After..

Scarlet's fingers danced through the air, weaving threads magic with effortless. The first change was barely noticeable--just a slight tug at the hem of Camila's dress, the fabric slithering upward until it settled mid-thigh. The material didn't bite, didn't chafe, but it wrapped around her legs like a second skin, pressing them together with unyielding pressure. She could still flex her knees slightly, but the smooth, unrelenting restraint ensured she couldn't take a full step, couldn't even shift her weight without resistance.

Then came the bodice.

A sharp inhale caught in Camila's throat as the corset beneath her dress cinched tighter, the laces pulling taut without any visible hand to tug them. The boning pressed firmly against her ribs, not crushing, but enough to make each breath a measured effort. She could still draw air, but only in shallow, controlled pulls--any attempt at a deeper inhale met with smooth, immovable resistance. Scarlet watched with quiet amusement as Camila's chest rose and fell in quick, restrained motions, the flush of exertion creeping up her neck.

"There," Scarlet murmured, tilting her head. "Now you'll remember to breathe properly."

Next, the heels.

Camila's body lifted without warning, her ankles bending at an exacting angle as the magic forced her onto the balls of her feet. The slender stilettos--chosen for elegance rather than practicality--now became instruments of slow, deliberate torment. Her toes curled inside the shoes, the arches of her feet straining under her own weight. Scarlet's magic ensured she couldn't sink back onto her heels, couldn't adjust her stance even slightly. The pain was a slow burn, creeping up her calves, her thighs trembling with the effort of maintaining balance.

Scarlet circled her, taking in every detail--the way Camila's fingers twitched at her sides, the way her lips parted as she fought for air, the way her legs quivered under the relentless pressure of the dress. She stepped closer, her hand brushing Camila's cheek, fingers tracing the tension in her jaw.

"You always did have such poise," Scarlet mused, her thumb stroking the curve of Camila's lower lip. "But I wonder... how long can you keep it?"

The magic held her perfectly in place--upright, immaculate, her body a study in controlled suffering. Scarlet's smile deepened as she leaned in, her breath warm against Camila's ear.

"Let's find out."

Scarlet's fingers curled like a violinist preparing a final, devastating note. The air hummed as new pressure points bloomed across Camila's body--each precisely calculated to erase what little comfort remained.

The bodice contracted further, the embroidered vines along its seams flaring crimson as they constricted. Now Camila couldn't expand her ribs at all--each breath became a desperate negotiation with the unyielding fabric, her lungs burning for air that the dress refused to permit. The boning creaked faintly as it reshaped her waist another fraction, forcing her into a deeper arch that made her shoulder blades nearly touch.

Below, the skirt's hem climbed higher with predatory leisure, the fabric adhering to sweat-slicked skin as it gathered just beneath her hips. Every slight tremor in Camila's thighs sent the ruched silk rasping against sensitized flesh, the friction bordering on true pain. Scarlet's magic ensured the material neither tore nor chafed--it simply reminded, with unbearable persistence, exactly how thoroughly she was trapped.

"Still too much movement," Scarlet observed, tilting her head as Camila's toes flexed involuntarily against the marble floor. A flick of her wrist, and the dress answered--the fabric between Camila's legs fused seamlessly, binding her thighs together from hip to knee. No more shifting. No more futile attempts to ease the pressure. Just perfect, excruciating stillness.

Scarlet circled her creation, adjusting invisible details with a seamstress' precision. Here, the neckline tightened until Camila's pulse visibly fluttered against the lace. There, the sleeves constricted to immobilize her elbows at that exact angle of elegant suffering. Each adjustment drew fresh sweat to the surface, each bead tracked by Scarlet's hungry gaze as it traced the new topography of Camila's distress.

"Better," she murmured, catching a droplet at Camila's collarbone on one fingertip. "Now we'll see what happens when..." Her thumb brushed the captured moisture across Camila's parted lips. "...perfection meets its limits."

The dress pulsed once in response, threads glowing like heated wires as the final degree of pressure locked into place. Camila's world narrowed to the scream she couldn't voice, the breath she couldn't catch, and Scarlet's smile--endlessly patient--waiting for the first crack in her flawless restraint.

"Now you can't struggle. Can't resist. You'll just watch and feel." The potion's magic coiled deeper, smothering all resistance as Scarlet smiled.

The emerald potion slithered through Camilas veins like liquid frost, its magic working with cruel precision. First, it smothered the screaming pain in her feet--the blisters, the bone-deep ache of her forced posture--replacing it with a hollow, weightless numbness. Then it coiled around her muscles, turning them slack and useless. Her fingers wouldn't twitch. Her knees refused to buckle, even as the enchanted dress held her mercilessly upright. Worst of all was the way it dulled her magic, smothering the familiar hum of chaos beneath layers of suffocating fog. She could still feel, still think, but her body was no longer hers to command--a prisoner behind her own skin.