Smish closed the door behind Wahida.  The hut stank.  It smelled of unwashed body odor and dead animal.  Wahida had to wonder how much of the furs he was wearing, if any, had been properly cured.  But it was comfortably warm in the hut.   Smish moved over to the fire place and with large hands, spooned a bowl full of soup from a pot into a bowl for her.  Adding a wooden spoon he handed it to her before returning to his own seat to finish eating.  As he tucked back into his food his eyes glazed back over, it was almost as if he'd forgotten that she was there.<br/><br/>Wahida looked around again.  She was a princess gods damn it.  She'd been raised wearing only the finest silks and eating only the most expensive and perfectly prepared foods.   She'd once thrown a bowl of sauteed duck livers in a rose petal bath of creams and liquour into the face of a serving maid simply because she felt that there weren't enough rose petals.  But here she was, belly distended, nipples leaking milk, cunny dripping fluids, holding a crudely carved wooden bowl with a greasy disgusting smelling peasant stew.   Her beautiful face had changed, bleached to a white color and with tiny horns protruding from it.  She didn't know if her taut, young, perfect body would ever snap back now that her stomach was distended with imp spawn, and she'd have to learn how to sit with the new tail that grew above her ass cheeks and hung down to her thighs.<br/><br/>How had this all happened?  How had the once powerful and feared and pampered princess wahida come to this place, standing in a reeking peasant hut holding a crude bowl of disgusting smelling food, while being ignored by a half giant?