The possum woke up to the light pattering of rain on his fur and his nose. This didn't please him, as things had been much better in his simple, feral dreams. There he was happy, healthy, surrounded by family! Here in the waking world he was tired, messy, and extremely hungry.

Hunger grabbed him tightly, refusing to let go. Indeed, out of energy he had simply laid down to sleep, with no strong hope of opening his eyes again. Such things happened to little creatures like him, after a few days of lean pickings. From a village he had strayed into the forest, hoping for berries or even a carcass, but luck was not with him.

At least the rain wiped away some of the mess in his fur, his tongue licking up rainwater. His wide rodent-like muzzle stayed open to the air, the drink filling some of the ache in his belly, giving him a renewed vigour that would not last long. One step followed the next, as the critter continued his foraging, sensitive nose trying to pick up any sort of scent against the washing rain.

The thick trees gave way to a clearing, and beyond that sparse forest. Tracks were visible on a small trail, smelling unfamiliar to the vulnerable possum. Rather than solid houses, tents began here, small but rapidly getting larger. The distance held a faint view of towns, mountains, quite a close castle with its tall spires and splendid colours; brightly decorated, strangely unnatural. An odd scent became more prevalent, reminding him not at all like the villages where he normally found his food.

Though the possum didn't know it, he had stumbled upon the very edge of the land of Fairytales. Creatures far from human had walled this trail; elves and half-humans, animals that could talk. And, so too those humans of the land; heroes and villains, kings and their courts. The air itself seemed quite different, but it wasn't enough to turn the marsupial away. There was food here, he just knew it.

The odd scent grew deeper, and more ripe, and the lucky possum practically stumbled into a hole with the rich stink of fruit and sugar. Drastic paws dug at the wet soil, revealing a bigger cache underneath. It seemed like a primitive rubbish heap, buried to mask the scent from the thin tents of the little town. And, his nose grew full of the smell of food, driving the poor creature onwards in excited glee.
Eagerly into the hole he clambered, his ravenous jaws chewing the remains of strawberries and grapes and apples. Much of the food was past its best, covering his tongue in a sensation of sweet, sour, and bitterness. At this point he didn't care, the possum was filling his belly; paws scrabbled messily and needily at the treasure trove as he dug himself deeper into it, chewing and gasping air, burrowing further down into the smelly pile.

A point came when he felt full, his stomach distended and his face so messy. At least at the top of the pile the food still had the right shape, while under the surface anaerobic processes had begun to render fruit into formless mulch. That moment of clarity was lost as his stomach rumbled viciously, feral eyes narrowing as the strangest of urges took hold of him from inside.
Magic was in the air, each one of these fruits the enchanted byproduct of some fantastic tale. Whether one bite of that apple, or one of those many cherries, the magic of folklore was extremely wasteful! And who'd want to eat such a fruit after it had worked its charms? Nobody, so it was thrown away and left to rot. Left for an unsuspecting possum to feed his starving little body, waking up the old magic that lay dormant here. Mouth wide open, the deeply addicted creature continued to feed his need - driving his head forwards into the rubbishy fruit, licking and swallowing and taking it in.

His belly bulged with all he had eaten, and his arms felt heavy and fat. Though he was full, the eager marsupial began to grow larger all over, steadily seeking to the size of a large wolf, ravenous and capable of devouring even more. Pudgy and warm, his fur grew thicker and coarser, his greed grew deeper, and the fruit began to blur together inside and all around him. Mush and rot, spores and mould and spoiled magic; these all served to bloat him out and fill him up. Suddenly, his nose struck the bottom of the hole quite roughly, disrupting his feeding frenzy; the hypnotic spell broke at that moment, and the tubby creature sprawled on his back, all dazed and confused.

He had eaten his way through to the bottom, with layers of smelly refuse on either side of him, trailing a path back up towards the rainy sky above. Water droplets beginning to dribble into the hole, wetting his fur and making him shiver. Moments passed slowly as his stomach began to roil, the possum's body trying to reject the fruity poison that he had gorged on. Instinct made him struggle to his plumped paws, trying to scrabble his way out of the little pit. It was not to be, as his bulky frame caused the rotten muck to give way, plunging him head first into the smelly stuff as it tumbled down on top of him.

That old, forgotten magic was alive in there as well. No longer a part of complex enchantments, it lingered in the rubbish pile as raw energy that seeped into the fat critter from every direction. His mouth and nose was filled with mulch that acted almost like it was living goo; clinging onto him desperately, flooding inside his head, sinking into his rear. That sharp fruity taste bit at his tongue, as all that squidgy mess began to bloat and grow him even more. His senses were on fire, as the rot and decay started to spread over him from the rich refuse he was buried in. Paws, body and tail, all bulged and barely contained the invasive mess.

The possum's fur was taken first, and it began to sprout mould. Struggling paws began to blister and boil, their claws turning a rotten orange as the helpless possum thrashed about. Mutated, transfigured by the putrid concoction, his ears thinned to green leaves as one of his eyes developed the troubling texture and color of a single strawberry. Colourful mould failed to leave his fur alone, those greys becoming mixed with wretched greens and browns. Rotten fruit took over the hungry possum, fusing and growing with him, digging it's way into his flesh and not letting go.

From the size of a wolf, the giant possum continued to gain size. He winged and panted heavily as his bones grew, his muzzle becoming long and thick, paws stretching wider. That pink tail, messy with spores, it stretched and slunk behind him. Heavy and tubby with rot, those leafy ears popped above the surface of the mulch as powerful carroty claws dug their way free. Soon he reached the size of a human, but still it didn't stop! Pushed up against the side of the hole, the pit getting ever smaller by the second, he yelped and jostled against the surrounding soil. Apprehension, panic, uncertainty; whatever was happening to him? What was he supposed to do now?

Those were his first sapient thoughts, sneakily coming to mind during his changes. With all that warmth and magic and fruit running through his head and body, he had ascended as well. Feral instinct raced through his thoughts, but around it was good solid reasoning; he hadn't had to dig far down to get here, so he'd be easily able to force his way out. As he lifted up to do so, his stomach gave a loud and next rumble. No way could he still be hungry after all that! Yet, as his eyes looked around the dim pit, he saw that some of the mighty cache of food still remained. Large, feral paws grabbed two handfuls of rotten fruit, before that wide and monstrous jaw swallowed it all.

And so he fed more, willingly, eagerly shoveling up what remained and chomping it down. He'd finish the whole thing yet, his mind turning concepts he didn't yet have the vocabulary for. It felt like a gift, a strange present left here just for him. The possum's thoughts became more complex, more vivid and detailed. As he ate, the corruption continued to change him so completely. His tail grew bumps and sprouted into a bunch of grapes, while the intense colour and flavour stained his lips green and bleached his tongue. Over all this he grew even more, past seven feet tall, then past eight.

The monstrous possum found himself licking the rubbish pit clean while he crept past nine feet high, and when he stood up tall the room simply caved in around him. It was empty of fruit, that great pile fully consumed by the creature that now clambered back out onto the wet grass. Before today he'd not really been able to think past the next meal, but now it felt natural to look around him and see much more than he had ever done before. His tongue rasped over his fur as he licked himself clean, enjoying how refreshing the rain was. Puddles had begun to form around him, giving him a way to see his reflection for the first time, looking at just how twisted a creature he'd now become.

At least he wasn't hungry any more?