(Don’t worry about it.) Nicole told herself, repeating the words in her head like a prayer. (Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about it.)

She worried anyways, because no amount of silent hope could ease her anxiety.

It was her first day back to work since her lisp had developed. She had to be careful about every word she spoke–ensuring she said the right words, focusing on how to pronounce them. Speech had become a chore, but she didn’t operate phones, and she didn’t have any meetings coming up. She could do most of her job without talking, she’d just have to power through the few bits of conversation that were unavoidable.

What worried her more was the doodle on the potty training chart she’d seen that morning. Storm clouds for day and night, of course; she’d lost all hope of making it to the potty, at least until they could get this curse resolved. No, the new fear came from the sketch, which still managed to perfectly replicate Vanessa’s art style, and showed Nicole sweating in distress in front of a toilet.

Nicole didn’t totally get it, but she hadn’t had much time to puzzle it out, either–there was just enough time to strip out of her soggy bedtime diaper and get work clothes on before rushing out the door.

Not knowing was worse than anything. She could guess, but her guesses hadn’t been consistent so far–would the toilet attack her? Could it just be the final nail in the coffin for her potty training, an indication that she’d never make it again?

Or was it something far, far worse, something she couldn’t even think of?

She got off the bus and waddled into work. This part, she could do–her business-casual dress hid the puffy diaper that’d replaced her panties, her purse had three fresh diapers and plenty of wipes stashed inside, and a few polite ‘Hello’s were all it took to get to her desk and start working.

To any casual observer, they’d think nothing was wrong. She could still pass for an adult, if–

(No, I am an adult. I can still pass for someone who’s not cursed.) Nicole took the time to mentally correct herself, to ensure she didn’t slip into thinking of herself as a baby.

She managed to be stealthy thus far, and there was no reason that couldn’t continue. Nobody at the office had to know that her last successful attempt to use the toilet had been days ago.

Nicole got through the early morning hours smoothly. Conversations, when they couldn’t be avoided, were bypassed with lots of nodding, and when she did need to speak, she hid her pauses and concentration by clearing her throat or finding other ways to disguise the lapses. Big words were getting harder–she still held all her technical knowledge in her head, but explaining it verbally took more thought, or the use of synonyms rather than proper words.

But–with effort–she did it. She passed herself off as unscathed, as potty trained, as an adult capable of operating in society.

At least, until just before lunch. She felt the pressure just moments before it happened, and glanced around surreptitiously–nobody was looking at her, thankfully. She still blushed, feeling herself push muck into the seat of her diaper, a tidal wave Nicole was helpless to stop.

Saving her work, she got to her feet, glancing around. She’d just need to get changed before anyone noticed the smell–no big deal.

Waddling across the office floor, she stepped into the women’s room, and–

(Oh god, no, no–)

Sitting next to the normal trash bin, under the sink, was a sturdy table covered in waterproof plastic, plus a new bin with a secure lid. Over it, a handwritten paper sign had been taped to the wall.

‘Please dispose of all incontinence products in the sealed bin - thanks, Management’

They knew.

Everyone knew.

Her heart dropped into her stomach, realizing that all her efforts of stealth had gone to waste. Everyone in the office–at least, everyone with access to the women’s room–had pieced it together, to the point that they’d installed a pail and a changing table in the bathroom just for her dirty diapers.

“Maybe–” she said aloud, shaking her head. “Maybe it’s from the chart. Like, it changed my room, why couldn’t it change this room too? That’s it–nobody knows, it just appeared here from magic.”

Staring at the… she had to call it what it was, the diaper pail, Nicole didn’t know if she believed her own excuse or not.

She just had to hope, and in the meantime, she had a dirty diaper to change. And she flatly refused to use a changing table, not when any of her coworkers could walk in at any moment. She would use a stall, where she had privacy.

Walking to the nearest stall, she pushed open the door and–her heart rate spiked and she stumbled back, squeaking out a terrified, “Shit!”

The stall was the same as it’d always been, just a porcelain toilet and a roll of toilet paper on the side, but the sight of it sent a shock of paranoia through her. Inching towards the piece of bathroom furniture, she could just imagine it attacking her–a monster coming up from the pipes, or just dragging her down into the water.

She stared for a moment, then slammed the stall door closed. She just couldn’t trap herself in a confined space with that…

Thing.

She tried the other stall, but her reaction was the same–she just couldn’t stand the thought of being near a–toilet–for more than a second.

Which meant…

Sucking up her anxiety, she hopped up onto the changing table. There weren’t that many people in the office; as long as she was quick, she wouldn’t be caught. Balling up her old diaper and sliding it away, she attacked the muck on her thighs liberally with wipes, got clean, and pulled on a fresh diaper, slapping down the tapes and yanking up her pants.

As she dropped to the floor and reached to pick up her diaper, though, she heard the door handle click. In a rush, she threw open the pail and tossed her diaper in, releasing the yucky garment just before her coworker walked inside.

They made awkward eye contact for a moment, and she prayed that they hadn’t seen what she’d just been throwing away. The bathroom certainly smelled pretty bad, but hopefully they’d chalk that up to just normal bathroom activity.

“Um–” Nicole said, stepping aside to the sink to get out of their way. “Go ahead.” She had to catch herself before issuing a meaningless warning: ‘Watch out, there’s a toilet in there.’