Margot's problem was that she was beautiful.
You might not think that would be a problem. For many women, of course, it would not be. In Margot's case, though, it became one. She had always been beautiful, even as a child. From the very beginning she'd gotten special attention and special treatment. Her parents spoiled her, her relatives fawned over her, and her teachers always gave her preference and graded her work biased by their own unconscious prejudices about beauty rather than on her actual performance. Her friends were more like acolytes than real friends, primarily attached to her so as to be thought beautiful themselves by association with her, not because of any good qualities Margot might have had.
Margot grew up quite well aware of the effects her beauty had on others, but blissfully unaware of its effects on herself. She unconsciously adopted a sense of entitlement. She never learned the necessary social skills of dealing with people in a respectful or fair-minded way. She'd never had to do so order to get her way. As she grew older, she unthinkingly assumed that the preferential treatment she always got was simply her due. She became shallow and self-absorbed.
Her problem finally caught up with her when she was vacationing in Jamaica. When it did, it resulted in a complete change in her life.
She had read in the tourist guide about voodoo and obeah and had decided to explore those religions while there. Using a considerable amount of money as bribes, she was able to identify a local oungan or voodoo priest. He turned out to be the proprietor of a small, cluttered tourist shop not far from her hotel.
Most people would have simply asked him politely about voodoo and, with any display of respect or at least civility, been able to get the information she desired. Not Margot. She simply walked up to him and demanded that he explain himself to her.
The oungan, however, was accusomed to a degree of respect due his position. He balked at her high-handed approach and refused even to admit that he was a priest. As you can imagine, Margot was unequipped to deal with such reticence. She always got what she wanted, especially from men. The more he refused, the more strident Margot got. The more strident Margot got, the angrier the priest got. Eventually he grabbed her arm rather forcefully and escorted her out of the store.
It's not really a good idea to anger a voodoo priest, as anyone could have told Margot, at least if she would have listened.
After she was gone, the oungan brooded on the event, and 'uppity' privileged English women in general. As bad as Americans, they were, and on top of that they apparently still thought of Jamaica as their private colony. He finally decided that it was time to strike a blow against them, and humbling this annoying woman would be a good start.
Margot never missed the strands of hair that the chambermaid stole from the hairbrush in her hotel room.
The doll the oungan made was actually quite attractive. He lovingly fashioned its breasts and the secret place between its legs. He intertwined Margot's blonde hairs on the doll's head and, just to be sure, between its legs. When all was ready, he made the incantations that made the tagloc, or magic link between the doll and Margot. He thought a while about how to proceed, and began his campaign by using some clay to reshape and enlarge the breasts.
By the time the doll was finished, Margot had returned home to London. She had forgotten the oungan completely. She was surprised when in the space of two weeks she had to step up her bras by two cup sizes. At first this worried her, but as the growth stopped and left her with a pair of beautifully shaped breasts that attracted envious stares from women and admiring stares from men, she was quite satisfied to accept her good fortune unquestioningly. After all, hadn't she been getting these stares all her life?
Back in Jamaica, the oungan watched his doll as it seemed to adapt to its new shape. It was time to step up the game. He spread its legs a bit and widened the tiny vagina he had molded into it. Very carefully he inserted a small grain of itch powder into the little vagina and sat back to wait.
Margot was still enjoying her newly increased popularity with men. She was at a cocktail party in a wealthy friend's apartment, smiling and surrounded, as had become usual, by a small gaggle of male admirers. Suddenly she felt a very strange twinge in her vagina. Quickly it grew into an itch. Something was clearly not right. She made a few quick excuses and darted into the nearest bathroom and locked the door.
