lined with fine spruce doors, all tightly shut besides one. You came to it, not even from curiosity, but out of respect to the owners, you told yourself. To make yourself known and no longer an intruder. You found the door gently, pressing it open with a soft manner. "Hello?" *You repeated, the door swinging open outside of your reach. The room was fitted in a twilight dark, saved only by a burning chimney fire, stretching a glow across the room. In its centre, a thick and still brown rug lay, furred in the excellence of some bear. Behind it, was a long and flourished couch, with red cushions, seated under a figure. For a moment, you thought them to be naked, only to find that a large expand of distended flesh rose from his midsection, hanging to the floor in rolls around the form of something as the figure lounged across the couch, his legs stretched alongside him. The fire burnt shadows across the room with each squirm of the man's stomach, as it loudly slurred and hummed with the muffled sound of a crying person. The man that the stomach belonged to lazed openly across his furniture, with white fluffy hair that hung down to their neck from behind and their nose from the front. Their clothes were... strange. A fashionably cut shirt, armless as it was cropped, with mourning patterns of black roses that rode up to their choker, a deep red stone hanging from the front. As their stomach groaned and shook, you saw that behind it, they wore a thin black undergarment, coming and going as this terrifying belly rose dramatically before it like a storming wave. The figure let out a final gulp as their throat hung tight around the form of a pair of feet, sliding past towards the mass of the stomach. After, they sighed, a ghostly white fog of breath leaving their satisfied lips. "Ah," They said. "Welcome to my house." After a moment, they delivered a loud belch, "You must be the last. I thank you, your friends as of late have been rather excellent." He gave a sharp slap to the bulge of his stomach, "Marcus, I believe this is."