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New Chance — Description

I saw her standing on the sidewalk, in front of the entrance to the Plus Size Convention. Thin, stiff, with that superior expression I knew all too well. She watched the women going in and out with a mixture of disgust and poorly disguised curiosity. As if they were a spectacle and she, the only one still in control.
She was the one who approached me.
"Hey…" she began, a little nervously. "Are you… one of the ones who work here or something? You seem… different."
I smiled. My presence has always had something that attracts those who don't yet understand what they're missing.
"I don't work here," I replied. "But I can help you with something, if you want."
She hesitated for only a second. Then she agreed. I offered her a simple exchange: that she help me around the house for a couple of days in return for a favor. She thought she was doing me a favor. She had no idea.
I took her home. I closed the door behind us, and the spell began to work silently, as always. First, the food. I gave her no choice. Generous portions, rich sauces, desserts that melted on the tongue. At first, she tried to resist, saying she wasn't hungry, that she "didn't eat like this."
I just smiled and kept serving.
"Eat," I told her. "You're going to need the energy."
And she ate. First shyly, then with a hunger she could no longer hide. Each bite made her softer, heavier. Her waist, once a number she boasted about, began to round out. Her belly pushed against the fabric of her blouse. Her thighs rubbed together as she walked. She didn't quite notice... or didn't want to notice.
I lent her some clothes. Mine. Clothes that didn't hide anything. In the end, I only left her a pair of black and pink panties. Now, standing in the middle of the kitchen, they're barely visible. The fabric has sunk into the thick folds of her belly and thighs, almost vanished beneath the obsession with flesh that no longer fits into anything. She looks at her body with a kind of slow satisfaction, forgetting that she was once something else.
I erased the memory of her being thin. Not all at once. Little by little. Like someone erasing a word from a notebook until the page is clean. Now she only remembers the pleasure of eating, the weight of her own body, the way people look at her when she moves.
Tonight she's standing at the table, eating from my plate as if it were her own. There's sauce at the corner of her lips, and she doesn't wipe it off. Her black and pink panties are barely visible amidst the abundance of her flesh. Her belly hangs heavily, her breasts rest upon it, and she no longer criticizes the women she saw at the convention. Now she's one of them. And she knows it.
The fat girls' party starts in an hour. I organized it. There will be food until there's no more room, clothes that don't hide anything, and bodies that brush against each other without shame. She's ready. She doesn't remember ever being anything else. She only knows that she's hungry, that she likes the way her own weight feels, and that tonight she's going to eat until her body tells her to stop… or until I say she should.
I watch her finish the last bite and smile.
"Come on," I say. "It's time you really saw what you've been missing."