Tale about a pretty dress

Tonight‘s tale starts with a dress.
This dress was worn by a witch with shoulders usually to strong for any fabric to support them and with more of those breasts than any version of a woman had ever asked for. These shapes had torn open stitches much too often, but this dress finally fit.
Finally there were ruffles and patterns that fit.
And laces that fit.
Ribbons to hold everything together. And they fit.
The witch wore a dress that fit and a dress that was her.
She felt like herself.
She would only go as herself, because anything else would not make sense.
In this tale, our witch has a mother.
This mother had not wished to give birth to a witch, and was not very fond of those shapes that challenged the world and her eyes so very often. In this tale, however, all her attention was given to the dress. The dress that treated the witch and all her shapes so well!
„It‘s inappropriate“, is something she would say, but the witch would not care.
„It‘s not for today!“
„But it‘s for me.“
The witch came as herself, and she would not back down.
So, the desperate mother had one last idea.
„It smells“, she would announce. „You must have sweat in it. Please take it off.“
„I have never worn it before.“
„But it smells like you.“
Oh, how convenient!
The dress she does not want the witch to wear now smells.
A little bit too convenient.
The witch does not believe a thing, for witches smell like roses and raindrops.
Maybe not when they sweat, but when mothers wrinkle their nose at them and demand them to change into another person for a few hours.