Toshiful

Tom woke up in his castle, groggy and buried in his sheets. He must have pulled the covers over him while he slept. Far over him, so much that he had to pull and scrabble just to get out of them, and they seemed to go on forever, and his limbs felt short- oh no. Not again. He scrambled up from his bed with very real panic this time, patting himself down. Soft, long feet. Stubby body. And thinking? He was still thinking, thank the Sun for that. He held his breath, closed his his eyes, concentrated. Hoped there was still a chance he would fit into most of the contents of his closet. Not so. Not the case. And what was he wearing, anyway? A tabard? Well, it wasn't so bad. Black and white were timeless. Tabards, though, he felt had their time and that time had come and gone. Still, though, there was an old and creeping panic that it was all going to be gone again. His memory most of all. "Fred!" he called, going to find his brother. "Fred!" He was even smaller than normal. And his tail