#Click Here to Expand Image 

![The results of an opened mind](https://img3.gelbooru.com/images/bb/93/bb93e1d333d004787cf3079f2f40ec2e.png) 

Anon #348. Unremarkable, plain, and currently browsing image boards and boorus for whatever suited his oft-fleeting fancies. The "topic" of the day was a certain Buddhist monk from Touhou. He wasn't one of those people who played the games or anything, but he liked this character, Byakuren, for her personality, design, music, and most importantly the fact she was one of the few confirmed stacked ladies from the series. In this sense, he was certainly not out of the ordinary when it came to the average /jp/sy. The booru of choice was Gelbooru, and eventually his idle searching led to a particular image of the heretic priestess. Massive was the best way to describe it. The artist had drawn her chest to be absolutely massive, barely constrained within the confines of her dress, the x-patterned strips of black cloth seemingly only held back from snapping by the fact she worried supported her ridiculous breasts with her own hands. Anon decided it was as good an image as any and made to save it. However, like any self-respecting boobhu poster, he'd not save the thumbnail. So, he did only what was right. 

He clicked "click here to expand image". 

Which... didn't do anything. At first, the image made no change and he selected it again to confirm that wasn't the issue. Seconds later, it disappeared. Anon shrugged, assuming it was simply his wifi continuing to not be worth the price he was paying for it. Maybe he should upgrade to a better package or different provider? He continued to stare, hands supporting his head as he watched unamused before he went to sit back in his seat. That's when he noticed it. A certain momentum as he straightened up that felt startlingly unnatural to him and focused on his chest. It wasn't much, and looking down his shirt still hung loose on his thin frame as it always had. However, each disturbed breath pushed his shirt out more. Almost unnoticeable at first, but the effect was there. A hand experimentally reach under his shirt and fondled his own chest. 

Puffy. His chest was... puffy. Anon never had pronounced pecks, but now he felt a strange swelling. Unfortunately it wasn't muscle at all, and he had a sudden worried consideration that either he was having an allergic reaction or he was only now realizing he had developed moobs from an unhealthy diet. The thought caused him to accidentally brush his nipple, and a jolt shot up his spine accompanied by a sharp inhale of pleasure. Pleasure? It certainly was the sensation, but that fact only served to discomfort more. Anon removed his hand and decided that he'd have to go the emergency room for a severe allergic reaction. He briefly glanced at his monitor only to find the image had loaded at full resolution, except that it really hadn't. 

Byakuren was missing from it and all that was left was the background of some room bathed in a warm light as it filtered in through a paper door. It certainly had expanded, however. Expanded to an unreasonable size to Anon's reckoning. Certainly the file would've had to been scaled down to be posted in any thread. He shook his head and stood up only for the sensation of sickening added momentum to return. Anon looked down and yelped in fright at what his sight was greeted with. 

The swelling in his chest had become worse at a rate that went beyond the natural and into the paranormal. What had been unnoticeable mounds before were now gently draping his shirt against their form. The shape was unmistakable. Boobs. He had boobs and they were already at a size that might be called "respectable". Anon froze, staring down with disbelief and shock. A nervous sweat worked its way through and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable in his flesh. He could feel his shirt draped over them. He could feel the fabric caress his swelling areolae with each panicked breath. They were real, or as real as some fever dream could conjure. Yet, the day had been so mundane before, simply starting with a bowl of cereal after an afternoon waking and followed with a session of browsing the net. How could this be a dream? 

The image of the temple interior on his monitor' screen was larger now. Maybe more of it had loaded in, but nothing extra was added as far as Anon could tell. In fact, the list of tags that used to share space to the side of it was now pushed below. He shook his head of these thoughts, figuring he had more pressing matters like afternoon prayer. 

Afternoon... prayer? No, he was having an allergic reaction and needed to go get help. The heat of his nerves caused the room to feel boiling, and he tugged at the now white collar of his shirt. Deep breaths. He tried closing his eyes and imagining somewhere better, something better to get him to calm down. Yet, each breath only made the "reality" of the situation more known, his clothing feeling more scratchy than usual with each inhale. The only images that came to mind when he closed his eyes were those of glowing symbols and sigils that he couldn't understand. Anon shook his head again, finding himself having to brush a stray lock of hair back before opening his eyes again. 

The image on his screen was massive now and dominated most of its space. The booru's search bar had been pushed out of existence and it was much the same with the rest of the site's features. All that remained were the URL address at the top and the tabs above it. At this point, the light from his monitor was almost harsh in his dark room. However, Anon was much more preoccupied with looking down. What were once modest were now immodest and horror set in as he noticed his change in apparel. A white undershirt of sorts peaked from between an x-pattern of black ribbons that attached to two side of a gown. It was unmistakable what the clothing that was currently warped around his uncouth chest was right now. These were the clothes of Hijiri Byakuren. Darkness surrounded his vision and its shadowed swayed in the corners of his sight. He moved to push them away, only for his hand to brush hair. His hair. He followed it to its end, the lock flowing from a dark hue to blonde. Byakuren's hair. 

Anon blindly felt behind himself in panic and tried sitting in his chair, only to fall on his butt. The collapse was more cushioned than he imagined it would be (due to an unknown addition to his now plush posterior), but he yelped in an embarrassingly girly pitch all the same. The impact had sent a wave of force moving through his body and the weighty bouncing of his breasts cemented their reality. He began sobbing lightly, the sound of his own womanly voice only shoving him into deeper despair. It was all too real to be a dream, but it was a nightmare. What was he to do now? He had to get himself together. To get help and find some way to reverse this, or... or, what? He didn't know, but he couldn't just sit here any more.

Anon slowly drew himself up, unsteadily rising to his feet and closed his eyes again. The sensations of his changing body didn't go away, but if he unfocused from it maybe he could gather his thoughts. He tried breathing deep again, but each time he was reminded by his growing problems and he decided, despite the flush on his cheeks, to restrain them with his hands so as to ease his focus. In and out, slowly. Attempting to ease himself from reality's burden, a soft hum unintentionally rose in his throat as he began to find the right way. Without realizing it came from his own mouth, he heard the voice of woman begin with "om". It repeated and repeated until the sound and his own feeling lost meaning. Something expanded (in reality, it was the burgeoning bussom she cradled) and light was all that remained. On Anon's monitor, the entire screen was taken up by the image of the interior of Myouren temple that shined upon the serene and chanting visage identical to the temple's head monk. 

Now that the mind was right, introspection could follow. How had "Anon", the thought of an individual ego being now almost foreign, ended up in this predicament? What followed was the recounting of the day's events. Of the waking in the morning followed by prayer and daily duties. Of the meal of unseasoned rice and pickled vegetables. Of the daily duties before the mid-day prayers. Something felt wrong, unaligned with these ideas. Was that the issue? Perhaps the heart, mind and hand were out of alignment today? No, wasn't it something else? The meditation became murky and the chanting picked up once more to still the waters. Meditation... sutras. The word "sutra" wormed into the mind, and slowly, with each breath and with each "expansion" the word changed. At first it was the pronunciation. 

"Sutra". "Su-ch-ra". It felt wrong. The voice tried it and felt the tongue fumble over unfamiliar concepts of the English "tr" sound. "Su-tu-ra" was finally settled upon and viewed once again in the mind's eye the word's form began to break. To scramble and rearrange into forms in Sanskrit, Chinese, and Japanese, changing to completely different languages each time. Light stung behind the eyelids, from the internal enlightenment within the mind of "Anon" and the growing brightness of his monitor that was quickly starting to engulf the entire room in light. The images from before flashed again, but this time understood. Buddhist teachings and heretical magic mixed and wavered in a dance. Each beat of her heart expanded her mind (and chest, which was now straining her dress) as all drew to one. The image of the temple's interior was all that existed on the screen and then it pushed off the screen, and all was light. 

Hijiri Byakuren felt the soothing sunlight of the afternoon against her cheek. Golden eyes opened serenely with a drawn out exhale. A slight feeling of confusion quirked her brow as she wondered what she was doing. She was about to go to the afternoon sermon when... something happened. Yet, the experience just barely escaped her mind's grasp. It was as if she were trying to remember something that was from another life, and it dawned on her that perhaps that's exactly what had happened. It was rumored to have happened before, but Byakuren herself had never experienced it. What had she experienced, really? She looked down in thought only to realize where her hand were, cradling her breasts with each hand a lightly digging in with her fingers and a worried look came over her face. Whatever the memory was, she felt that one of her past lives must've been a somewhat indecent person, and the head priestess of Myouren temple let the weight of her massive mammaries go back to being freely supported by her clothes, much to their unheard complaint. Hijiri Byakuren gave herself a once over and continued to prayer without a word. It wouldn't take long for the incident to fade from her memory completely, though Nazrin wouldn't forget the day she saw Byakuren groping herself in the halls of Myouren temple so brazenly.