Dashie had done, and been done. She thought. She couldn't really remember much other than eeee, a few giggles, and a lot of squealing, and somehow getting naked.

That meant she'd probably been allowed to thank Mistress Sun for the chance to be beaten and ravished to every last atom of her being by… giving head the super-awesome-Rainbow-Dash-style way to a pussy that put such pretences of 'style' to shame. For which she gave thanks to Celestia, deep in her mind, right now. Rarity, that lucky bitch, had never been able to describe the sensation, and now Dashie knew why.

A shudder wracked the taut, tossed, and trounced muscles of Dashie's lithe blue body. Eyelids firmly shut and sex swiftly quivering, she tried to respond-- tried, for a moment, to push herself up on her mistress' impermeable thigh.

No doing.

Slumping, Dashie surrendered to the raw aura of dominant mare around her. Her fingers weakly fumbled over her still-clenching sixpack, trying to find her achey sex below. She was too out of it, though. Just thinking about the taste made her tense and sweat and not-quite remember every last reason why she wouldn't be able to come up with sufficient awesomeness to describe how she'd earned this.

Earned the right to see that the weight of Celestia's arousal was far more than a poor little Rainbow Dash could take. To see and to feel, and to cum a lot in the process.

Worth it, whispered the part of her that would always be the Princess of Loyalty.

But no, neither eloquent Rarity nor masterclass-in-amazing Dashie would be able to make more than a few moaned mutters in the direction of description. Even Twilight, for much the same reason, was reduced to increasingly abstract metaphor and simile.

Just as it had to be that Dashie only got a brief exposure to the ultra-dommiest 'in scene' version of Celestia. Celestia reminding you that ten-foot-eight was a meaningless number next to her presence. Her hair backlighting the whole scene. Taut white hide over titanic mega-mare muscles, each individual fiber rippling with the power to crush dragon lords and demon gods alike.

With a teasing wink and a squeezing crab pose, Celestia had shown off for Dashie before they began. With her eyes still refusing to open, the memory was starting to penetrate her brain like her cunt ached to be, by anything her mistress chose-- fist, or even finger… it was hopeless. Thinking about all that beautiful power and plush, chin held high, Dashie knew her performance wouldn't merit that close of her mistress' attention.

She'd have to be content with, you know, more climaxes than Twilight could count, and the memory of that bulging pumping mass of mega-mare!

Tensed, rippling definition pulled from perfect form and flexion and that indomitable will, Celestia's muscles' own might made more than her hair glow. Maybe that's it, Dashie thought. Maybe I can see, but my mind is too full of Mistress..

Each bulging collection of sculpted strength seemed so dense, so buff, that light bent towards every bulging 'cep, to lats, to abs-- to everywhere. And maybe it did. Maybe the light did bow in homage of the horny Sun. Mistress Sun was certainly the gravitic center of Dashie's universe whenever a single bulking bicep (said bicep displacing more mass than Bulk's torso) was put into play.

Let alone the centerpieces, those succulent super-breasts. Dashie had grown up alongside Fluttershy, and so she knew from mega-boob. In that, at least, she had some preparation for just how much even one fist-sized (Celestia's fist-- poor Dashie's wouldn't cut it) nipple all but ordered you to suck on it, just by how glorious the rosy flesh was. Not much; somehow Flutters' double-Zs seemed nearly as flat as the Ds of the Dashie in comparison.

The chance that, if she could just move, just turn, she would be able to stare up at-- to drool beneath the shadow of those heaviest of heavy knockers almost brought Dashie out of her well-beaten fugue. Not quite. She couldn't manage it, so she just thrashed what she'd thought was a hardbody against a quadricep that could have swallowed her and Flutters together.

Some things will quake the soul (and sex) of even hyper-princesses, even in delight. Still, Dashie's tongue tingled in a way that reassured her she had, finally, gotten to adore the Celestial Cunny. The thought distracted her mind and her own still-creaming cunt both. Her rainbow mane fell heavily over her ears as she lost the fight to open her eyes once more.

Luckily for Dashie, the memory flashed through her rainboom-fast, sending into pleasured paroxysms of recollection through her… but not wasting more than maybe fifteen to twenty seconds of her mistress' time. No matter how many eternities it'd felt like recovering.

Mistress Celestia was pleased to indulge some of that. But as her heavy elbow planted between Dashie's weakly fluttering wings and ground in just touching, as the huge domes of forearm-bulge began to creak down over Dashie's back like a falling sequoia… Dashie knew she was in trouble.

Best kind, too.

The sudden flare of pain at the roots of her mane reminded her she had a mistress to pay attention to right now, bitch. The only thing she could think was, Whoops. Thick, impossibly strong fingers were still curling in Dashie's mane. As the grip tightened, more of Celestia's broad forearm bulged against Dashie's back, then abrutply, she was hauled around. The yank was steady, forcing Dashie's head back and to the side so she could see everything in the mirror before her.

Mistress Celestia-- and this was the 'less intense' version of Celestia on a dominatrix rampage-- loomed in all her bulging, curvy, musclebound glory. Dashie blinked in the near-darkness, realizing that her mistress' tit-mountains were completely blocking out the light over her. Dashie was cradled between quadriceps that looked like a mountain range and breasts that looked like Mt. Canterlot from Dashie's positon.

An errant thought spun through Dashie's mind to describe the position. Mistress Celestia was kneeling, slightly. Crouching, Dashie's mind insisted, slapping the first verb away harder than she'd first hit the mat. She just couldn't-- she was utterly unable to think of even everyday Celestia kneeling. Dashie was indeed propped over part of one of the gigazonian giantess's lusciously immense thighs, though her ankles were no longer becoming familiar with her shoulders.

Dashie wondered what else she'd missed when she'd become unbent...

Instead, those long, athletic legs were kicking a bit in the air with her slowly-calming climaxes. Well-- once, she'd bragged about their athletic strength. Now, they just looked like twiggy arms or even fingers next to just the single, tightened sequoia-trunk leg she was suspended on. Her blue toes all the way extended, Dashie couldn't reach the ground from where her mistress held her.

Something odd happened. Dashie was so far down in subspace that words were fighting each other in her brain just to help her eyes communicate her mistress' majesty. She could barely breathe, save in quivering pant; she had no will left over for anything so hubristic as talking without permission.

But she did. In a rasping coo that she vaguely recognized as her own, Dashie felt the words just force their way out. "Mistress is so big," Dashie moaned, no longer having the mind left to feel shame, let alone restraint.

Her gargantuan mistress snorted, nostrils flaring on her gorgeous muzzle, but Dashie saw the slight hint of a smile in the mirror. It was true, after all. With all that potent flesh beneath her, trapped by Celestia's arm just casually resting on her-- Dashie was just a little under four feet smaller than MIstress Celestia, but… but…

There. The lovely, squeezing press against her chest, sending tingles over her alicorn-sensitive miniknockers. The huge arm above her weight enough to keep her well pinned, and well-compared. Dashie's tits squooshed against the power of her mistress' quad lay most of the way to the top of said mighty thigh-- barely covering any of white hide with blue.

Blood was starting to rush down her legs, and not just to her arousal-puffed pussy. Her legs and feet and toes were tingling, kicking about. Dashie was still too far from the ground to get traction. Not that she wanted to. She looked up at Celestia and half-mooed, "Sooooo biiiiig."

I don't remember taking minotaur in high school...

"I'm glad you're remembering I want you with me, pet," Mistress Celestia said. Dashie whimpered at the sarcasm, but the 'glad' was sincere, and so the whimper fell into a coo. Ignoring Dashie's squirms, her mistress looked down at her battered back and wings and chuckled.

"I did tell you, my sweet little broodie, that you weren't mare enough to last a second with me." Had she? Dashie couldn't remember, but it seemed right. Rightness was good, yes? She bounced her blue boobs back and forth over her mistress' muscles, trying desperately to be useful, even as a massage toy. Then doom struck. Her mistress deep rumble continued, "You insisted you'd make five, at least."

Uh-oh. A whinny escaped Dashie's lips and she nuzzled submissively at the huge thigh beneath her. That didn't sound… likely.

Not that she'd make the boast. She was sure she had. What was I thinking… two seconds, maybe… Wherever she'd found words had been lost again; she made an inquisitive whine at her megazonian mistress.

"No, dear, you didn't make five seconds. You didn't make five tenths of a second. One step from me and you went all… stiff." A sproing followed, as Dashie's blue wings flicked up, followed by a pair of whups. Each impact into somehow invulnerable softness was accompanied by a slightly bobbling slosh and a pleased grunt from above.

Despite her uncontrolled arousal, there was simply no way for her wings to hit full extension; they were trapped by the jigglesome weight of Celestia's milk-filled melons. Thankfully, her mistress approved. "Yes, like that, too. Now, you've been through the five seconds you promised me, less the challenge you swore, of course…"

All of that bowel-shaking, mind-blowing beating and… hundreds? of orgasms?... had happened in five seconds? Dashie thought she was fast. Knew she was. Some deep, essentially alpha alicorn part of her noted she was still faster. But she'd still been overcome like the hurricanes she thought she could control, tossed around on the winds like a griffon with her pants down and wings saluting.

Celestia let Dashie stew in that, squirm in it. No orders; Celestia just reached down, her huge hand grabbing Dashie's rumpcheeks and squeezing them lightly, caressing them and rolling her fingers along them. Explored the ass she'd so thoroughly kicked-- in just five-tenths of a second. Dashie's rear was merest putty for her mistress' lewd explorations.

As was Dashie herself, except for the parts of her that were making rhythmic clutches around her core, like her abs, or doing their own part to live up to the 'Princess of Storms' title in a flashflood of sweet marejuices. Just from that expert grope-massage; Celestia didn't even bother focusing on the cutie marks.

It was all Dashie needed. For all her usual demands for subs to keep themselves from climax, it seemed like she was using orgasm like a whip on Dashie tonight. Like a crop. Comparison alone would have been bad enough, but Dashie had made her mistress lust. Had given her at least some sport-- and that meant that, bent over Celestia's knee, Dashie was soaked in far more potent alicorn pheromones than hers. Far more than even spending an hour as Twilight's personal pussy taster would ever give.

So she squirmed. Writhed not just in the shadow of an enormous quad-z rack, but also in the shadow of what had been done to her. Helplessly moving against her colossal mistress' mega-thigh, moving only in response to her mistress' mega-will.

Control herself? Dashie, control herself in this?

Control was something she'd left on the other side of an eternity called five seconds. She felt like she was some rogue new muscle atop Celestia's oversized quad, spasming and twitching against her more invulnerable sister-muscles as Celestia explored this new tribute to her marely strength.

To Dashie's brief grief, the feel of fingertips faded, but she didn't have long to wait in the cold' of merely a ten-foot-eight mare's steaming hot (in all senses of the word) body. Celestia's thumb ran from rear to tailbase, sliding up from there along Dashie's spine, teasing at Dashie's wingbases before splaying out her broad hand again and possessively grasping Dashie's bouncing bottom.

Each stroke was like a thunderbolt. Dashie shuddered, moaning. Her tail had never stopped being flagged, of course, but she felt like it was trying to go straight up between her wings! "M-m-mistress," she wailed, her taut, tiny-by-comparison glutes flexing as squeezing, her pussy trying to gulp the fisting it knew all that dominant mareness had to be giving her.

After all, she was being fucked, regardless of whether or not Celestia chose to grace Dashie's slutty slit with her enormous and enormously dextrous fist.

She wasn't, of course, so blessed as to be granted fullness. She was to be left in some want, after all; she had failed her boast-- her offer-- to Celestia, and she would pay. But she was still blessed by the Sun, nonetheless.

Her mistress-princess was back to feeling her up, so that was at least five elysiums (elysia? ask the egghead later) worth of blessing on its own, but her poor pussy was as empty as the dusty twat of a broodmare who couldn't properly give her bossmare head. For the moment, Mistress Celestia was squeezing and fondling the (pre-swatted) 'tautness' of Dashie's supposedly acrobatic ass.

She'd thought of it that way, Dashie had. Acrobatic. Athletic. Where Rarity just got a clumsy cheat of a taut-tush through her princessing, Dashie had bragged that hers had been fit and cut and aerodynamic before and even better afterwards.

Pride goeth when your mistress cometh. Or rather, when you can't make her cometh enough.

Oh yes, Rainbow Dash had been proud. Been proud of how toned, how tough her tush was. For now, though, her mistress was right, as always. There wasn't a spec of resistance her rear gave to her mistress' hand. For all Mistress Celestia felt it, Dashie's entire ass might have been made out of some far-off shadow of the Grand Sun Booty's supremely jigglesome bits.

"Aw," her mistress pitied her. "Such a cute little derriere. So cushy, so soft. You feel like you'd be a nice lapwarmer." And so Dashie was! Soft, not just jiggly. Soft, like she had not an ounce of strength to her ass.

She didn't. Not in a room that included the Ass of the Sun, and not when her own rump's so-called tautness-- which could and had survived asinian cannon blasts unruffled on even the cutie tingle-- was being fondled and squeezed idly by Mistress Celestia's vast strength.

In the midst of the comparitive reverie, Dash moaned, again and again. Eventually, her moans somehow formed words: "Ah-as you say, Mistress!"

What else could she say?

A thick, pleased rumble was Dashie's reward, her paradise. Her concomitant stay past Cerberus' gate (and big red squeakie toys)? "Still…" The growl was thick and deep, touched by the princess's lit but only barely. "You promised me five, Dashie. And I had to give you five…"

The pinkie Mistress Celestia stroked down Dashie's still-shivering flank was strong enough to pin Dashie down forever, she was certain. And the flick of it made said flanks jump up to attention, doing their soft amazonian best to tense and display. But that wasn't what terrified the subspace-inundated mare. No, the emphasis on give, the little flick of that pinkie finger like a lesser maretriarch's crop…
She already knew the sting her mistress' craggy arms could give just sending her away. Hands-- those usually gentle but always firm hands turned against a poor, beaten Dashie butt...

Against her will, Dashie folded her wings back, tertiaries vibrating as they pointed towards said assaulted ass. She had to display for her mistress. But maybe… maybe she could draw her mistress' attention to how much mistress had already disciplined her? After all, the mistress did like purple... "Mistress," she whispered, tucking her elbows in against her suddenly re-tingly D-cup tits. Slowly, she arched herself again, proper Dashie-D-dome, with her feathers moving to point out every mat-bounced inch of subbie slut rump. "Please, your slave can't take much more…"

I mean, she pouted. It's already sore!

Nonetheless, her very mean (and very sexy) mistress kept teasing just her teeniest tiniest finger over Dashie's teeny-tiny butt, the amazon feeling so small-- and worried, each time another crop-hard flick of Mistress Celestia's finger made her squeal and cream all over again.

"And?"

The reply wasn't quite as merciful as Dashie had hoped, but then again, she'd been pestering Mistress Celestia for as little mercy as the older mare thought she could stand. And she'd gotten it. The single word reply also conveyed more, a rolling skepticism that a rock-- and not one with a name-- would understand.

Dashie owed her mistress. You weren't supposed to lie to your mistress, and bragging that you'd do something and fail, that was lying. The sense of debt made Dashie's toes tingle, made her own calves tighten in puny bodybuilder-imitation of her mistress' bodygoddess form. She kicked her feet and knees back and forth, trying to get the debt to leave her alone long enough to figure out how to pay it!

Five and interest. Her nipples somehow found additional perk to stiffen against that un-moving thigh beneath her. "M… maybe… but…?" Dashie cursed herself, but didn't manage more than incoherent half-words in her head.

"Oh, you do want me playing my favorite song, 'The Squeal of the Mare,' then? Butt, is it?"

Unfair was what Dashie tried to think, but she knew her mistress was always right. Hope glimmered: her mistress did always appreciate some appropriate brattiness.

Appropriate being hard to thread when the huge muscle-goddess was feeling horny, and Dashie had failed at being a good enough fucktoy already. But still. Butt. Oh, hey… Orgasms might be permitted in scene right now, but Dashie didn't know if laughter still belonged to the mistress alone, so she did her best to bite down on giggles.

"Yes, mistress," she cooed, and kissed the massive, white-hided quad in front of her. At the inquisitive growl of her mighty dom, Dashie hurriedly added, "Yours, not mine. I've failed you just the once, though, if we're out here at all-- so, uh… maybe, if Mistress would be pleased…"

"Your mistress is not pleased to have to say her slaves' words, too."

Ulp. Get to it, Dashie! With all her will, fighting against the sudden surge in her sex and the enormity of the concept in her brain, Dashie forced herself to slowly say, "I… must have managed… at least a little bit, at your Royal Pussy, mistress. Or I… I wouldn't have been given the honor of being your Royal Punching Bitch-Bag."

"True. You managed."

More ulp. But then, suddenly, less!

"I suppose my sweet and faithful lover has forced you to stretch your lingual skills... sufficiently."

Mean mistress! Dashie thought, and wasn't sure that her eyes weren't making little heart shapes as she tried to look at the mirror.

No way to verify. For all there was only a little under four feet in difference in their height, and in an objective sense, Dashie was a hardbody amazon who made the butchest non-alicorn mares cry for her raw form, she felt like such a tiny spec when she looked at their reflection.

Well. At Mistres Celestia's reflection, and her weird little blue patch on it didn't matter. Just those mighty muscles, half at rest, half tense. Just her knee up and tits over, holding everything between judgment and reward. Just that hungry, burning smile… Just?

No justice! she screamed mentally at the impossibly placid surface. Stupid mirror! She gratefully rubbed her muzzle against Princess Celestia's broad palm as her mistress wiped away slow tears of frustration. How is the mirror not cumming? It should be cumming! It's wrong!

Mistress Celestia's reflection on anything should put it on the edge of climax; it was only in public, only when she was letting the gentle but stern Princess-self forward that it might not be thus. Here, in private? Dashie fumed, but she didn't dare attack her mistress' mirror.

So she came again, just looking at said reflection. Squealing the begging praise that the mirror should have been-- inanimate object or not.

Because even in exclusion of a certain perhaps over-purply-prosed blue princesss, there was nothing 'just' about that image.

Naked. Vast and powerful, glistening white hide interrupted only for vast, pink areolas and fist-sized (her fist-sized) nipples crinkling with slight arousal, with her mistress in that little crouch, Dashie could see every last detail. Flexion hardening and expanding already gargantuan muscles, chiseled detail so incredible that Dashie felt like she should be trapped and crushed between them just l--

"Shh, shh," came the loving command. Almost motherly, in other circumstances. Dashie felt herself following the sounds away from the awful contemplation of those beautifully deadly muscles. Sillier'n'Pinkie alone for an hour. She shouldn't worry, couldn't worry; her mistress was her Princess, and her Princess would never harm her.

The sting on her tush (and her everywhere) reminded her that while there was a difference between hurt and harm, it might be hard to tell if-- once-- the spankings started. Her horny clitty shouted the rest of her down.

But it was too slow to grab her attention back where it should have been, and her mistress' growl brought Dashie back into focus. "You were saying, my little fucktoy?"

Dashie watched the mirror-- the parts of it that weren't fogged up anyway. Every word was animated, every half-growl, half-groan was accompanied by wave after wave of quadruple-z booby bouncing. Every syllable shook the jiggly expanse, and it was only through the last shreds of her past-steel will that Dashie managed not to get her mind lost in just the sight of Mistress Celestia's cleavage.

But even that wouldn't get her away from the horrors of spankage, if she didn't act. So she forced herself to speak. "It's horribly presumptuous of me, mistress, but maybe I could pleasure your ass-- even for the merest of five seconds…"

A snort, and those huge boobs bobbed so heavily they smacked against Dashie's back and upturned butt. Preview spankings, but preview titty spankings. Not even deliberate

It was enough. Even that sent her tingling and squirming again, forcing her to strangle a yowl to withstandjust the aftershakes of her mistress speaking. If her mistress decided to take the full 'five with interest'....

Slowly, Mistress Celestia stroked a long, strong finger from the wrist of the opposite arm, down over the beautiful cruelness of her massive tricep, down and along the rough, rolling bulges between lats and serrati, the huge, smooth bulges of those obliques…

Dashie's eye was forced to follow the finger's path, caught nearly as surely by the vision of those muscles as the might itself. She knew where they were going. Offers. Should she have? Would it be accepted after the failure? The lie?

Flick. Unlike Dashie's poor soft tush, while there was plush over the intricate overexpanse of muscles,on those enormous, horde-bearing hips, it was so impossibly and improbably perky that even her mistress flicking against it only started a chorus of twerk-like bobbling that left Dashie's jaw slack and drool running down her cheek.

The tender smile on the bright muzzle above gained a full-on smirk. Mistress Celestia cooed, "Could you manage even five tenths of a second at that?

Dashie's aggrieved whine apparently hit the right cute-and-sexy spot; the universe was made anew in Mistress Celestia's tolerant smile. "I suppose you might, if I was very careful…"

After the sun, the deluge. No tears from Mistress Celestia, no tears from the Sun that Conquers. But there was a weariness in that voice Dashie longed to relieve.

And knew she couldn't. Not in full. She nevertheless resolved to try.

No. Better yet.

To build. The herd, that was the key. With the other princesses of the Royal Bachelorette herd, she would build a way to ease that exhausted need.

The reason that all six Elements were princesses now was that the seeds of every other Element were contained within the truest expressions of any individual. Loyalty found kindness; kindness roused generosity out of stunned slumber, and Dashie, Dash, slowly forced herself to cuddle Mi-- Princess Celestia's extravagant thigh. "I'm sorry, Mistress-Beloved," Dash rasped, her usual rough voice more than a little hoarse with effort at thinking anywhere above the lovely pool of subspace she'd been anything-but-drowning in. "I will do my part, however I can."

As Celestia considered her, Dash wriggled on. She might be tired, she might be battered, and she might be weak compared to the entity holding her captive, but she was actually quite strong and tough Strong enough and tough enough. Her wings might never unstiffen-- never again, perhaps-- but she was able to force herself to roll onto her side.

Grunting and huffing, Dash forced herself to take as close an approximation of a nonchalant air, propping her chin on her wrist and her elbow across the rugged, rolling steppe Celestia called a thigh in tension. She even managed to make herself wriggle around to feel the Princessly Plush of that gorgeous thigh, pushed out and aside by that all the massive might beneath. "I'm s-s-sorry, beloved Mistress. I know I can only hope to give what you give m-m-me first. And I'm s-s-sorry to presume…"

Practically infinitely strong, certainly infinitely gentle, Celestia's finger pressed against Dash's lips in as close to a kiss as Dash could take. "You are my love," Celestia told her softly. "You may not be my promised Stars or my prodigal Moon, but I love you all nonetheless, and I am glad that you love me-- in at least part, because you love me, for me."

Dash was too Dashie-like right now to parse that, so she just smiled hazily and shook her tits like a good little broodie. "Am so teeny, but my love for you is as big as… your breasts, Mistress!"

Soft laughter was her reward, heavy jug-jiggles a bonus undreamed of, and this time, melancholy did not take her mistress. "Very well. You'll be able to pay off the interest underneath my ass. But you'll need to take more than five seconds to pay off how gentle I must be with fragile little broodie-princess."

"Damsel in Distress Dashie, mistress, call me that whenever you wish!" Dashie 'flexed'-- put all of her heart into it, and made at least enough of a pleasing, sinuous shape of merely past-mortal muscles to earn another smile from her mistress. But then, the parts of her brain lagging behind caught on. "...uh oh. The interest, mistress?"

"Mm. Rather more than the princess-iple by now, my little fucktoy."

The horny edge (and horrible pun) to that rumbling nicker hit Dashie's clit by way of her ears, and hit it so hard she almost forgot to realize what that meant. "Then paying the five…" she whined.

Whined, but moved promptly. Not going to make MIstress order me, even if… Dashie whined again, rolling onto her belly atop the vast hardness of Mistress Celestia's thigh. Uncontrollable-- or perhaps controlled, who know what her mistress was ordering with just a hum?-- her wings arched again, tertiaries once more pointed at her still-sore tush. "Mistress, please, I know I asked, but please, please, please…"

"You talk too much, my little fucktoy."

Yelping, Dashie-Fucktoy squirmed. It was almost a little unfair, to be constantly cropped towards that sweet spot between proper begging and helpless babble, but that was her deserts. Besides, it got her to here, to the sudden rush of pleasure at simply being claimed.

She couldn't help it. Named fucktoy, named broodie to Celestia, she knew her entire reality (save Loyalty, Evocation, and Storms forever) was dedicated to pleasure for her mistress. If her mistress called for fuck-anything, then Dashie's hips would be rutting like a real stud was taking her, one that wouldn't break if Dashie bounced too hard. So she slammed her ass up and up, towards feathers, flagged tail, and doom, her thighs soaked with her own juices.

"Mistress, I'll break. I'm too we-weauuughhhk!" Dashie squealed. As she tried to say weak, Mistress Celestia raised her left arm high.

But not to spank her.

To Flex.

Author's Note

I'm sorry... not really but kinda... to have left that one on a 'cephanger. The chapter just got too big. This is clearly a terrible thing.

(okay, the last bit was a lie too. But the got too big was true!)