The Curse of Zaria: Chapter 1 - The Beginning of Eternity / Trapped on her Continental Sandal

Welcome to a brand new series! Hope you enjoy! In most of the images, if you think Pauletto is not there, he is, try zooming into the center of the image a lot, and he will be visible, even though sometimes hes only a few pixels lol. Try downloading the images too, they are prob compressed on the post, but in downloads their full resolution. Also, this series has a soundtrack! If it was a movie, these would be the songs that I'd pick for it. If possible try putting on the playlist in the background, let it set the vibe. The playlist will grow over time as more chapters come out! https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLq1HIxeTBlyRGk7k9eraw24OmpVTKs8AH&si=D4MN0CT56XWHKjys

Curse of Zaria - Chapter 1: The Beginning of Eternity
The marketplace of Kivvy buzzed with the clamor of a busy day, crowded streets, sizzling food, the sounds of traders trying to make a sale, and of course the clink of copper coins. Stalls overflowed with apples, loaves of rye, and bolts of dyed cloth, while the air carried the mingled scents of fresh bread and the occasional rare foreign foods, like Eradosian Cheese. Pauletto, an eighteen-year-old thief with quick hands and a quicker tongue, weaved through the crowd, his threadbare cloak flapping behind him. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, locked onto a shopkeeper’s stall filled with silver trinkets, something he could make a good profit of in Leydale, the Kingdom of Fairies. One small nugget of silver goes a long way for them there, really anything does, but they especially pay top dollar for things they can’t get or themselves or replace, like ores and gems. While the fairies have some good tools, they are not nearly strong enough to mine ores like silver. Only thing is, getting there will be a pain, since the only route is straight through a notoriously cursed jungle, either that or a hellacious mountain range, that nobody dares to attempt. The shopkeeper, a stout man with a beard like a bird’s nest, was distracted, haggling with a customer over a tarnished bracelet.

Pauletto’s fingers danced, snatching a silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon. He tucked it into his sleeve, heart pounding with the thrill of the steal. But as he turned to melt back into the crowd, a shout shattered his focus. “Thief! Stop him!” The shopkeeper’s bellow drew every eye in the square. Pauletto cursed under his breath and bolted, shoving past a woman carrying a basket of eggs, “Guards! To me!” the shopkeeper roared. Heavy boots thudded behind Pauletto as two armored guards, their chainmail glinting in the midday sun, gave chase. The market shoppers, who's unaware of what is exactly happening, sees and runs out of the way of the guards, crowds of people starting to scramble in the chaos. He darted down an alley, his lean frame slipping through a gap between barrels where the broader guards struggled to follow. His breath came in sharp gasps, but a grin tugged at his lips. He’d outrun Kivvy’s guards before. They were slow, weighed down by armor and arrogance.

The alley spat him out into a quieter street, lined with bakeries and tanners’ shops, which soon led outside the city walls to a more nature-filled path, close to the Kivvy Wilds, a massive expanse of forests and fields. Pauletto becoming confident that he could lose the guards, he has done so countless times, most of them are in such heavy armor, and most are not in very good shape, with beer bellies and low stamina. However his confidence was short lived, Pauletto skidded to a halt, his grin fading. A figure stood in the center of the road, blocking his path. She was tall, at least 6’3 or so, her brown hair cascading over a dark blue and black dress that shimmered like storm clouds, with an intricate design thats shiny, almost glowing with enchanted power. Brown boots peeked from beneath the hem, and glasses perched on her nose, catching the light. Her presence was magnetic, commanding, and Pauletto’s gut twisted with recognition. This was no ordinary woman. “Zaria,” he whispered, the name a curse on his lips. The notorious elven witch, scourge of Avaheim, stood before him. Her scandals were legend, like the time she’d turned herself into a 50ft dragon on a whim and accidentally (though probably on purpose) flattened half a village, the rumors of men vanishing after crossing her. Magic was rare in Avaheim, a gift—or curse—granted to few, and Zaria wielded it with terrifying mastery.

The guards burst into the street behind him, swords half-drawn. Pauletto’s eyes flicked between them and Zaria, his mind racing for an escape. But Zaria raised a hand, her lips curling into a smile that was equal parts charm and menace. “Gentlemen,” she said, her voice smooth as velvet, “it seems you have a problem. A slippery little thief, causing trouble in your fine kingdom.” She says with a smile, playfully, like they are just toys beneath her, at least when it comes to power and status. The guards hesitated, their hands still on their sword hilts. The older one, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek, spoke. “Step aside Madam Zaria, please. This is Kivvy’s business. We can handle ourselves.” Zaria’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, but I can solve your crime problems, Permanently.” She stepped closer, her boots clicking on the cobblestones. “I’ve designed a new curse, one that could revolutionize how you handle criminals. Imagine: a punishment that’s both torture and an inescapable prison. No cells, no executions. Just… diminishment. Forever.” Pauletto’s stomach churned. He didn’t know what she meant, that all sounded like a foreign language, but the word curse sent a shiver down his spine. Magic had only existed in Avaheim for forty years, since the birth of the first wizard, Alara, who’d nearly destroyed the five kingdoms before being stopped at the cost of ten million lives. Since then, witches and wizards were treated with wary deference, their crimes often ignored to avoid their wrath. Zaria, with her sadistic streak and penchant for manipulation, was among the most feared.

The younger guard, barely older than Pauletto, frowned. “What kind of curse?” Zaria’s eyes gleamed. “It is designed to shrink the offender to a speck, a random size at least a quarter inch, sometimes less, no larger than a grain of dust—say, a tenth of a millimeter. Then they are bound to my home, forever. They can’t escape, not even through death, not even old age, because if they were to die, they just wake up in a different part of my house. It’s foolproof, only I can break the curse. If you wanted a criminal gone forever, while still being technically alive, this is the best way. It also would be a good way to reform prisoners, if you did not want an infinite prison sentence. They would be too scared to commit another crime, I will make sure of that.” She tilted her head, studying Pauletto like a cat eyeing a mouse. “Let me test it on this one. I’ll provide a progress report, proof it works. If your queen approves, we could… negotiate a deal. Or.. I will just test the curse on both the criminal pest here, and you two, and then come back for the rest of your stupid fucking society once I know it works properly.” The guards exchanged a glance. Pauletto’s heart hammered. “No!” he shouted, lunging toward a gap between the buildings. But with a subtle flick, Zaria’s pointer finger gestured towards him, and an invisible force yanked him back, pinning him to the ground, a telekinesis spell she has seemingly perfected, and can use with only one finger, or perhaps even just a thought. He thrashed, but it was like being held by iron chains. “Resisting only makes it more fun, bug. How does it feel to be a useless pest? You are the absolute fucking bottom of the food chain, and about to be beyond it, so below it that you will not be considered really alive, or a person at all anymore. Part of a new species that are worth less than even the fairies.” Zaria scolded with a commanding and condescending voice, one that sent chills up all of their spines, terrified of what she might do. The guards shifted uncomfortably but didn’t intervene. The older one muttered, “If it keeps him out of our hair… we’ll speak to the queen. Show us... p-please.”

Zaria’s smile widened. “Good choice boys, I knew you weren't too dumb. I’m proud of you, finally a wise decision!” She drew a leather-bound book from her satchel, its pages crackling with faint energy. With a graceful swirl of her hand, glowing sigils materialized in the air, weaving into a complex pattern. Pauletto’s breath caught as the sigils pulsed, their light casting eerie shadows. Zaria began to read, her voice low and rhythmic, the words in a tongue he didn’t understand. Hell, he can barely understand normal language, since the education systems in Avaheim are very diverse, some communities not even having schools, and some are just simply not very developed, and use simple languages, like cavemen, with not many words. This world is still in it’s early stages of life, it’s history not very old at all, and not all of the nations are equal in age or development of technology and society in general, but in Zaria’s mind, anyone who is not magically capable is more of a animal, bug, or pet to play with and take advantage of, or just smoosh if they get on her nerves. Energy chains, shimmering like molten gold, erupted from the ground, locking Pauletto’s arms and legs in place. He screamed, the sound raw with terror, as Zaria approached. Her eyes glowed an unnatural violet, and the air around her crackled. She knelt beside him, her hand hovering over his chest. “Welcome to your new life, bug.” she whispered. Her palm pressed against him, and with a flash of purple energy from her hand, the world exploded into light. Pauletto felt himself falling, shrinking, his body collapsing inward. The street, the guards, Zaria’s towering form—all vanished. Darkness swallowed him.

A few hours later, but instantly to him, Pauletto awoke with a start, his body shivering against a strange, warm surface. He was naked, his cloak and tunic gone, leaving him exposed to the thick, musty air. The curse, it seemed, hadn’t bothered to shrink his clothes. He clutched his arms to his chest, heart pounding, as he took in his surroundings. The ground beneath him was a reddish-brown expanse, cracked and uneven, stretching to a horizon that seemed miles away. The air reeked of sweat and old leather, a suffocating mix that clung to his skin. He was tiny—impossibly tiny, no more than a tenth of a millimeter tall, a speck in a world that dwarfed him. He stood on a sandal, a women’s size 7 by Kivvy’s standards, though to him it was a continent of leather and wear. The surface was a desert of pores and grains, each crater as tall as his naked body, some deep enough to swallow him whole. Fibrous textures jutted up like petrified trees, and in the distance, a dark imprint marked the leather—a faint outline of a foot, worn into the sandal over years of use. To Pauletto, it was a shadowy valley, a testament to Zaria’s presence, the witch who’d cursed him.

His skin prickled, not just from the cool air but from the realization: he was in her home, bound by her spell, trapped in her bedroom closet where she kept her shoes and clothes. The thought sent a chill through him. Zaria was out there, a goddess in this new world, and he was less than nothing to her. He tried to hide his privates in embarrassment, but then he had a stunning realization, the fact that he is so small now it is probably impossible that she will notice him. It does not matter if he covers himself or not, he is just an imperceptible speck.

A distant rumble shook the ground, like an earthquake. Pauletto froze, straining to hear. Zaria’s voice, muffled by her immense scale, filtered through the air. “Where are you, little thief?” she murmured, her tone playful yet edged with irritation. “I didn’t think this through, did I? Damn I should have added that tracking spell.. What was I thinking..” Pauletto’s stomach lurched. She was looking for him, but she couldn’t find him. He was too small, too insignificant. Part of him wanted to hide, to burrow into a pore and pray she never found him. But survival instinct, honed on Kivvy’s streets, pushed him forward. If he could reach her, maybe he could beg for mercy, convince her to undo the curse. He started moving, though each step was a battle. The leather’s texture was a rugged hillside, its pores and grains like cliffs he had to climb. His bare feet stuck slightly to the surface, not from moisture but from strange forces—adhesion, surface tension—that made every movement feel like wading through molasses. A speck of dust, almost bigger than a small building, blocked his path, forcing him to scramble over it, his naked skin scraping against its rough edges. The sandal’s musty smell intensified, mingling with a faint saltiness, likely traces of Zaria’s sweat embedded in the leather. He gagged, covering his nose, but the odor was inescapable. The foot imprint loomed ahead, a dark canyon he skirted warily, afraid of tumbling into its depths.

Hours seemed to pass, though time was impossible to gauge. The sandal was a world unto itself, and Pauletto was a lone, naked explorer, lost in its expanse. Zaria’s movements rumbled intermittently, her voice breaking the silence. “Under the bed? No… the kitchen, perhaps?” She sounded amused, but there was a hint of frustration. Pauletto realized, with growing dread, that she hadn’t designed her curse as well as she’d claimed. She couldn’t find him without some spell she forgot to add to it. He pressed on, driven by desperation. If he could reach the sandal’s edge, climb down to the floor, maybe he could get closer to him, and she could find him, that would be better than being stranded here, and since he can’t die now, he figures he might as well try, even if he ends up getting squished, or whatever might happen, he has to try, at least once, to beg for his old life back, promise to change. The thought of facing her terrified him, but staying here, stranded on this sweaty, endless plain, was worse.

Meanwhile a few hours ago after shrinking Pauletto with the curse, Zaria, before she headed home, was having a splendid day. She’d lingered in Kivvy only long enough to ensure the guards were impressed. Their awestruck faces as Pauletto vanished had been delicious, a reminder of her power. She’d promised them a progress report, but truth be told, she wasn’t overly concerned about the thief. He was a test subject, nothing more. If the curse worked—and she had no doubt it would—she’d have the queen’s ear, and perhaps a steady stream of criminals to shrink and bind to her home. Either way though, she was not worried, since the kingdom has no choice to obey, but it’s just more fun if they play along, it’s not as fun to just force things, she wants to see how this curse effects their society in the long run. After finishing her business, she rises into the air and with a flourish, and shapeshifts into a dragon, her body elongating to around 25 feet tall (although she could have been a bigger dragon if she wanted, and does so occasionally), scales shimmering dark purple and a onyx black, like gemstones. The transformation was effortless, a skill she’d honed through years of practice.

Zaria soared over Kivvy’s farms, her draconic wings slicing through the air. Below, fields stretched like patchwork quilts, and farmers froze at her shadow. She swooped low, snatching loaves of bread, a sack of carrots, and a wheel of cheese. “I’ll pay you back!” she called, her voice a rumbling promise, but it was a blatant lie. The farmers nodded, pale-faced, too afraid to refuse. Her cabin lies in neutral territory, a sprawling sanctuary surrounded by gardens, livestock, and acres of land she’d claimed. She landed in a clearing, reverting to her normal elven form with a satisfied stretch. Her dark blue-gray dress clung to her, its fabric shimmering like a storm cloud, and her black boots crunched on the gravel path. She carried her haul inside, humming, eager to find her tiny prisoner.

But there was a hitch. She’d forgotten to weave a locator spell into the curse. Without it, finding a speck-sized human was like searching for a needle in a haystack. She tried a generic locator spell, one that detected heartbeats or body heat, but it was useless—Pauletto was too small, his presence drowned out by the ambient life of her home. She searched for fifteen minutes, peering under her bed, rifling through her kitchen, checking the folds of her quilts. “Come out, little thief,” she cooed, more to amuse herself than because she expected a response. Finally, she shrugged. “You’ll turn up eventually. They always do, begging to be freed.” Zaria wasn’t worried too much though. If she couldn’t find this one, she’d curse another, perfect the spell, and still win the queen’s favor. The thought of a tiny criminal, lost and helpless in her home, was satisfying—pathetic, really, and that pleased her. She decided to relax for the evening, shedding the day’s tension like a second skin.

She crossed to her bedroom, the wooden floor creaking under her boots. The room was a haven of chaos and comfort: a four-poster bed draped in quilts, a cluttered desk strewn with spellbooks and vials, and a wide window letting in the golden light of dusk. Her closet, a cavernous alcove off the bedroom, held her wardrobe—dresses, cloaks, and rows of shoes and sandals, jewelry, armor sets, and more, each pair a trophy of her travels. Zaria paused at the closet’s threshold, her fingers trailing over the hem of her dress. The fabric was heavy, clinging to her skin after the day’s exertions. She wanted comfort, something loose and freeing. With a slow, deliberate motion, she reached behind her, untying the laces that cinched the dress at her waist. The garment loosened, sliding down her shoulders to reveal the smooth, pale curve of her back. She let it fall, stepping out of the pooled fabric, leaving her in a thin linen shift that barely reached her thighs.

Meanwhile, Pauletto, still struggling across the sandal’s vast leather plain, felt the ground quake as Zaria entered the bedroom. His naked body trembled, exposed to the sandal’s sticky surface and the oppressive air. He looked up, and his breath caught. Zaria’s form filled the sky, a colossus moving with casual grace. Her dress hit the floor, a distant avalanche of fabric, and the shift she wore clung to her, outlining every curve. Even from his minuscule perspective, her presence was overwhelming, a goddess unaware of the speck at her feet. She moved into the closet, her boots thudding like thunder. Pauletto’s heart raced. Unbeknownst to him, he was on her favorite sandal, a well-worn leather flat, its surface marked by years of her steps. If she chose it, he was doomed. He shouted, his voice a pitiful squeak, “Zaria! Down here!” But the sound was lost, swallowed by the vastness of the closet. He waved his arms, his naked skin flushed with exertion and embarrassment, but she didn’t glance down, not even a little bit. She was right, he really is beyond the food chain now, so below that he does not even feel like a person anymore, less than an actual bug even, an ant would be enormous compared to him.

Zaria stood before a wooden rack, her fingers brushing over folded clothes. The shift was damp with sweat, sticking to her skin, and she wrinkled her nose. “Time for something… lighter,” she murmured, thinking out loud, something she does often. She grasped the hem of the shift and pulled it over her head, tossing it onto a pile of laundry. Her body was bare now, her skin catching the dim light filtering through the bedroom window. Her breasts, full and slightly flushed from the day’s heat, moved with each breath, their curves casting faint shadows. Her hips flared, leading to long, toned legs, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, accentuating the lines of her abdomen and the gentle slope of her collarbone. Pauletto froze, his eyes wide. He was a thief, not a saint, and the sight of Zaria’s naked form—godlike in its scale—stirred an unwilling reaction. His body betrayed him, a flush of heat spreading through him despite the terror and humiliation. He cursed himself, tearing his gaze away, but the image lingered. Her breasts loomed like distant hills, ass a mountain, her sensitive regions a unending abyss, a world in of itself, her skin a vast, pale plain. She was beautiful, terrifying, and utterly unaware of him.

He wishes things were different, he wishes he was a wizard too, maybe she would see him as a peer then, but only then, but magic is only achievable with a rare gift at birth, a special set of genes and proteins, cosmically rare, that creates a new organ called the Enelplex, that processes magic and makes it harnessable, like a seventh secret sense. He scrambled forward, desperate to escape the sandal before she chose it. The leather’s pores snagged at his bare feet, and a grain of dust scraped his thigh, leaving a stinging welt. The sandal’s musty odor was suffocating, mixed with the faint saltiness of Zaria’s imprinted sweat. He glanced back, seeing her move toward a shelf of clothes. She bent slightly, her hips shifting, and reached for a pair of soft, loose shorts. The motion was mesmerizing, each muscle flexing under her skin, and Pauletto’s face burned with shame at his own distraction.

Zaria slowly slipped into the shorts, the fabric sliding over her hips with a soft rustle. She reached for a bra, a simple black garment, and fastened it with practiced ease, adjusting the straps over her shoulders. Her breasts were now partially concealed, but the bra’s fit accentuated their shape, and Pauletto’s gaze lingered a moment too long. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He had to move, had to escape. She turned, her bare feet slapping the wooden floor, and approached the shoe rack. Pauletto’s heart sank. The sandal he stood on was within reach, its worn leather gleaming faintly in the closet’s dim light. He ran, his naked body slick with sweat, but the sandal’s terrain was unforgiving. A fibrous ridge loomed ahead, as tall as he was, and he clambered over it, his hands slipping on the sticky surface. Behind him, Zaria’s voice hummed a soft tune, oblivious to his struggle. She crouched, her face briefly visible above, a distant moon framed by brown hair. Her glasses caught the light, and her lips curved in a thoughtful frown as she studied the shoes. “Hmmm…these, these will do..” she said, her voice a low rumble that vibrated through the sandal. Her hand descended, fingers curling around the sandal’s edge, and Pauletto’s world tilted.

He screamed, clinging to a leather grain as the sandal lifted, the motion like an earthquake. The closet spun, Zaria’s towering form a blur of skin and fabric. Her foot appeared, a colossus of flesh, 24,100 times bigger than Pauletto, 25 miles long, appearing to be the size of Manhattan Island back on Earth, its arch a vast curve, its toes like rolling hills. The skin was smooth but marked by faint lines, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on her heel. Pauletto’s stomach churned with terror and awe, as her foot descended it suddenly dominated his field of view, stretching to the horizon in all directions. He now struggles to see the entire foot at once, much like you can’t see all of a mountain from its base. He was nothing, a naked speck, and she was everything. The sandal tilted further, and he lost his grip, tumbling into a pore. He scrambled out, his body bruised, and shouted again, “Zaria! Please!” But her foot descended, blotting out the light. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of her skin—salt, warmth, and something faintly floral. The pressure was unimaginable, a cataclysm that crushed him in an instant. Pain obliterated thought, and darkness swallowed him……

Pauletto awoke with a gasp, his naked body trembling on a smooth, cold surface. The air was sharp with the scent of herbs and wood, a stark contrast to the sandal’s musty reek. Above, a ceiling stretched, its beams like distant mountains. He was no longer on the sandal but on a kitchen counter, surrounded by crumbs the size of boulders and a knife as long as a river. The curse hadn’t let him die. He was still bound, still a prisoner in Zaria’s world. Somewhere in the cabin, she moved, oblivious to his resurrection. Pauletto’s hands shook as he stood, the weight of his new reality crashing down. He was a speck, a plaything, trapped forever unless Zaria chose to free him, and she didn’t even know where he was, and probably never will again. If she does not free him, he will be trapped here, impossibly tiny, for eternity, even after Zaria is dead and gone.