Majestria slowly turned her head, horror dawning on her face. She realized it was her turn.
Finn was still crumpled on the ground, a tear-streaked wreck. Lickthorn stared into the abyss of her own humiliation. Granny Plops grinned like a toad in heat.
The old crone pointed a crooked finger. "You’re next, slut-waist."
Majestria flinched. "I—I shouldn’t have to dance. I’m a goddess."
Granny exhaled cabbage smoke through her nose. "Then this should be easy for you."
Majestria snarled, "Filthy swamp witch," but stepped forward. Her feet glided like she was floating—regal, untouchable.
She had never danced before. Not truly. She never needed to. No one ever asked her to.
But she knew how to move like royalty.
She raised her arms, chin held high, as if soaking in celestial light. Her movements were slow, graceful—almost ballet-like. She looked divine. Smug. Ethereal.
A goddess basking in her own illusion.
A toe caught slightly on the ground. Barely noticeable. But Clemothy the chicken let out a sharp, judgmental cluck that sounded suspiciously like Latin.
Suddenly, her gestures repeated—too perfect. Too mechanical. The elegance was now routine. Rehearsed. Hollow.
Her arms lifted again—this time trembling—as she reached upward toward the heavens. Her face strained.
She wasn’t basking anymore.
She was reaching out to something that wasn’t reaching back.
Her knees buckled. She collapsed slowly—like a statue toppling in slow motion. Her voice cracked in a whisper not meant to be heard:
She curled slightly, one arm crossed tightly over her chest, the other reaching upward.
A fallen goddess. Cast out. Ashamed. Furious. Broken.
Her fingers twitched, still reaching, even though the sky had turned its back.
And then—she went still.
"Ho-ho-ha-ha!" Granny Plops leaned back, cackling like her spine had given up from joy.
Still wheezing, she popped open the jar, plucked out her own eyeball, rubbed it like a stress ball, and dropped it back in. Plop. "This was the best performance yet!"
After a moment, the trio of traumatized dancers slowly got back to their feet—awkward, humiliated, and emotionally bruised. Majestria wasn’t just embarrassed. She was furious.
Granny raised one gnarly finger. "Now... you must each give up something personal."
Majestria immediately shook her head.
The old crone pointed straight at Finn.
"You first, loser boy. Give me your torn hoodie."
Finn backed away, horrified. "W-What?! No way! This is my special hoodie!"
"It’s already torn," Granny said, smiling. "Which makes it perfect. Unless... you don’t want to pass the bridge."
Finn hesitated, looked at the chicken, looked at the bridge, then sighed in defeat. "...Okay." He started taking it off—Then suddenly bolted for the bridge.
Clemothy the chicken launched like a demon bullet, slamming Finn to the ground face-first.
"Clemothy," Granny cooed, "strip him."
The chicken gave a dutiful cluck and immediately began tugging the hoodie off Finn’s limp, depressed body.
Majestria and Lickthorn stared in horror.
Granny turned back to them with a wicked grin. "Who’s next?"
Majestria recoiled in visible disgust.
But Lickthorn stepped forward.
"Goooood." Granny stared her down. Clemothy returned, hoodie in beak like a grotesque retriever. "Good chicken," she said, patting him with a bony claw.
Then her gaze locked back onto Lickthorn.
Lickthorn blinked. "...Excuse me?"
Granny didn’t flinch. "The panties. You know the ones I mean."
Lickthorn hesitated, then slowly reached for her shorts—"No, no," Granny hissed. "The ones... under the rabbit pelt."
Majestria furrowed her brows, confused. Finn, still recovering on the ground, lifted his head in disbelief.
"Oh, they don’t know?" Granny said, delighted. "Let me explain for y—"
"No!" Lickthorn cut in, hands waving frantically. "It’s fine! Really! There’s no need!"
She turned around, reached into the back of her rabbit pelt, and pulled out a single white thong.
"There! That’s it, haha... that’s all you wanted, right?"
"I want every single one."
Lickthorn backed away in panic. "N-No! I—I can’t just give them all—"
Clemothy began to flap and rev like a poultry missile.
"OKAY, OKAY!" Lickthorn squealed. She dove into the rabbit pelt like it was a clown car, pulling out panty after panty after panty.
When she was done, she held out a pile—at least twenty pairs.
Majestria’s jaw dropped.
Finn blinked from the ground.
"Here," Lickthorn muttered. "That’s all of them, okay?! No more."
Granny beamed with satisfaction. "Goooood..."
She then turned her head like a creaky door toward Majestria.
"Your turn now, slut."
Majestria snarled, "I am not a slut! I am a woman of high dignity and immaculate standards. Many wish to be in my presence—"
"But these two rejects don’t look too thrilled," Granny said, smirking as she glanced at Finn and Lickthorn.
Lickthorn was staring at the dirt.
Finn was slumped on the ground, face scratched up, hair disheveled, and visibly done with life after being mauled by a chicken.
Majestria scoffed. "Well, what do you want from me?!"
Granny shrugged. "Your bracelets. Or your diadem. Either will do."
Majestria stepped back, protective hands near her headpiece. "No. You’re not taking my personal artifacts!"
Clemothy clucked. Loud. Threatening.
He began pacing in tight circles like a predator winding up for launch.
Majestria readied herself. Arms up. Power sparking. She was about to go full divine fury on a poultry.
Granny narrowed her eyes. "Then we have a problem."
"Wait! Wait!" Finn stepped forward, stumbling slightly as he got between them, still catching his breath.
He raised his hand. "Can you... can you take my stuff instead?"
Granny Plops tilted her head. "Ohhh, I see..." She tapped her long, wrinkled finger on her chin, intrigued. "And why would you do that?"
Finn looked back at Majestria, then forward again. "Because she already lost something today."
Granny’s crooked grin widened. "Very well. If you’re offering, then you must give me two personal items."
"Deal," Finn said instantly, surprising even himself.
Majestria blinked, stunned. Lickthorn stopped breathing for a second.
Granny’s eyes roamed over Finn. She looked him up and down like he was a side of beef at a cursed butcher shop.
"I’ll take... your right sock... and your underwear."
Finn stared, dead-eyed. "You serious?"
"I never joke about socks and shame," she said.
’She’s either a freak... or just has it out for my comfort,’ Finn thought.
He sat down, kicked off his shoe, and peeled off his right sock.
Majestria tilted her head. "Why just the right one?"
"Don’t worry about it," Finn muttered, already heading into the tree line.
Lickthorn tried to look disinterested but tilted her head just a little. Majestria just stood there, visibly confused and deeply uncomfortable.
Moments later, Finn returned—right foot bare, boxers in hand.
He handed them to Granny with a defeated look on his face.
Granny snatched them gleefully, raised the black underwear to her face, and took a long, deep sniff.
"Ohhh yeah... that’s the stuff," she crooned, eyes rolling slightly.
Even Clemothy made a concerned cluck.
Then, holding up all the collected items like trophies—hoodie, panties, sock, and underwear—Granny turned and declared:
"You may now cross the bridge."