[Standard Content Warning: This is an ABDL story blog, that means stories on this page contain diapers, diaper usage (like, lots of it), infantilism and the like! In addition, mental and physical manipulation, bondage and nonconsensual or dubiously consensual employment of all of the above themes and many others may also apply. Viewer discretion is advised.]
Well, you really can’t say they didn’t warn you.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of your mother and the spellnurses, they were able to craft, let’s be positive and call it a reasonably effective medicinal cocktail, the result of which is that you have good days and bad days. Most of the time, you needed a wheelchair to get around, usually pushed by your handmaiden and escorted by the Queensguard, although sometimes your mother came to take you around herself. On the good side of that were days that you could walk by yourself to varying degrees. Maybe you needed a walking stick or somebody’s hand to hold onto, but you were at least decently ambulatory.
On the other side of that were days you couldn’t make it out of bed. Sometimes you could at least sit up and read, hold a decent conversation with those who came to visit you. On the worst days, you just laid there, drifting in and out of sleep.
Days like that made you all the more desperate to get the most out of your good days, but a lot of the things you’d done before were simply out of reach. You couldn’t even pick up a practice sword anymore, muchless swing one. You could read, but your magic textbooks, which had taken a lot of focus for you to understand at the best of times, just gave you splitting headaches now. Your lessons were eventually suspended entirely. You weren’t allowed in the practice yard except to watch, even on your good days. Your reading material was more carefully curated, anything that was even suspected of giving you headaches vanished the next day. At least you still had plenty of fantasy and history books, you supposed.
You hadn’t expected the mana sickness to affect your stomach of all things and you’d never thought an upset stomach could be so bloody debilitating. Your pain tolerance is gone, now and if something does trigger your stomach in a way it doesn’t like, you just curl up in a sad little mewling ball, begging for your medicine. And to your great chagrin, some of your favorite sweets are among the contributors to this degrading state. The early days of your sickness had been home to many trials and you tend to think one of the most emotionally taxing was the time your mother took a slice of cake you’d been eyeing and cut off a small chunk, less than a quarter of its original size and said any more sugar than that would “offend your tummy”.
And yet….you were still pretty confident you could handle all of this. You missed your sword lessons and your sweets and your freedom and you even missed your magic lessons, as frustrating as they were, but you were also aware that things could still be a lot worse.
You found yourself back in front of the mirror often, since you spent a great deal of time in your own bedchamber now. If you thought you’d lost muscle mass before, forget it. Your arms and legs were wet noodles now. That part of you from before, that part that thought it made sense for princesses to be “soft”, well it was getting everything it wanted, now, wasn’t it? You were about as soft as a wheel of cheese. That part of you kind of enjoyed it, sitting in bed reading, escorted around the keep, being fussed over and doted on and taken care of…when you were laying awake in bed (which was often), the part of you that missed all the things you couldn’t do argued vehemently with the part that liked being “soft”. You didn’t know which one was right, but you certainly knew which part was winning at the moment.
Except, forget all of that, because this entire experience was completely ruined beyond redemption by one thing.
The diapers.
You tried to plead your case with your mother to let you at least try the enchanted underwear again, that had been a very short conversation. Even on your good days, you had to wear diapers. At least on your good days, you had the chance to try and make it without having an accident and if need be, you were allowed to change yourself. That was about where the good news ended. On your middling days….
“—uh.”
You were in your wheelchair, being pushed through the garden. It was a nice day, you could feel a pleasant breeze on your face. Then, all of a sudden, you were struck by an urge. You winced as the urge quickly grew to ‘discomfort’ and reached up, tugging at your handmaiden’s sleeve.
“Hm? What is it, Princess?” She asks, then looks at your face, realization quickly dawning on her. “Oh - oh, do you have a discrete matter to attend to, Princess?” Blushing too hard to answer in the affirmative, you just give a quick nod. She takes your chair and begins pushing you back towards the castle while you try your best to hold it. You get about halfway there before forcing your legs together stops being effective and you feel an at this point familiar wet warmth growing between your legs. You try to stop it, but the strain eventually exhaust you and you just give in, sinking back into your chair as you wet yourself uncontrollably. You wince as your sitting position makes the wetness spread in your diapers, going from the front to the back and soaking your bottom as well.
“Nevermind,” you whimper in a pathetic voice. It looks like your handmaiden picked up on it that this is another fight you’ve lost. Bless her for trying at least.
“Oh, well…” She says with a sigh. Then she leans in and gives you a quick peck on the cheek. “Well, let’s take you back to your chamber to get changed, then, shall we?” She asks. Again, too embarrassed to say anything, you just give a little nod and she continues pushing you along with less urgency than before.
That was an all too common experience and sadly, after a certain point, you started getting used to it. The number of times you’d successfully made it from your wheelchair to the privy was laughably low compared to the amount of times your body just relieved itself on the way. But at least in those moments, you could make an attempt.
On one of your not-so-good days, you found yourself doing what you usually did on your not-so-good days, reading in bed. You were having a bit of trouble keeping your eyes open and you’d started over on the same page three or four times now, which usually meant you needed to just accept that it was time for a nap but you felt stubborn today and decided to keep trying. So you start reading the page for the fifth time and this time you’re not interrupted by your eyes not wanting to stay open, but by a groan in your stomach that is quickly matched by you vocalizing the same sound.
You look at the nightstand next to your bed and see a small bell waiting. You reach for it, but another cramp shoots through your stomach and then shifts to something else. You wince and whimper but it’s too late. You feel something warm entering your seat. You shift onto your side and try to just…get it over with, thinking more about making the eventual clean-up as painless as possible rather than wasting effort trying to stop what’s already happened. You let out a couple more squeaky noises as your bottom lets out its own share of considerably ruder noises and the rear of your diaper continues filling with mush that eventually starts squishing against your bottom.
You look at the bell again and you at least try to reach for it, but somewhere from your brain to your arm, the attempt quietly dies and that call for rest you had been stubbornly avoiding refuses to be ignored any longer. Your head is on your pillow and it’s not going anywhere. In your last few seconds of consciousness, you’re dimly aware that you’re still pushing more mush into your diaper and to add insult to injury, you can feel you’ve started wetting too. Your body shifts over and you wind up on your back, which means your bottom firmly squishes into the mess you just made. Your hopes of a painless cleanup fading into the reality of likely spending your entire nap in your full diaper before anybody finds you are your last thoughts before sleep seizes you.
Incidents like that are the ones that burn you up the most. Stuck in bed at the mercy of your own body, sitting and laying and sleeping in your own mess. The first time it happened, your handmaiden apologized profusely for not checking in you sooner, but as time went on, you noticed the check-ins were becoming less frequent and the apologies had stopped coming. It wasn’t as if you could actually blame your handmaiden for anything, you were the one who was too busy filling your diaper to find the strength to ring a bell, but you can’t shake the feeling that, especially on your not-so-good days, the people around you are just coming to a place of acceptance. They seem more concerned with not interrupting your rest than anything, including the state of your diapers. Your spellnurses easily found creams and oils they could enchant to make sure you would never suffer a rash. You tried to explain to them and your handmaiden and your Queensguard and your mother that while you do greatly appreciate that, it’s still very discomforting to lay in bed in your own wetness and muck. The distinction was acknowledged, but not appreciated as much as you would’ve hoped.
“I’m sorry, my princess, but your rest is so important for your health, we can’t interrupt you while you’re sleeping, even if you have…other matters that need attending to while you’re asleep!” Was the explanation you were given by your handmaiden. It had made you suspicious, so you decide to go further up the chain of command.
“Yes, I ordered your handmaiden not to wake you while you’re asleep, even if you were poopy,” your mother said nonchalantly. “Why do you ask?” She added blithely, not realizing the bomb of humiliation her last couple words had dropped on you.
“Can you please not call it that?” You asked, hands over your face, face bright red.
“Well, that’s what it is, what else am I supposed to call it?” She asked. You didn’t know if she was doing this on purpose or if her confusion was genuine. “Are you poopy right now, is that why you’re blushing?” She asked and moved over to your wheelchair to check you. You wanted to scream, but you were pretty sure the exertion would make you pass out if you did.
So dealing with that kind of thing on your worst days was why you were desperate to seize anything you could on the better days. Unfortunately, that desperation led you to make mistakes and overestimate what you were capable of. Most of the time, it was ultimately harmless. Insisting you could change yourself when your hands weren’t up to the task usually just led to some embarrassing fumbling until your handmaiden or Madris had to politely interject and do it themselves. Reading at your desk instead of in bed caused little more harm than the loud BONK your head made when it collided with the wooden surface of the desk.
But one night, you had made a slightly worse mistake than that.
It was nighttime, you handmaiden had checked in on your for the last time that night, but, wouldn’t you know it, a few moments after she’d left, you’d wet yourself. You should’ve just rung the bell. You knew you should’ve just rung the bell and asked her to come back and change you, but for some stupid reason, you’d decided that would take too long and take too much effort and the reality was, you just wanted to seize back some small, stupid little level of independence. So you tried to get out of bed and go do it yourself. You were about halfway out of bed before your legs gave out.
If you had just fallen straight down it probably would’ve been fine. But you tipped to the side and smacked your head right on the corner of your nightstand on the way down. That sent your body twisting downwards and you felt your weight landing right on your shoulder and you felt your shoulder not appreciating that in the slightest. That was about the last thing you remembered from that night.
When she found you laying on the floor the next morning with bruising on your arm and blood on your head, your handmaiden’s scream woke the entire keep.
The injuries looked worse than they actually were. A cut on your head and some swelling in your arm and shoulder, solved pretty easily with some bandages and wearing a sling for a few days. You apologized and insisted you were fine and nobody was really upset with you per se, but you noticed a change after that. They didn’t see it as an ultimately harmless accident, they saw it as a disaster, barely avoided. Not too long after that incident, things started changing.
“Where’s my wheelchair?” You find yourself asking one morning.
“It’s right here!” Your handmaiden insists. You look at her like she just sprouted a new head and then look at the thing in front of you. It is, in the most technical sense, a chair, and it does have wheels, but this is not your wheelchair.
“This is - some kind of baby carriage!” You insist, waving a hand at it.
“No, no, no! We knew you’d say that, but it’s not!” Madris waves a hand. “A carriage is flat and the baby lays in it on their back. You’re still sitting upright in this, it’s just leaning back a little bit more! And we put more padding in the back and the seat for it, so you’ll be more comfortable!” She says, gesturing to the carriage-wheelchair-thing like she’s some kind of merchant trying to sell you on it.
“It has a cover on the top that looks exactly like a carriage!” You say, pointing to the top of it. “And why does it have all of these straps!”
“Well — well, well….” Madris taps her fingers together nervously. “The cover is just to keep the sun out of your eyes, and the straps are just in case something happens and the chair gets rattled, so you don’t fall out!”
“They’re straps. To keep me in the chair,” you repeat. “The same you would use to strap a baby into a carriage!”
“No it’s very different! They’re very refined, mature adult-type straps!” Madris pleads with you. Ultimately, there’s not very much you can do about it one way or the other. It becomes clear pretty fast that they’re not bringing back your old wheelchair. You wouldn’t be surprised if your mother had it destroyed just so there was no chance of you convincing someone to let you use it, lest you fall out and bruise your knee or something. So if you want to leave your chamber, the only way you’re doing it is in this thing.
“Fine. Just, bring it here,” you mutter and sit up, placing your hands on the bed so you can move yourself into this monstrosity.
“Oh, uh, let me, Princess!” Madris says and before you can object, she’s coming over and picking you up, then lightly setting you down in the wheelchair-carriage-thing. “See? Isn’t that nice and soft?” She asks as your handmaiden starts securing you by pulling the straps around your waist. You cross your arms and let out a slightly-too-dramatic sigh. You don’t like this, but, getting angry at them isn’t going to do anything about it.
“Thank you, Madris,” you grumble.
“Of course, Princess! Where would you like to go, today.” Madris asks. You wanted to go to the practice yard to see Barhom training the recruits, but the idea of anybody seeing you like this is too mortifying.
“Library, please,” you mutter forlornly and your handmaiden starts pushing you along. You hate that you’re immediately noticing that the reclined and more padded seat does, in fact, make for a more comfortable ride than your wheelchair.
It didn’t stop with your chair. Like with Madris picking you up instead of letting you get in the chair yourself, you were increasingly not allowed to do anything for yourself.
“Mmph, I can feed myself!” You find yourself whining to your handmaiden during your next meal.
“Oh - Princess, I just don’t want you to have any trouble holding your utensils,” your handmaiden says back. It’s true, you’ve dropped your spoon and fork more often lately and it is frustrating to see those marks on your dress when it happens, but you’d still like to at least make the attempt!
“Here, bring her here,” your mother says from the other side of the table and before you know it, you’re being picked up again, an increasingly common occurrence. One thing about all of that muscle you lost, it has made you very easy to carry around. You’re just as easily deposited in your mother’s lap and she resumes feeding your herself, rather easily stymieing your objections. You can see your handmaiden clearly studying this and you’re quite certain the next time she decides to spoonfeed you, she won’t be so easily deterred.
The obsession with your safety didn’t stop at the chair, either. Everybody became convinced that you trying too hard to do something you weren’t capable of and hurting yourself was the worst case scenario now and were adjusting every part of your life accordingly. Including, you found out one night upon returning to your chamber, your sleeping arrangements.
“—my bed! What happened to my bed?!” You squeak out, your face turning white from shock.
Gone is your giant four-poster princess bed and in its place is a (still pretty large)….thing with a curtain around it and…thick, tall wooden bars surrounding all four sides of it.
“We thought it best to make a few changes to make it more safe, my Princess,” Artemis explains as she unstraps you from your chair.
“It’s a crib!” You whine. “It’s a crib for babies!” Artemis looks very unsurprised by your objection and looks equally undeterred.
“We tried to make it as spacious as possible,” she says. “If you want more room, let us know, we can always expand it.”
“I don’t want more room, I want there to not be bars!” You gesture wildly as Artemis hefts you out of your chair. Your handmaiden has rolled a cloth out on the floor and gotten your changing supplies out. “What if I roll over while I’m asleep and smack my head on the bars?” You ask sarcastically. “How is that safe?”
“Hm.” Artemis looks at the crib and realizes she hadn’t thought of that. She looks at your handmaiden. “We should put more padding on the inside.” Your handmaiden nods in agreement. You groan as Artemis lays you down on the floor and pulls down your bloomers so she can change your diapers.
Your diapers which, by the way, were becoming an even more all-encompassing part of your life At least on your good days, you could pretend they weren’t there, you could try to ignore them, you could make it to the privy sometimes and even if you couldn’t, at least you could change yourself (if your hands didn’t fail you anyway) and claw back some tiny level of independence. But as time went on, even on the days when you could walk on your own, you weren’t able to avoid your accidents. Either you walked too slow to make it in time or the urge just hit too fast. Either way, while you were desperately trying to find the privy, you stopped and hunched down (often in the middle of the hallway, which was humiliating) and started pushing a wave of mush into your seat. What made it worse was how little it seemed to bother anybody anymore. You thought it upset you when the people living in the keep wrinkled their nose or looked at you with pity for the state you were in. But the nonchalance is worse. Nobody cares if you’re clearly walking around with a messy diaper anymore, they just find a servant or a Queensguard to come change you.
And they, along with your mother, are the only ones that change you anymore. If you try to change yourself….
“Hrm. Stop, Princess,” Urgok says as she gently brushes your hands away. “I will. You lay back, relax.”
“I can do it myself, Urgok,” you insist, trying to keep the whine out of your voice as she starts changing your diaper for you.
“Pins sharp. Last time, you prick finger,” she reminds you as she lifts your legs up and starts wiping your bottom. “Urgok, tough skin. Like rock. No pin can harm me.”
“That’s not…” You mumble, trailing off. It’s true that your successful changes had shrunken as of late and the amount of time you spent fumbling with the cloth or getting yourself with the pin had increased, but you still kind of wanted to try, at least! But that ship, like many others, had apparently sailed. A moment later, your new diapers are pulled into place and pinned up snugly.
“Good. Princess is all clean, now,” Urgok says, satisfied. She lifts you up. “Now, Princess needs rest.”
“I’m not tired,” you grumble, arms crossed.
“Yes you are,” she says back flatly and carries you to your crib. She’s right, you are.
The constant attention was just too much. You knew it was borne out of an excess of caution and care, but sometimes you just wanted to be alone besides the times you were asleep in your crib with a full diaper. But your attempts to sneak away from the many eyes of your many caretakers never got too far.
“Now isn’t this strange,” you hear Barhom’s voice saying. “I was told to come up in after the Princess’ nap was finished and escort her to dinner with the Queen, but lo and behold, here I stand in the Princess’ chamber and she’s nowhere to be found!” You hear your handmaiden stifle a giggle. “Is she….in this armoire?!” He exclaims and dramatically rips open the doors of your armoire. “No….only gowns. No Princess….is she behind this bookshelf!?” And you hear his armor clatter as he no doubt hops behind the bookshelf. “No Princess. Simply bunnies of the most dusty variety….well, my good lady, I do believe there is no trace of the Princess in this room. I fear we must away to the Queen and tell her that she’ll be dining alone tonight.”
“I am in complete agreement, Sir Barhom,” your handmaiden says around her giggling. You can’t help but resent her for playing along with this. “Let us not delay.”
You hear the door to your chamber close. For a second, you consider peeking out to see if they’re really gone.
Then your crib lifts up into the air, revealing you underneath it.
“Ah, it’s a miracle!” Barhom says, smiling down at you as he manipulates his four conjured Magic Hands to lift the crib away from you. “The vanished Princess has been found! My good lady, do get her carriage, so we are not late.”
“It’s not a carriage, it’s a chair,” you say weakly.
“Too right, my Princess,” Barhom says as he reaches down to pick you up.
You feel like even a few days ago, this kind of thing would inspire more worry than amusement. If you had snuck out of your carriage-chair-thing while nobody was looking right after you’d hit your head, you think it would’ve sent an alarm throughout the entire keep. But now…
“Hey, where’d the Princess go?” You hear Madris ask. “Oh. Ohhh. It looks like her strap got undone, here!” You hear her armor shift as she walks around. You try to stay quiet as you crawl through the bushes. “Did a dragon swoop down and carry her away?” Madris asks and you roll your eyes. “Dragons love kidnapping princesses and she’s the cutest one in the country, after all! I’ll have to tell the Queen so we can organize an adventuring party right away. That dragon’s not gonna have any idea how to change her diapers!”
Does she have to be so loud?
“Speaking of diapers, I think…” A couple theatrical sniffs. The steps get closer. “I smell one….right…HERE!”
A pair of hands shoot into the bushes and grab you, lifting you up.
“Oh! Would you look at that!” She says with a big grin. One of her hands pats your seat and your wince as it your soft mushy seat is squished against your bottom. “I caught a stinky little Princess! How lucky am I!” You grumble and cross your arms. She looks around and makes sure nobody’s watching, then whispers conspiratorially. “We still have a little more time before your nap, do you wanna play again?”
Madris is the only member of the Queensguard willing to bend the rules even a little bit to try and amuse you and this is the closest thing to freedom you have. So, sad as it is, you give her a little nod. Madris beams and sets you on the ground.
“Oh, I just have to go do some very important Queensguard business over here! It should take me about 30 seconds or so! 1….2….3….”
You let out a sigh and, messy bottom and all, you crawl away to try and find a good spot to hide.
Throughout all of it, you have plenty of time to do nothing but think, and your thoughts keep coming back to one thing. You were warned about this. You were warned that mana sickness would make you unable to do anything for yourself and require you to be completely dependent on others. Maybe you thought they were exaggerating, maybe you didn’t realize how much you took your independence for granted. Maybe you didn’t realize how long each day would be in this state. Maybe you were just that desperate to share your mother’s blood.
If it was that last one, you guess it would be pointless now to complain about the cost.
“So our mitigation is losing its effectiveness.”
You’re at another check-up with the spellnurses and spellcrafters. You’re strapped into your chair, listening, while they speak with your mother.
“Yes…the mana sickness is increasing in severity and the medicines we’ve come up with to blunt the worst of the symptoms are starting to wane,” the spellcrafters explain.
“There’s no way to reverse it?”
“No, your grace. The mana has taken a full hold of her body. All we can do is let its run its course.”
“Do we know how long that will take?” Your mother asks. If they did and more to the point, if it was good news, you get the feeling they would’ve started this check-up with it, so you’re not surprised when they shake their head.
“No, just that…it will take a very long time.” The Queen lets out a sigh. You can feel the disappointment in her demeanor. Your mother is someone that is always living in the present, thinking of the future and quickly forgetting about the past if it’s unhelpful to her. If something happens, it happened, there’s no point dwelling on it. To that effect, she accepted and adjusted to your new state moreso and more quickly than anybody. She was the one making all the increasingly restrictive decisions for your “safety”, after all. But there was probably still a part of her that was hoping to get the old you back and continue preparing you for the crown, rather than dealing with who knows how much longer of diaper changes and carriage rides.
But, as said. She lives in the present and she’s always planning for what comes next. So as soon as you notice the disappointment on her face, it’s gone.
“Well, then, there’s no way out but through,” she says. You remember Urgok crediting those words to your mother before. “If the only way to for her to get through this is for her body to adjust to my mana, however long that takes, we’re at least going to do it right. We’ll resume giving her the full-strength mana infusions and aim for full synthesis of my mana and hers.”
“Your grace…” The spellcrafter seems hesitant. “If we do that, the mana sickness will get even worse and it will take even longer.”
“It’s already going to take a long time and it’s already going to get worse before it gets better.” She looks at you and reaches a hand into your carriage-chair-thing to stroke your head. “We’re here because Rain believed she was willing to do anything to share my blood. The only way all of this isn’t for nothing is if we eventually reach that goal.” Things are quiet for a second and then the spellcrafters nod.
“Yes, your grace. We will make preparations immediately.”
“I have some thoughts on how to deliver her infusions going forward,” she says to them while looking at you, rubbing her thumb on your cheek. “We’ll talk about them later.” You don’t say anything. Not because of exhaustion, but because you’re just speechless. Again, you’d been warned that mana sickness could affect you for an extremely long time and you weren’t optimistic enough to expect a miracle cure to show up out of nowhere.
At the end of the day, you’re really not looking forward to this, but part of you does agree with your mother. If you’re going to go through all of this, it might as well have been for something. Maybe one day, you’ll look back on this as the moment that led to you becoming the Witch Queen. You’re probably going to have to hold onto that hope a lot over the next….few years? Many years? You don’t know and at this point, you’re not sure you want to know.
You get your next mana infusion later that day. There truly is no way out but through, now.
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