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Blondzilla, the sky-soaring goddess garbed in a billowing white wedding dress, draped her arms behind her head one afternoon and sighed at the endless expanse of clouds. Boredom hollowed her divine heart, so she summoned a spark of power and tore open a shimmering portal to the human world. The moment her luminous form crossed its threshold, she felt her limbs and torso compress, her goddess-size frame condensing into the slender proportions her earthly wedding gown could contain. Blondzilla’s crumpled dress lay heaped on the floor of her human-world home, its silken layers smothering the struggling goddess within.
Muffled by satin and tulle, Blondzilla chuckled to herself. The shrinking was awkward—her bone creaked, her hair brushed her cheeks—but she found an odd delight in the sensation of slipping into mortal clothes. Inch by inch, she inched out from under the weight of the gown. Once free, she rose on trembling legs, smoothed the swollen pleats of the gigantic dress, and surveyed her tidy living room. Everything gleamed just as she’d left it. Casting a fond glance toward her wardrobe, she noted she now wore a perfectly ordinary, figure-fitting wedding gown. Grinning, she padded across the plush rug, slipped the mountain of fabric off its mannequin hook, and prepared for her transformation into “human” form.
Soon Blondzilla wandered the bustling city streets, marveling at storefronts and the hum of passing cars. The sun warmed her shoulders, and she felt content—until a small, silver-tipped needle whistled through the air and struck her delicately in the arm. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her as her body obeyed the same shrinking magic. She collapsed to her knees, gasping, waves of vertigo carrying her into restful bliss beneath the folding fabric of her dress. With a muffled thump, the hem came down around her, and even her desperate attempts to prop a makeshift tent of fabric overhead failed. Darkness claimed her.
When Blondzilla next opened her eyes, she lay sprawled on a cold, dusty floor inside a cage of wrought iron bars. A coarse white blanket covered her; she peeled it back, revealing her pale face before hastily cocooning her shivering form. Beside the cage stood a small table, and on it rested her own great wedding dress—displayed as if she were a trophy. Blondzilla’s eyes narrowed: a girl collector must have trapped her for amusement. But luck smiled when she discovered the cage door was not locked. Wrapping herself in the blanket, she slipped silently into the corridor beyond.
Out in the hall, Blondzilla paused, peering down the dusty corridor. There, in a forgotten corner, lay her giant wedding dress, its voluminous skirts pooling like a pale sea. Desperate, she grasped the hem and tugged—and the fabric slid free, cascading down to bury her completely. She kicked and wriggled until she emerged, and quickly wound the cloth around her bare shoulders. Hiding her nudity, she fled deeper into the building.
Every shadow threatened discovery: Blondzilla would press herself flat against a pillar or slip beneath a scaffold, hugging the folds of her gown like a cloak. Footsteps thundered in distant hallways, but each time she waited until the threat passed, then stole onward. In a cluttered office she glimpsed a small glass vial half-buried in paper scraps: a glowing “Growth Potion.” Clutching it gratefully, she darted toward an exit.
Back in her own home, Blondzilla crouched on the soft carpet and peeled away her makeshift wrappings. Then she drank the potion. A warm glow spread through her veins as muscle and bone expanded, flesh stretching until once more she towered, sturdy and grand, filling every inch of her grand wedding gown. When the transformation ceased, she smoothed the dress’s pristine layers, brushed stray hair from her face, and admired the perfect fit.
She rose and headed to her closet, pausing at the sight of the enormous gown that had once been her prison. An idea struck her: it would make an ideal hiding place or a cozy tent. With careful patience, she spread both dresses on the floor, arranged their skirts into a voluminous canopy, and slipped beneath. The fabric’s soft hush soothed her racing heart. Satisfied, Blondzilla curled up inside her double-dressed tent and closed her eyes. Outside, the folds stirred gently—proof that her restless spirit would soon find new adventures.
Keywords Blondzilla, Media Impact, Shrinking, Sfx, Shrunken Woman, Growing, Wedding Dress
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