TF/Petrification commission for  RadioRaveRiot!

While touring a plushie factory Nystre gets transformed into a substitute doll and coated in solid gold...

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The Golden Substitute
By: Indi

A factory wasn’t exactly the safest place for someone to wander away from a tour, but curiosity always did seem to get the better of Nystre. The jamcat had found it surprisingly easy to slip away from the group, the guide distracted rambling off facts and security seemingly nonexistent. And staff for that matter. Nystre couldn’t remember the last time it’d seen anyone else in the halls or near machinery.
Rather than be suspicious Nystre merely considered itself extremely lucky.

Pushing through a pair of double doors, Nystre found itself in the middle of all the action. Substitute doll plushies—just like from the Pokemon games—were traveling down conveyor belts and dropping into bins. They came in many sizes, from keychains to bean bag chairs, and every one looked adorable.

Nystre hurried over to the nearest bin, the jamcat’s body sloshing the whole way. It picked one of the finished dolls up and looked at it with glee. The doll was even softer than Nystre had expected. It held it up before giving it a big hug. Unfortunately in its enthusiasm, Nystre’s embrace was a bit too tight.

The threads of the seam along the doll’s belly creaked and tore, a puff of white stuffing jutting free.

“Oh...oh no.” Nystre looked upon the damage it had caused with guilt. It was sure a needle and thread could fix the doll, but of course it didn’t have such things on it then. It’d just have to toss the doll back in the bin and hope no one realized it was to blame. The perfect crime.

Suddenly the white dimples on the doll’s cheeks glowed, startling Nystre into dropping it. A strange wave of dizziness hit the jamcat as it stumbled back. Unnoticed was the fact its paws were steadily beginning to change color, from purple to a pale green—just like the doll.

“It’s just your imagination, it’s just your imagination,” Nystre repeated to itself, turning greener by the second. “Or maybe a built-in light, nothing to be spooked by.”

The jamcat’s confidence was restored for just a moment before its legs gave out. It fell right onto its butt, meowing as it wobbled on impact. When it tried to move it discovered its legs and arms felt like jelly—even moreso than usual. Only then did it realize it had turned green and white.

“What’s...what’s happen...happe—mmmph!” Nystre had struggled to open its mouth to talk, until finally it shut tight and refused to budge at all. It was like its lips had been glued together.

Slowly the last swathes of purple and blue were wiped away from Nystre’s body. The colors and markings of a substitute doll had replaced it. Moving was still impossible, Nystre barely able to manage a weak wobble. Its body shuddered, then began to warp all over.

Arms and legs were shrinking, becoming stiff as they steadily shifted to resemble stumps. The curves of its thighs and paws were smoothed away. Pawpads faded, along with joints. Poor Nystre could only watch it happen.

Nystre’s large, bulbous tail was deflating like a balloon. It dwindled, almost to nothing, becoming small and pointy, lizard-like.

As the dramatic transformation continued, the very makeup of the jamcat’s body changed. Nystre lost it’s natural wobble, growing stiffer and stiffer. The softness of its hide was replaced by the texture of fabric, no longer shining. Within, jam was turning to plush stuffing, lightening Nystre further. Seams were appearing all over. There was no longer any doubt it was transforming into a substitute doll, a replacement for the one it’d so callously damaged.

Nystre suffered from intense wooziness as it changed, but it was still fully aware of what was happening, how helpless it was. Long ears seemed to retract until they were small cones. Its head was practically being molded. Stretched forwards, widened, squished down. Nose vanished completely, mouth turned into a thin line that formed a faint grin, just stitching. It had the vaguest resemblance to a frog, no longer recognizable in any shape or form as a feline.

Its whole middle puffed up like a marshmallow, eventually giving Nystre the impression of being a modest belly with paws and a head. The transformation was almost complete by then, but there was still one thing left to remove. Nystre’s eyes slowly closed, now simply sewn-on arches.

Sitting motionless on the ground, Nystre was indistinguishable from all the other substitute dolls in the factory. No seams were out of place, its expression was no different, the colors of the fabric matched perfectly. The only one who could possibly tell the doll was Nystre was...Nystre.

Trapped, Nystre silently convinced itself someone would realize it was missing, would find the dropped doll and know just who it had been. No, who it was! It was temporary, a funny story it could tell friends later, not permanent! Surely it wouldn’t be permanent?

Up above, a crane groaned to life, moving towards Nystre. It lowered, claw closing gently around the doll. Nystre felt itself being grabbed, being lifted up. The journey was brief, Nystre deposited at the beginning of a long conveyor belt. Of course with its eyes closed Nystre had no way of knowing where it was.

Machinery turned on and the conveyor lurched before starting up. After a few feet it stopped. A hose with a pointed, funnel-like tip appeared and pressed into the seam that was now Nystre’s “mouth”. Fresh stuffing was pumped through the hose and into Nystre at a steady pace. Nystre could feel itself swelling, something akin to pressure building as the doll grew rounder. Seams were starting to creak, threads pulled taut.

Getting stuffed rattled Nystre’s mind and wrecked its concentration. It forgot where it was for a minute, what it’d done recently, what it did at all. It could remember sitting and getting stitched and sitting some more. Yet it knew there should be more!

Inevitably seams on Nystre’s belly and a leg tore, leaving white fluff exposed. The hose retreated, and Nystre recovered some memories—but only some.

The conveyor moved again, and when it stopped an automated needle patched up the ripped seams with care, making Nystre look just as good as new—just in time for another round of stuffing. Nystre wanted to wiggle free, but as a doll it couldn’t move even an inch. Its thoughts became fuzzy as it plumped up. The creaking seams weren’t met with the same level of fear this time. Instead there was a hint of anticipation, the feeling that it was a good thing, that if it was being stuffed so much it was practically bursting then progress was being made.

Stuffed, ripped, mended. Stuffed, ripped, mended. Over and over again the process repeated, enlarging Nystre until it was the fattest little substitute doll in the whole factory. It was so round it could’ve rolled right down the conveyor belt if nudged, too wide to wrap one’s arms around. There was some squish to it, but seams still would’ve creaked if hugged tight.

Nystre’s thoughts of self had been shredded along with its old seams, simplified to resemble its outward appearance. Its conscious was dulled, but it didn’t need anything more. It’d always been in the factory, just another doll produced on the assembly line. The forced grin became genuine.

But the factory wasn’t done with the new doll yet. Further down the conveyor belt a series of nozzles sprayed it with layer upon layer of liquid gold. Rather than soak into the doll’s fabric, it hardened to form a shell. No spot was left untouched, the plushie turned into a statue. The round substitute shone beautifully in the lights of the factory, polished like a mirror.

Just as the golden substitute doll had finished drying, the tour group Nystre had once been a part of walked by.

“Oh, it appears you’re all in for a treat today!” the guide said as they spotted the doll. “On very special occasions the factory produces a golden version of the popular substitute dolls. They’re some of the largest models we have—as you can clearly see—and truly spectacular. A doll like this one will likely become a show piece, perhaps used to brighten up a lobby somewhere.”

“I’ve never seen one of those before!”

“Is it expensive?”

“Just how rare are they?”

The guide waited for the questions to die down. “Oh they’re very rare. Practically custom-made. Even I wasn’t aware we’d be graced by a new one today.” They chuckled, realizing a certain jamcat had gone missing. It’d been warned plenty of times about the dangers of wandering away, and signed a waver saying as much. Then again, it was quite an honor to become a golden substitute doll. It’d inspire smiles and awe in so many people, and always be the center of attention. And all it lost was its old identity.

While the doll couldn’t read the guide’s thoughts, it agreed with them wholeheartedly. It was special! It was rare! It would be the best and shiniest golden doll ever! Or at least just as good and shiny as all the other ones like it. Down the conveyor belt it went, destined for storage until a buyer could be found, just another product at the factory.