Ivy stood before the three doors, her mind racing. Each one promised something different — something degrading, something designed to strip away another layer of her dignity. The feeding station was out; she had already been fed. The cradle? She’d been forced to sleep under Mistress’s watch, too. Which left…

The circus.

Ivy swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the doorknob. The circus room felt like the worst choice, but she couldn’t ignore the signs. Mistress didn’t seem to repeat the same task twice in a row — no need to endure another bottle or drugged slumber if she didn’t have to. Her logic was thin, fragile — built on desperate hope rather than certainty — but she clung to it.

Better to face something new, she told herself.

Taking a breath, she twisted the handle and stepped inside.

The room greeted her with a burst of color—garish reds and yellows, swirling spirals painted across the walls, and cartoonish clowns with wide grins plastered across posters, their oversized eyes seeming to follow her. Bright spotlights illuminated the room’s twisted stage, where humiliating contraptions waited—the ring toss game, the too-narrow balance beam, the mechanical pony—all of which formed a cruel mockery of a carnival.

The scent of popcorn lingered in the air — warm and buttery — but the underlying sweetness made her stomach churn. It wasn’t comforting; it was suffocating. Fabricated. Like everything here. Mistress’s sick parody of something fun.

Ivy stepped forward cautiously, her damp diaper squishing thickly beneath her. The swollen bulk between her legs forced her to waddle slightly, adding to her already clumsy steps. Her face flushed at the reminder of her earlier humiliation — as if she could forget it.

A sharp clang rang out as a mechanical arm shot down from above. Ivy barely had time to flinch before the claw latched around her wrist and yanked her forward. She stumbled, nearly falling to her knees as the arm dragged her toward the stage.

“Welcome!” a cheery voice rang out, startling her.

Ivy’s gaze shot upward, and her heart plummeted.

A screen flickered to life, suspended high above the stage. The digital face of a smiling clown grinned down at her — cold, artificial eyes wide and gleaming. Its voice crackled with false excitement.

“It’s time to play, little one!” the clown’s voice announced, syrupy and smug. “Step right up and spin the wheel!”

Ivy’s stomach twisted.

Her gaze flicked to the spinning wheel mounted above the stage, each segment glowing with cartoonish words — “Messy Time,” “Baby Dance,” “Pacifier Time,” and worse.

The mechanical arm released her wrist, and she staggered, catching herself against the side of the wheel.

“Go on!” the clown’s voice encouraged. “Don’t be shy!”

Ivy scowled, gripping the wheel’s handle.

Whatever this is, she thought grimly, get it over with.

She spun.

The wheel clattered as it spun, the segments blurring together in a whirl of color. Ivy’s heart pounded as she watched it slow, her fingers twitching as if willing to stop on something — anything — that wouldn’t leave her humiliated and helpless.

The wheel clicked to a stop.

“Baby Dance!”

Ivy blinked.

“Oh, what a wonderful choice!” the clown’s voice boomed. “Let’s get our little dancer ready!”

“Wait—what?” Ivy muttered — but the arms were already descending again.

Before she could react, cold metal gripped her limbs, lifting her off her feet. She twisted and kicked, but the arms held firm, ripping her sodden sleeper off her body. She let out a yelp as she was stripped down to just her swollen diaper, her arms pinned out to the sides as another mechanical arm descended with something new.

A costume.

It was horrifically babyish: a gaudy pink tutu lined with layers of frilly tulle, a matching bow fastened tightly into her hair, and an oversized pair of booties slipped over her feet to complete the outfit. The thick padding inside them forced her steps to wobble as the arms set her back down.

Ivy stumbled, her cheeks blazing as the clown’s voice chimed overhead.

“Oh, she looks precious! Now dance for us, sweetie!”

The spotlight above her flashed. The circus music swelled, a twisted parody of carnival cheer — shrill and chaotic. And as the first notes played, Ivy froze.

The floor beneath her suddenly vibrated. Pads beneath her feet jostled her ankles, forcing her to move — and when she didn’t, the arms grabbed her again, lifting her like a puppet and forcing her limbs into exaggerated motions.

“Dance, baby girl!” the clown’s voice jeered.

Ivy stumbled across the stage, her steps clumsy and exaggerated — arms flailing, her padded bottom bouncing with each ridiculous motion. Her swollen diaper crinkled and squished loudly with every movement, a constant, humiliating reminder of how far she’d been reduced. The tutu’s frills bounced wildly around her waist, and the oversized bow flopped with every step.

Laughter rang out—not real laughter, but a recorded track pumped through the speakers in loud, mocking bursts that seemed to echo through the cavernous room.

Ivy’s chest heaved with anger and frustration as her body was dragged along by the platform’s vibrations and the arms’ persistent tugging. Her limbs flailed awkwardly in a parody of a child’s excited dance, her padded backside wiggling beneath her tutu with every humiliating step.

She felt her face burning, tears threatening to spill as she twisted and stumbled through the forced performance. The music seemed to stretch on for an eternity, dragging her deeper into humiliation.

Finally, mercifully, the music stopped. The floor stilled. The mechanical arms released her. Ivy dropped to her knees, gasping for breath.

“Ohhh!” the clown’s voice giggled overhead. “What a dancer! Give her a big round of applause!”

More artificial laughter filled the air. Ivy clenched her fists, her cheeks still burning as she forced herself upright.

The lights above flickered, and a door on the far side of the room unlocked with an audible click.

Ivy didn’t wait. She forced her aching legs to move, her swollen diaper sagging beneath her tutu as she stumbled toward the exit. She didn’t care how ridiculous she looked.

She was getting out.

Ivy stumbled out of the circus room, her limbs still aching, her chest heaving from the humiliating ordeal. The garish pink tutu clung to her waist, the frilly layers bouncing mockingly with every awkward step. Her oversized bow flopped with each movement, a ridiculous crown to her shame. And her diaper — still swollen and sodden — clung to her like a leaden weight, squishing against her skin and chafing with each step. Yet despite all of that — the tutu, the booties, the bow — she felt an odd sense of relief. At least she wasn’t trapped in that miserable sleeper anymore.

But the victory was short-lived.

Her eyes shot upward as she stumbled into the main room once more. The screen flickered to life — and there it was. Another symbol, glowing bright against the dark background, is a rocking horse.

Ivy’s stomach twisted.

What now? she wondered, her pulse quickening. The last few symbols had all been straightforward — degrading, yes, but predictable. The playpen had been just that. The walker? Obvious. The bottle, the nap, the humiliating “Baby Dance” — all designed to break her down, layer by layer. But this? A rocking horse?

It felt... different.

Unease settled in her chest as she turned toward the remaining doors. She forced herself to check each one, yanking each open in turn. The first room held only the feeding station — the enormous high chair and its looming, mechanical arms waiting like patient vultures. The second room was the cradle that suffocating nest of pillows and the ominous mobile that still made her skin crawl.

The third room…

Ivy stopped cold.

It was almost empty — bare walls, blank floors, no contraptions or mechanical monstrosities waiting to ensnare her. No high chairs or walkers, no oversized pacifiers or feeding machines. At first, the stark emptiness almost seemed like a relief.

But then she saw it.

The teddy bear.

It sat dead center in the room, slumped slightly to one side. Its fur was a faded shade of brown, and its button eyes were dull and glassy. The stitching around its neck was uneven, like someone had tried—and failed—to sew it back together. The stuffing inside also looked uneven, bulging awkwardly in some places and thinning in others.

Its head tilted to the side as if it had been watching her the whole time.

Ivy stared at it for a long moment, her breath slowing. The room's silence was oppressive—no mechanical hums, no distant lullabies drifting through the air—just quiet. The bear sat motionless, waiting.

Her first instinct was to leave. Whatever was happening here, she didn’t want any part of it. But something about the bear — its crooked smile, its tilted head — told her that leaving wouldn’t change anything.

This was the next trial.

Swallowing hard, Ivy took a step inside. The door swung shut behind her with a sharp click.

She flinched, instinctively spinning to check the door, but there was no handle on the inside — just smooth, seamless metal. Of course. No turning back.

Her gaze shifted back to the bear.

It hadn’t moved.

Ivy’s breath slowed as she crept closer. The bear was larger than she’d first realized — easily the size of a small child, its limbs sprawled limply across the floor. As she stepped closer, something about its blank, stitched smile seemed to widen. She knew it was impossible, knew her mind was just playing tricks on her — but still, the illusion made her skin crawl.

She knelt beside it, hesitating.

“What... what am I supposed to do?” she whispered aloud, her voice barely louder than a breath.

The bear stared back at her, unblinking.

Rocking horse, Ivy thought, trying to connect the pieces. What does this have to do with a rocking horse?

Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand on the bear’s fur. It felt soft and unnervingly warm like it had been waiting for her touch. The faint scent of lavender clung to it, mingling with something artificial—a trace of rubber or plastic.

The bear felt... off. Its warmth wasn’t the comforting kind — not like a blanket fresh from the dryer. No, this felt unnatural, like the faint warmth of something artificial — something programmed. And that smell… the lavender scent clung too strongly to the bear’s fur, laced with something faintly chemical, like plastic or rubber, that had been heated just a little too long. The whole thing made her skin crawl.

Still, Ivy held the bear, turning it in her hands, studying it from every angle. There were no buttons, no switches, no wires she could see. It was just... a bear. A plain, floppy, patchy old bear. She glanced around the room, searching for something — anything — that might reveal what she was supposed to do. But the walls were bare, the floor empty. The only thing in the entire space was the bear itself.

She tried shifting it in her arms. Nothing.

She shook it lightly. Still nothing.

Growing frustrated, Ivy gave it an awkward squeeze—not a hug, not really—just enough pressure to see how it would react.

The bear’s glassy eyes flickered.

Ivy yelped and dropped it. The bear landed with a dull thump, its limbs splayed awkwardly. Its expression was as blank and lifeless as before — just an old, worn-out toy.

“What are you?” Ivy whispered, her heart still racing.

The bear didn’t move.

She knelt beside it, eyeing it warily. After a long pause, she reached down and picked it up again. Her fingers twitched slightly against the fur, braced for the thing to come alive — to jerk in her grip or twist in her hands.

But it didn’t.

Nothing.

Ivy exhaled slowly, bracing herself, and this time gave the bear a more deliberate hug — the kind of hug you’d give a child to comfort them, her arms curling tightly around its small body.

The bear’s eyes twinkled.

Ivy froze. The flicker was faint but unmistakable — a soft glimmer like starlight glinting off the glass. She kept holding it, her breath caught in her throat.

Then she heard it — a whisper, soft and faint.

Ivy leaned closer, pressing her ear against the bear’s head.

There’s a voice box, she realized.

She gave the bear another squeeze, and this time, the voice was clearer.

“Play with me…” it whispered. “Like a baby would… Hug me… Cuddle me…”

Ivy pulled back sharply, her mind reeling.

What?

Of all the twisted games Mistress had played, this was what she wanted now. A stuffed bear? Something about this seemed... wrong. Ivy bit her lip, watching the bear’s blank face carefully.

Still, what choice did she have?

Fighting down her nerves, she shifted the bear in her arms again, this time forcing herself to hug it properly. It felt awkward — painfully awkward — but Ivy rocked the bear gently in her arms, murmuring soft nonsense under her breath.

“...Such a good bear…” she muttered awkwardly, shifting it like she was holding a child. “...Mommy’s here…”

A sharp buzz rang out, startling her. The sound of a lock disengaging echoed across the room, and Ivy whipped her head toward the door.

It was open.

She let out a shaky breath, relief washing over her in a wave.

But as she adjusted the bear to set it down, its voice whispered again.

“Keep me close… I’ll help you…”

Ivy froze.

“What?” she whispered aloud.

The bear’s voice didn’t repeat itself, but something about those words lingered. Keep me close… I’ll help you…

The feeling crept in — that gnawing sense that nothing here was random. Mistress didn’t add things to these trials without purpose. She wouldn’t reward her with this bear unless it meant something.

Ivy clutched the bear tightly against her chest, feeling the warmth of its fur seep through her fingers.

“Fine,” she muttered. “You’re coming with me.”

She crossed the room, stepping carefully toward the door. The bear remained limp in her arms, its head flopping lazily against her shoulder. For all its strangeness, it felt... oddly safe somehow, like an anchor in the storm.

Ivy stepped back into the main room, her swollen diaper squishing beneath her with each awkward step. The screen above her remained dark, cold, and blank — an absence that unnerved her more than if it had been glowing. She’d grown to expect Mistress’s constant presence, the screen’s symbols marking her every failure, her every degradation. Now, with nothing to guide her, she felt adrift — like a mouse trapped in a maze, running blind.

Three new doors greeted her.

Ivy frowned, her eyes flicking from one to the next. Each bore a different symbol — garish and exaggerated like some twisted parody of childhood.

The first door had a brightly painted mobile, a swirl of pastel stars, moons, and clouds hanging from a circular frame. Something about the simplicity of the symbol unsettled her. Mobiles were meant to soothe, yet here, they felt like a trap waiting to spring.

The second door bore the symbol of a sippy cup, its cartoonish design marked with splashes of blue liquid spilling from its spout. Ivy wrinkled her nose; anything that resembled feeding in this twisted place would never be simple.

The third door showed an open storybook, the pages drawn with colorful, blocky illustrations. At first, it seemed the least threatening of the three — but Ivy knew better than to trust appearances.

With a sigh, she started to investigate.

The air inside was thick. Ivy could taste the faint scent of lavender, warm and cloying, almost enough to make her head swim. The room was dimly lit, and the walls were painted in soft hues of lilac and pale blue. Suspended from the ceiling were countless mobiles, each one turning in slow, hypnotic circles.

They glowed.

Tiny lights twinkled from their shapes — stars, clouds, and crescent moons flickering softly as they spun. The movement wasn’t random — the mobiles turned in slow, methodical spirals, their patterns deliberate and mesmerizing.

Ivy felt her eyelids grow heavy.

Her mind slowed, the mobile’s lazy turns dragging her thoughts with them, pulling her deeper into a haze. She staggered slightly, the warmth in the air clinging to her skin, lulling her muscles into weakness.

The bear shifted in her arms. Its warmth pressed against her chest, and Ivy gave it a quick squeeze. The whisper was faint but clear: Get out.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Ivy stumbled back, wrenching the door closed behind her and gasping for breath. As she caught her breath, Ivy moved to the next door, her hand trembling as she opened it.

This room felt wrong.

The air inside was still stale and dry, and the walls were painted like a child’s nursery. Cartoonish trees lined the walls, and oversized animals were drawn in smiling pastel colors. In the center of the room, a massive storybook, open and resting on a lectern, sat.

The pages seemed to glow faintly. Ivy stepped closer, the words printed in bold, blocky letters:

“The Little Girl Who Wouldn’t Listen.”

The moment Ivy’s eyes fell on the text, the words moved.

They shifted, swirling as ink dragged through the water. The letters twisted and curled, shifting to new words:

“The Naughty Baby Who Needed Her Diapers.”

“No,” Ivy muttered, taking a step back.

The book’s pages turned on their own.

The smiling animals on the walls moved, their painted eyes flicking toward her. The trees seemed to lean closer, their branches curling like grasping fingers.

“No…” Ivy whispered again.

But, as Ivy turned to leave, she gave the bear a soft hug, and it whispered, “Stay…”

Ivy froze, her breath catching in her throat as the bear’s whisper echoed in her mind.

"Stay…"

Her fingers clenched tighter around the bear’s soft fur, her pulse hammering in her ears. She glanced once more at the twisted murals on the walls — the cartoon animals still staring at her, their painted eyes sharp and unnatural. The trees seemed to lean closer now, their painted branches curling like skeletal fingers poised to snatch her up. Everything about the room radiated wrongness, yet the bear had told her to stay.

Ivy swallowed hard. The bear hadn’t led her astray yet. As much as she hated trusting some stitched-together toy, she knew better than to second-guess what little help she had. Gritting her teeth, she turned back toward the oversized storybook.

The pages had turned again, and this time, the bold, blocky letters read:

"The Naughty Baby Who Needed Her Diapers."

Ivy’s stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat.

The book’s pages began to glow, the illustrations twisting and shifting like ink dragged through water. The cartoon animals peeled themselves from the walls, their painted bodies slithering closer, surrounding her. The trees stretched further still, their branches creaking as they reached toward her.

The voice — smooth and saccharine — whispered from the pages.

"Once upon a time," it cooed, "there was a naughty baby who didn’t want to be in her diapers..."

Ivy felt her body move. Her legs stumbled forward on their own as invisible strings had latched onto her limbs. The bear’s warmth pressed tight against her chest, but even with that, her body ignored her protests.

"She was so fussy," the book continued, its words shimmering as they rearranged themselves across the glowing pages. "She tried to act like a big girl, but naughty babies always end up in their diapers... and they learn to use them."

Ivy’s face burned, her stomach knotting with dread.

"She needed to practice being a proper baby..." the voice purred.

A mechanical clunk sounded behind her. Ivy twisted her head, her heart sinking as a rocking horse rolled forward from the shadows.

It was massive, its wooden body painted in bright reds and yellows like something out of a twisted carnival. The seat was thickly padded with garish pastel cushions, and the stirrups were shaped like oversized booties, padded and secured with tight straps.

Ivy clenched her teeth.

No. No, I’m not doing this.

But she knew better than to believe she had a choice. The painted animals had crept closer, their twisted grins stretching wider. The trees’ branches now reached so low that one brushed against her arm. The air was stifling — sickly sweet like artificial candy — and Ivy knew the only way out was through.

Swallowing hard, she stumbled toward the rocking horse.

The moment she approached, the mechanical arms returned, latching onto her wrists and guiding her upward. Ivy squirmed, but they lifted her effortlessly, depositing her in the padded saddle. The cushioned seat squished beneath her, her thick, swollen diaper compressing with a sickening warmth. The mess inside spread further, pressing uncomfortably against her skin, and Ivy bit her lip to stifle a whimper.

The bear was placed firmly in her lap, its stitched smile seemingly wider than before.

"Good girl," the storybook voice cooed, the illustrations flickering as the words shifted again. "Now rock, baby girl... Rock for Mommy..."

The wooden horse lurched forward. Ivy yelped as the motion caught her off guard, but the arms gripped her tightly, forcing her to hold the bear as she began to rock back and forth. Each motion forced her diaper to squish further, the warm mess spreading and clinging to her like glue. Ivy’s face flamed with humiliation, her cheeks burning as she swayed back and forth, trapped on the horse, clutching the bear like a child.

The wooden base groaned beneath her weight as the rocking intensified, each motion punctuated by a mortifying squelch beneath her. Ivy gritted her teeth, her muscles aching from the constant motion. The bear sat heavy in her lap, its warmth pressing against her as if mocking her with its silent presence.

The storybook voice continued, each word laced with syrupy condescension.

"That’s it... Such a good baby... Rock, rock... Doesn’t that feel better?"

Ivy’s eyes squeezed shut, her face hot with shame. Her stomach twisted with nausea — both from the motion and the lingering discomfort of her diaper pressing against her.

And then, mercifully, she heard it — the sharp buzz of the trial ending.

The rocking horse lurched to a halt. The mechanical arms released her, and Ivy stumbled off the cursed thing, barely keeping her balance as she staggered toward the door. The bear was still clutched tightly in her arms — and Ivy didn’t care. Whatever twisted magic was keeping her sane, whatever influence this bear had, she’d hold onto it as long as she had to.

The door swung open, and Ivy stumbled through it, her limbs trembling from exertion.

She barely registered the scene that greeted her—a massive central room stretching high to the ceiling filled with other contestants. The sight of them made her stomach twist—all of them dressed in various humiliating outfits. Some wore bibs; others sported thick, frilly dresses with puffy bonnets, and a few waddled helplessly in oversized sleepers, their movements stiff and awkward.

Then, a loud chime rang out above her. Ivy jerked her head up to see the screen flicker to life once more. Numbers scrolled across the display, ticking down one by one — and then her number appeared.

Tick.

Her number blinked green.

She had... passed.

Ivy’s breath caught. She had made it. She had beaten the trial.

But as she glanced around the room — her swollen diaper still sagging beneath her ridiculous tutu, her hair still tied with a childish bow — she knew better than to feel victorious.