Chapter 5 - Mommy Selena

The silence that lingered in the room after the door closed was more than the absence of sound—it was a crushing, suffocating thing. The kind that sank deep into the chest and pooled there like ice water, cold and still. Elara lay motionless on her back, her limbs heavy with humiliation, her thoughts spinning too fast to catch. She stared upward, watching the enchanted mobile turn slowly above her, the little plush dragons exhaling sparkling puffs of harmless smoke as they spun in lazy orbits. For a few brief minutes, neither girl moved. No words. Just the slow, shared understanding settling between them like a thick fog.

And then—a sound.

Soft at first. Barely more than breath. A wet hiccup, sharp and raw and involuntary.

Elara blinked. Rolled slightly to one side. She heard it again—whimpering, fragile and fractured, coming from the crib opposite hers.

She sat up on her knees, the diaper beneath her crinkling softly with the motion, and gripped the bars for balance. The glow stones embedded in the walls painted the room in gentle amber, and she could just make out the curve of Quinn’s shoulders. Her back turned, her body shaking in small, stuttering spasms.

“Quinn?” Elara whispered gently. “Are you okay?”

There was a pause. Then Quinn spun halfway around, just enough for her voice to carry back across the room.

“What do you think?!” she snapped, the words bursting out like steam from a cracked valve. Her voice wavered, thick and brittle, choking on held-back sobs. “I just got stripped, spanked, diapered, and stuck in a crib like a fucking baby! How do you think I’m doing?”

Elara recoiled slightly—not from the anger, but from the hurt behind it. It was a dagger of pain disguised as a shout. And Elara felt it. She wanted to throw it back and remind Quinn that the same thing had happened to her. That she’d been humiliated first, paraded like an example, her dignity peeled away in front of the entire Ruby House. But she didn’t. She swallowed the retort, forced the sharp breath back into her lungs, and sat back against her bars, closing her eyes just long enough to gather herself.

“I know,” she said finally, her voice lower now, soothing. “I know. Believe me. It’s not just you.”

There was silence. A fragile one, not quite healing, but less sharp.

Elara continued, trying to find something—anything—to make it make sense. “Maybe… maybe it’s some kind of hazing ritual, like we said,” she offered, though even as she said it, the words tasted hollow. “Like… like a really sick one. They’ve got magic for everything, right? Maybe it’s all some twisted initiation test. Like—like the worse you fight it, the longer it lasts.”

There was a sniffle from Quinn’s crib. “A hazing ritual,” she repeated, flatly.

Elara nodded, more to herself than anyone. “Yeah. I mean… maybe. It’d explain why no one warned us, why everything is so strict. The diapers, the rules, the… the cribs…”

“And in this hazing,” Quinn said, voice suddenly sharp again, “are we supposed to be locked up in enchanted cribs and forced to piss ourselves like actual babies?”

Elara grimaced; there was no right answer to that.

“Hell if I know,” she muttered, gripping the crib rails and hauling herself up with a grunt. Her knees found the mattress, and she pressed her palms against the side rail. She climbed higher, her body wobbling slightly with the uneven bulk between her legs, until her eyes cleared the top of the rail—

And then it hit her.

A sudden wave of pressure, not forceful, but resistant. A sensation like warm fabric stretched across the air, buzzing softly, meeting the top of her head with a shimmer of invisible heat. It wasn’t pain. But it pushed, a pulsing, repelling barrier that caressed her skin like silk laced with electricity.

And shoved her back.

“Ah—!” Elara yelped in surprise as the invisible force rebounded, slamming her backward onto her padded bottom with a muffled plop. Her hands scrabbled at the rail, but her balance was already gone, and she landed squarely in the center of the crib, legs splayed by her thick diaper.

She blinked, stunned. Then slowly, her hand crept up to her forehead, as if expecting to find a mark. There was none, just the lingering sensation of magic brushing her skin.

She blinked, stunned, the phantom touch of the magic still tingling across her head like static left behind from a vanished storm. Her breath came in shallow pulses, and her hand crept upward on reflex, fingertips brushing against skin that felt no different than before. No welt, no mark—just the heavy weight of enchantment, invisible but utterly impenetrable.

Across the room, Quinn let out a sound—a breathy, choked laugh that broke halfway between bitter disbelief and something near hysterical. “Wonderful! Just wonderful!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling as much from the earlier sobs as from this new wave of frustration. “Not only do we have to wear these ridiculous outfits, but now we’re stuck in padded prison cells too?”

Elara didn’t respond at first. The fall had jostled more than just her pride. Something deep in her gut had shifted—an uncomfortable fullness that suddenly took center stage now that her adrenaline had cooled. Or maybe it was the warmth of the nursery, the exhaustion from the day, or the strained tension in her body from fighting so long and so hard—but now, unmistakably, she felt it. The fullness in her bladder. Low and persistent, a dull throb pulsing behind her navel like a drumbeat she couldn’t unhear. The kind of pressure that once would have simply meant excusing herself to the restroom, forgetting it minutes later. But now? Now it was different, now it was a problem.

She winced, shifting her hips, trying to ignore the soft, traitorous crinkle of the diaper around her waist as it bunched and pressed against her. The sound alone made her flush again. The padding didn’t help her situation—it amplified it. Everything it touched reminded her of what she was wearing and what she wasn’t allowed to do. She tried to will the sensation away, to rewind the clock and pretend it wasn’t real mentally.

“This has to be a joke,” she murmured, more to herself than Quinn, her voice barely loud enough to carry across the space between cribs. “A prank. A test. Something. They can’t actually expect—”

“Clearly they expect something,” Quinn snapped, her voice raw from crying but laced with bitter sarcasm. “Have you even tried the zipper?”

Elara blinked. “The… zipper?”

Quinn let out a hollow laugh, one that cracked and folded into a cough halfway through. “Yeah. Back of the onesie. Go on, try it. I did. That’s how I found out how locked in we really are.”

Elara’s heart skipped as she processed that. Her hand flew to her back, searching with awkward, frantic fingers until she felt the metal pull at the base of her neck. She grasped it, relief swelling briefly in her chest. Of course. There had to be a way out. This was a school, not a prison.

She tugged.

Nothing.

Her brows drew together as she pulled again, harder. The zipper didn’t move. Not even a millimeter. She twisted in place, grunting as she tried to arch her arm farther behind her back, pressing her other hand against the opposite shoulder to gain leverage. Still nothing. No give. No resistance. Just the sickening stillness of a zipper that might as well have been painted on. Her fingers scrambled around it, feeling for a button, a seam, an enchantment node—something.

“Quinn!” she hissed, panic rising. “It’s stuck! It won’t move!”

There was silence for a beat.

Then Quinn snorted, though it was a sound marred by the soft, hiccuping sobs still racking her frame. “Yeah. Mine too. Either both of ours are ‘stuck’… or we’re locked in.”

Elara sat back hard against the bars, her breath catching in her throat. The zipper still gripped in her hand felt like a lie. A decoy. It hadn’t jammed. It had never been meant to open, at least, not by her. And now the truth of it rolled over her like ice water—slow and suffocating.

They weren’t just wearing these onesies; they were sealed in them.

And then the door creaked open.

Selena stepped inside with the same calm grace she had carried before, her boots silent on the padded floor. She crossed the space in three strides and crouched beside Elara’s crib, her amber eyes warm, her expression maddeningly soft—as if nothing about this moment was cruel, as if she hadn’t orchestrated every detail.

“How are you doing, baby girl?” she asked gently, with the tone one might use to greet a sleepy toddler.

Elara stiffened. The words pierced deeper than any spell. Baby girl. Her fists clenched around the rails, and her jaw locked tight against the flash of anger that surged up her spine. How was she doing? After being stripped of her dignity, spanked, locked into a onesie like a doll, and thrown in a crib she couldn’t even climb out of?

How did Selena think she was doing?

She held the words in her mouth like poison, afraid of what more might follow if she spat them out.

Selena’s hand reached through the bars with practiced familiarity and ruffled Elara’s hair, fingers trailing gently through the strands in a gesture far too intimate to be comforting. “I noticed you tried to get out,” she said, her voice rich with amusement. “That’s why I wanted to check on you before bed. I know this is a lot… but I promise, in a year’s time, you’ll come to love it.”

Elara let out a short snort, her cheeks already burning with contained frustration. “I very much doubt that.”

Selena smiled wider, her eyes glinting like candlelight catching on a polished blade. “Maybe. We’ll see.” Then her expression turned softer—still manipulative, but coaxing now.

Elara’s pride tensed, instinct kicking back in with renewed strength. “Can I please be let out to use the bathroom?” she asked, evenly. Calmly. Like a person.

But Selena only tilted her head. “Mmm… that doesn’t sound like a baby asking.”

Elara’s brow twitched. “Seriously?”

The CG’s smile didn’t falter. “Maybe try again.”

Elara exhaled sharply through her nose. Her legs pressed together, her bladder not quite in crisis, but marching steadily in that direction. “Can I please use the... potty?” she asked, the last word trailing off like it was covered in thorns.

Selena beamed. “Closer, who are you asking?”

Elara’s hands gripped the rail, knuckles white, her eyebrow lifting in confusion.

Selena’s eyes sparkled. “Well, are you asking Quinn? Or are you asking Mommy?”

The silence in the room stretched taut like a rope. Elara’s eyes widened slightly, her mind catching up a second too late.

“Mommy?” she echoed, incredulous.

But Selena only raised one perfect brow. The moment waited, suspended like a final, inevitable drop.

Elara stared at her, then at the floor, then at her hands, gripping the soft rails of her magical prison. She closed her eyes and swallowed her pride—and with it, what remained of her old self.

“Mommy…” she whispered, the word like acid in her mouth. “May I use the potty, please?”

Selena’s smile didn’t change. But her tone shifted, bright and cheerful, mocking.

“No.”

The word landed like a judge’s gavel.

And Elara felt something inside her snap—not loudly, not violently—but with a quiet, devastating finality.

Elara stared, mouth parted in disbelief, her breath held hostage behind clenched teeth. She hadn’t meant to react—hadn’t meant to give Selena the satisfaction of seeing her flinch—but the word lodged in her ears like needles. No. The word echoed, hollow and surreal, as if reality itself had fractured around its shape. Across from her crib, Selena—Mommy—stood smiling with impossible patience, the kind of smile one might offer a toddler learning how to walk or pronounce a difficult word.

Elara’s mind spiraled, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be. No one would actually expect this. Not really. The diaper, the crib, the rules. They were humiliating, yes, but this? This was something else. This was asking her to submit, truly and utterly, in the most personal and degrading way imaginable.

She blinked. Her lips moved, dry and soundless at first, until she finally managed to whisper, “You… can’t be serious?”

Selena’s response was maddeningly casual. “I can leave you to it in that case,” she said, rising with grace, brushing lint from her skirt. She turned, taking a single step toward the door with no hurry, no threat—just the slow, inevitable glide of someone who knew she would get her way.

“No!” Elara shouted, her voice cracking in desperation. She scrambled forward on her knees, the thick diaper between her legs bunching awkwardly as she gripped the rails of the crib with trembling hands. “Wait! Please, please don’t go!”

Selena paused, one hand settling on her hip, the other resting lightly on the doorframe. She turned her head just enough to glance back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. And then she watched. Not with pity, not even amusement—but expectation.

Elara wilted under that gaze. The pressure in her bladder throbbed now, each second a reminder that her time was running out. Panic bloomed behind her ribs, clawing at her chest like a trapped animal. She couldn’t hold it much longer. And worse—she couldn’t bear the idea of doing it while Selena stood there, watching. Her pride warred with her body, tearing her apart by the seams. Every moment stretched out like a thread unraveling.

And then it snapped.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

And let go.

The release was slow at first, almost imperceptible—just a trickle of warmth against her skin, absorbed instantly into the thirsty padding. But then her muscles fully surrendered, and with it came a flood of heat, spreading through the diaper with a sickening, squishy weight. Elara whimpered softly, her whole body going rigid, cheeks blazing with fresh humiliation as the act completed itself without dignity, without grace—just the soft hiss of defeat and the faint, crinkling rustle as her onesie stretched around the now-bulging padding.

Selena said nothing.

Elara opened her eyes slowly, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the woman still standing there, hand on her hip, eyebrows raised in satisfaction. Tears welled at the corners of Elara’s eyes, unbidden and hot. Her voice cracked as she choked out, “Mommy… may I please have a diaper change?”

Selena’s grin turned razor-sharp.

“No,” she said sweetly, almost singing the word. “Babies don’t ask for diaper changes.”

Elara’s mouth trembled.

“And babies,” Selena added, her tone softening with mock affection, “need to get used to the feeling of their soiled diapers. It’s part of your adjustment. You’ll thank me someday.”

Then, without another word, she stepped out into the hallway, and the door began to close.

“Goodnight, baby girl,” Selena whispered.

The lights dimmed with a soft pulse of magic.

Click.

The door shut.

Darkness swelled like a tide, and Elara was left alone in her crib, the thick, sodden diaper pressing against her with every shallow breath. Her tears slipped free in silence, falling into the lavender fabric of her onesie, unnoticed by the soft, enchanted dragons circling overhead.