Warning - Top Secret
The following document is the transcription of an audio recording between a reporter for the "Midside Courier" - Miss Cassandra Beckstein (shortened to Cassy) - and an individual identifying herself as "Evelyn". This recording appears to be made in a conference room in the newspaper's main office and uploaded to the cloud as an automatic backup. Contents of this document are not to be made public.

Cassy: Miss ?

Evelyn: Yes, but please do not call me that. How about Evelyn. That's a good name as any.

Cassy: That is fine by me. So, Miss Evelyn. You told me you have inside information about the world of fashion witches. Those are very tight-knit with their secrets. May I ask how you came into possession of those facts?

Evelyn: Why, isn't it obvious? I am one. Oh, no need to flinch. If I wanted you transformed then I wouldn't bother talking to you.

Cassy: Glad to hear. But if you really are-

Evelyn: I am.

Cassy: Then why come talk to me? This will surely anger other fashion witches.

Evelyn: That won't matter. At least, very soon it won't.

Cassy: Alright. Fine by me. So where do you want to start?

Evelyn: With the basics of course. There, the most misconceptions lie. Technically this name is misleading. As are many other things that are common knowledge. The truth is obscured. Either by mistake, wrong observation, or on purpose. But tell me. How would you describe fashion witches?

Cassy: I guess fashion witches are people naturally gifted with magic. It lets them transform people into sentient clothing for their own sadistic pleasure.

Evelyn: Well, you have one thing right: fashion-witches are people. The rest. Not so much. I admit, growing up I believed those lies too. Fashion witches are born. It is in their DNA. Their very nature. Bullocks!
Not a single person is born a fashion witch. They are made. Not born.
How? By studying various occult texts. Nowadays - if you browse carefully on the dark web - you can get a pretty complete collection for 49.99. Tax not included.

Cassy: So what? Everyone can become one?

Evelyn: Yes, with enough dedication. But please, don't try it. Do not jump into it and try to become a fashion witch yourself. Believe me, you don't want to. It was the biggest mistake of my life becoming one myself.

Cassy: That is a bold statement. Can you elaborate?

Evelyn: Of course, but not right now. One has to understand the basics first. You see to awaken as a witch one has to raise their magic affinity past a certain point. To make it easy for an explanation I tack the number 100 to that point. Most people actually have a magic affinity when they are born. It can range from everything like 1 to around 80. Obviously, those with a higher starting affinity have an easier time awakening.

Cassy: I guess yours must have been pretty high, to begin with.

Evelyn: Ha, no! In hindsight, I might guess I was around the lower twenties. Which only meant more time and study were required. But there is more to magical affinity to the threshold for awakening. Earlier you said that fashion witches transform people for their sadistic pleasure, right?

Cassy: Yes, I did. No offense, but what other reason might there be to condemn people to such a fate? To turn them into sentient clothing.

Evelyn: It sounds logical, right? But most aren't doing it for their sadistic pleasure. Some might, but most do it out of fear. That might sound strange, but it is true. Fear is the primal motivation of fashion witches. That includes the acquiring of transformed victims.

Cassy: I have a hard time believing that to be true.

Evelyn: Well, you see, most fashion-witches became such to avoid one fate: to be transformed themselves. There is this hard to discredit rumor that becoming a fashion witch makes one immune to the spells of other witches.

Evelyn: But once they awakened they notice a simple truth: there is no immunity. They might study more or try out a few harmless spells and come to another conclusion: magic affinity doubles as a person's resistance to harmful magic.

Cassy: They remain prey?

Evelyn: Harder to catch prey. It is like this. To affect anyone, the witch must have a higher magic affinity than their victim. Roughly in the ballpark of thirty percent. They might chalk it up as a useful tidbit until they run into a fashion witch. Chances are they will be around 140 in magical affinity. Enough to overpower a newly awakened witch.

Evelyn: The next step - if they manage to escape - from a simple witch to a fashion witch is the hunt for means to boost their own magical affinity. How would you propose one might do that?

Cassy: You said there are exercises to raise one's affinity.

Evelyn: That would be one way. However, newly awakened witches find progress now much slower. Meanwhile, they might be hunted. A quicker solution is needed.

Cassy: Aren't there any spells?

Evelyn: Now we getting closer to the truth. There is one spell known to mankind that can do it. With it, the caster can transfer part of a person's magical affinity onto themselves. However, the term "part" is quite generous here. Around one to two percent are transferred. Though it tends to be close to one percent. The spell has another drawback: if the target is too far away the transfer is paused.

Cassy: So a witch needs a few bodyguards and cast the spell on them?

Evelyn: Remember. One percent per target. To gain a useful amount, a witch has to surround themselves with at least two dozen people that always stay close to them. Quite a hard thing to do.

Cassy: I guess that isn't very practical.

Evelyn: If only there was a spell to make a witch's - willing or unwilling - followers more portable. And now - at the latest - it makes click and the witch understands why other witches transform people into clothes.

Cassy: So newly awakened witches have only one choice? To become a fashion witch.

Evelyn: Well, no. However, this is the very moment a witch has to decide if they stay a witch or become what they fear the most: a fashion witch. There is a reason why you don't hear much from the former one. It all has to do with the effective use of people to raise one's own magical affinity. The higher the victim's magical affinity the higher the boost and protection for the fashion witch. A newly baked fashion witch might now realize that they are the most effective victim of another fashion witch.

Cassy: If that is true then there is a certain irony there.

Evelyn: Oh yeah. But most fashion witches have little time to appreciate it. Here is a practical little exercise for you: how many pieces of clothes are you wearing right now?

Cassy: Uhm-

Evelyn: Is it anywhere close to thirty? Because that is the average goal for a newly awakened fashion witch to arrive. The math is simple. The average magical affinity for most people is around 30 to 50. So they will give a boost as sentient cloth of around 0.4. Not that much, right? To be safe from those 140 affinity witches the new witch has to reach at least 10 additional magical affinities just through sentient clothes alone. Let me do the math for you. That's twenty-five people. On average of course. And that only to stay safe.

Cassy: That is a lot!

Evelyn: For that reason, newly awakened fashion-witches are often easy to spot. They are decked out in layers of clothing and carry an unholy amount of jewelry. Yes, rings and necklaces count. Why shouldn't they? Most witches learn that trick pretty fast.

Evelyn: I still remember this one boy - newly awakened - who transformed everyone he could get his hands on into a gold chain that he wore as a necklace. Carried around 40 or so. Like a scrawny white boy version of Mister T., it looked ridiculous. Come to think of it. I am still not sure if Mister T was a fashion witch or not.

Cassy: Wait! Boy? I thought-

Evelyn: That all fashion witches are female? Of course not. Magic is open to everyone. So now you ask why you don't see any around. Why there are only wanted posters around for female fashion witches.

Cassy: I guess-

Evelyn: Well, most male fashion-witches are easy to spot. Not as witches mind you, but they dress erratically. That often leads to their downfall as they stand out enough to attract predatory stronger fashion witches.

Evelyn: Just imagine thirty or more pieces of clothing and jewelry on a guy. Social circumstances make him stick out like a sore thumb. But some use this to their advantage. Met a guy once - punk-look through and through - who had an insane amount of piercings. Each one of them was a victim. I narrowly escaped the same fate.

Evelyn: And there is this one singer. Famous for wearing all those friendship bracelets gifted to him by groupies. Except I wouldn't call them "friendship bracelets" and they certainly weren't gifted. That they are "made by groupies" has a certain twisted logic to it. Anyway. Smart fashion witches flee the cities when he gives a concert there.

Cassy: Wasn't that one-

Evelyn: German? Yes. But those are the outliners. Most males go for a simple solution: transforming themselves into a woman. Most often telling themselves it will only be for a while. That once they are stronger then they will change back. Strangely enough, this never works out.

Cassy: Why? Is it so much better to be a woman?

Evelyn: Yes and no. Wearing sentient clothing is quite corrupting. They feel different. Better. It is hard to describe. Adding to that is the fact that almost all female clothing is more pleasurable to wear than male clothing. You don't believe me? Compare a necktie to a silken scarf. Rugged flannel shirt to a woolen cardigan. Believe me, it is a universal fact. If society had evolved to a state in which male clothing was more comfortable and alluring then we might have more male fashion witches after all.

Cassy: Do fashion-witches grow their wardrobe indefinitely? It often feels like it.

Evelyn: Not really. Like many things with fashion witches it only appears that way. Of course, each fashion witch strives to reach a magical affinity of around 140. And once they do they optimize their sentient wardrobe to wear less. Because a former male fashion-witch has a lot of other things to worry about when they reach 140 then turning back towards being a man.

Cassy: What I still don't get is why reaching and maintaining 140 is so important. If amassing magical resistance is so important then why not go higher?

Evelyn: Why not indeed. Proof that you are the best fashion witch of them all! Well, the answer is easy: fear. If a fashion witch goes higher than 140 then it sends a sign to other witches. That you are not satisfied with newly awakened fashion witches anymore. That you will go for those in the range of 110 to 120. Which makes you more powerful. Soon you'll be hunting those above 130 and eventually those around 140. That will make every witch near and far away be scared of you. Why is that bad? Because fashion-witches band only together to hunt down those who rise above 140. It is simple math. A band of ten witches can overpower a single powerful one. Maybe one or two gets transformed before the other one is defeated. Still better chances than to be hunted down one by one. In fear of a witch going ballistic, even rival witches might band together.

Cassy: I see. But what do you mean by going ballistic?

Evelyn: It's a special term for- Imagine this: you survived long enough being a fashion witch that your natural magical affinity is slowly rising towards 140. What to do? Well, I asked myself the very same question a lot of times. You see, I rarely even wear sentient clothing anymore. It just might about push me over. I am in no mood to be hunted down by a bunch of frightened witches. But soon I won't have a choice anymore. I will go over 140 all by myself.

Evelyn: There are two options. To build a lair and hide - more to that later - or do what every witch fears: strap on your most powerful sentient clothes and go on a hunting spree. That is what fashion-witches call going ballistic. The mad dash to gain so much power that not even a squad of fashion-witches can bring you down. The magic goal here lies around 200 of magical affinity. 60 points of difference is a lot of witches to subdue and wear if each is worth about 1.0 to 1.4 points of affinity.

Cassy: In other words a lot of people to wear too.

Evelyn: A witch going ballistic can go clean whole states free of fashion witches. No, don't think that is a good thing. It creates a power vacuum that is soon to be filled by newly awakened fashion witches. Normally most of them would be snatched away by a higher witch. Without that, most of them will hunt for their own wardrobe. Resulting in about eight times as many transformed victims.

Cassy: I think I get it now. Fashion witches try to balance themselves. Limit their number. If not consciously then subconsciously.

Evelyn: That's one way of seeing it. Of course, if a witch goes ballistic or not they eventually will switch to the second choice: building a lair.

Cassy: You mentioned that before. I thought you meant figuratively.

Evelyn: No, quite literal I am afraid, my dear. Every witch surviving long enough will soon or later start a "becoming a lair witch project".

Cassy: That is a horrible pun.

Evelyn: Pun?

Cassy: Nevermind.

Evelyn: Where was I? Oh, yes. Instead of wearing sentient beings to boost one's strength, a lair witch scatters them around. In a way that if she leaves one boosting object another comes within reach to take up the slack. Those lairs are usually away from towns and cities. The lair witch tries to stay out of the crosshairs of other witches. Of course, those who stumble into their lair are doomed. Even low-value people are transformed. Everything to grow their lair.

Cassy: Sounds like the premise for a horror movie.

Evelyn: Oh, you'd be surprised, dear. Quite a few movies already are based on them. Even stories and legends of old. I think the most prominent lair witch is Medusa. No, don't believe that crab about being cursed or stone gaze. All smoke and mirrors. I think by now most of Sicily is part of her lair. I would suggest staying away.

Cassy: I think that might be worse. Clothes have some flexibility, but the stone is unyielding. To be caught like that forever-

Evelyn: Right. You think transformations are permanent.

Cassy: They are not?

Evelyn: Aren't, but they might as well be. You see clothing and object transformation are easy. A limited number of materials. Even transforming a human into another type of human is comparatively easy. It is altering a complex system. But if you want to transform a sentient object into a human it is a whole lot of trouble. The human body is complex and you start with nothing. Learning that is hard. Most don't bother with it. Citing that transformations are permanent is way easier. Fools!

Cassy: So there is hope? You can reverse it?

Evelyn: Not exactly. As I go ballistic soon anyways I tell you my secret technique: I not only learned to transform people back into a human form, but I learned to do it in combat situations. It's like ripping apart someone's armor. And the best thing: most who regain their humanity have "beef" with the witch that enslaved them. Not only has my opponent to face me, but they are accosted by their former victims.

Cassy: If that is true why doesn't everybody know?

Evelyn: Well, that is because freed people can be sorted into four categories. Most are very grateful to me. They don't even mind that they all share the same body. All I need to tell them is that they should hide. Become invisible. Move to the countryside. Former sentient clothes have a higher chance to be again transformed by another witch.

Evelyn: But some have the gall to complain. "I was a man. Why am I now a girl? And why do we all look the same?" Listen, it is hard enough to transform someone back. Even more so in combat. Why should I bother with individuality? Just be happy you have a human body again. You're welcome! If they can't accept that then it's back into the wardrobe. This time it will be mine.

Evelyn: Actually, I lured some high-affinity people into my closet by promising individualized bodies. I know. I am horrible. But it helped me survive. Those are the third group. Of course, there are special cases of the fourth one. People that had been so long clothes that they can't imagine being people again. Either they beg me to transform them back or they are just- Dazed and confused. Unable to make their human bodies move how they want. It is a mercy to transform them into something simpler again.

Cassy: It is hard to believe that people can be so far gone.

Evelyn: Well, you have to understand. Some are hand-me-downs. Having spent decades as sentient clothing. Well, I guess those are rare cases. Most often it is mental magic. Witches try to ease their conscience by making the clothes want to be transformed.

Cassy: It is hard to imagine that a fashion witch would bother.

Evelyn: Remember, they are just people. They might put on a tough face to the outside world, but inside- A whole different ballgame. Hell knows I had my share of stupid things I have done to ease my conscience.

Cassy: Care to elaborate?

Evelyn: Sure. Why not? I think my biggest folly was when I was a young fresh awakened witch. Head deep into panic mode. And there she was. My best friend. Naturally gifted with magic. I needed her. At least that is what I told myself. I also tried to convince myself. That she will end up as cloth anyway and it would be better if I wear her. That even if she lasted until she awakened she would be mentally too weak. In the end, I just couldn't transform her. Not as her best friend.

Cassy: So, you let her go?

Evelyn: Far from it. I did go far out of my way to put on a charade. What I end up doing was going to a girl we both disliked. I took her identity and body, just before I transformed her. And being her, I transformed my best friend. Told her that the other piece I wore was my original self and that at least both were together. I lived as the girl I despised for years. Because I couldn't go back. To my original self. Then my best friend would learn of my deception.

Cassy: Did she ever learn the truth.

Evelyn: No, but eventually I released her. It was actually her and the embarrassment and shame that drove me to learn to turn people back. Big mistake. Should never have released her.

Cassy: Why? It sounds like you did a good thing.

Evelyn: Thought so too. However, I forgot that she was close to awakening too. Which she did. Only to start hunting me down. All to rescue me. The original me. Still, I couldn't tell her the truth. In the end, I switched identities again. Just to escape her.

Cassy: Where is she now?

Evelyn: I have no clue. Fashion witches change identities all the time.

Cassy: That sounds like-

Evelyn: There are not as many fashion witches as you might believe? I mean think about it. Most freshly awakened witches fall prey to others and those that survive? Hunted by bounty hunters. I mean defensive magic exists. Bullets? Knives? Meaningless. But a good hunter finds a weak spot and uses it for a kill. And more often than not these hunters are good at concealing their approach.

Evelyn: So, why does the fashion witch population appear higher than it is? The answer is simple: aliases. And along with those they switch between different bodies. People known as fashion witches are not only prone to be hunted but also feared and their prey might run away. So, every few months a witch might change their appearance. The easiest way is by stealing the identity of one of their victims. After all, copying a human body is easier than creating anew. A second later and the original is gone. Joining their pile of clothes as one of them.

Evelyn: I remember once running into a coven who claimed a city as their hunting ground. I took out one by necessity and suddenly the whole coven was a no-show. Turns out no more than one coven member was seen at the time. It was just one witch switching between a few bodies.

Cassy: If cities are hunting grounds, should I move to the countryside? Is it safer there?

Evelyn: Might help, but probably not. Cities are a hunting ground for a reason. A high density of victims. Higher chance to run into one with high magical affinity. But no sane witch settles down inside a city. They stake a claim in small towns or suburbs. Best of all if no one even knows of their claim. Anonymity can be a good defense. Of course, if a witch runs into a worthwhile victim inside their claim chances are they will claim them after all. However, rural areas might prove safe from witches. Unless one builds a lair nearby.

Cassy: I must admit I know someone who was transformed and retrieved. I sometimes wear him. Just, you know, that he gets some stimuli.

Evelyn: You didn't wear him in public, right?

Cassy: Oh, no! He is something that one wears rather in private.

Evelyn: Good. You are right. They are still sentient and will welcome the stimuli. But never wear them in public. A fashion witch might just transform you to get to them. Especially if the sentient clothing has a high affinity/bonus.

Cassy: Speaking of high magical affinity. What would you suggest to someone born with high magical affinity? What should they do?:

Evelyn: Hide! Find a barely settled area and work at raising your affinity. Awaken, but stay hidden. Go straight into the lair building. Don't hunt locals and be careful to not hunt too many. Stay under the radar. It might be a lonely life, but it is the best way to stay safe.

Cassy: And someone born with low magical affinity?

Evelyn: Never ever raise your magical affinity! As long as you don't piss off a fashion witch you should be safe. They will ignore you as you aren't worthwhile.

Evelyn: You do look a little pale my dear. Anything on your mind?

Cassy: Well, one can't help to wonder how high one's own affinity is.

Evelyn: I would estimate you around 82.

Cassy: What? So high? I thought that was rather unlikely.

Evelyn: It is. Tell me, how long did you work at the Midside Courier newspaper?

Cassy: Nearly six months now. What does that have to do with anything?

Evelyn: And I heard that your boss makes you all practice some special exercises.

Cassy: Yeah, to limber our minds before we start a workday. Oh, no!

Evelyn: I think you got it now.

Cassy: Why would our boss try to raise our magical affinity? Are you saying she is a fashion witch? Raising us like cattle? That would explain why so many co-workers transfer out or switch jobs. And then they break any contact with us. It all makes sense.

Evelyn: Don't worry. I'll take care of her. That's why I am here. Not for the interview. I apologize for the deception.

Cassy: She must be powerful. My boss I mean. If you are here for her then- You are going - what did you call it? - going ballistic?

Evelyn: How perceptive of you. Yes, this is where I start. In exactly 13 minutes your boss will walk into the office and she will be the first witch to subdue.

Cassy: None of us workers will make it out, right?

Evelyn: Sorry. She did a too fine job of fattening you up. And you all will make fine objects for a temporary lair. Helping me take her down. Don't worry. My ballistic run won't be that long. I do plan to build a permanent lair. There, your co-workers will find a nice home.

Cassy: My co-workers? Not me?

Evelyn: I admit, you remind me of my younger self. Tell you what, I give you a head-start. If you get out of the building before I begin then you are home free.

Cassy: Thank you.

Evelyn: And Cassandra?

Cassy: Yes?

Evelyn: You know what you must do, right?

Cassy: Run, hide, awaken, and build a lair.

Evelyn: That's the spirit! I knew to spare you was a good idea. Now run!

Evelyn: Well, just about ten mins until my target arrives. Time to build a lair-

Addendum:
The reporter Cassandra Beckstein has been caught on camera exiting the newspaper office alive and human. It is known that she purchased items from the dark web and later headed westward. Investigators lost track of her in the eastern rocky mountains. Some speculate that the rise of missing people cases in the area can be attributed to her.

The office of the newspaper was found vacant and with signs of hasty and unsuccessful attempts to escape. The subject "Evelyn" was tracked heading south. Careful estimates suggest her subduing between 30 and 40 fashion witches. She was last seen boarding a cruise ship in New Orleans. It was declared missing after vanishing in the area known as Bermuda Triangle.

"Stay back!" Fitz shouted while lifting a broom like a weapon. He glanced behind him for a moment and saw that Kellie equally frightened. Shifting his view revealed themselves trapped in a corner of the school's drama club room.

"Doesn't she make a nice wig? I always loved her hair. So smooth and silky."

Fitz's eyes narrowed as he saw Becky lift her latest victim up. He hadn't known. No one had. The mousey little wallflower was a fashion witch and now turned against her classmates.

Becky held a wig that had been Sarah just moments ago. That's what fashion witches do. Transform people into things they can wear. But the victims weren't dead. They were sentient and alive. Trapped as a simple object. A horrible fate. One he dreaded might befall him.

He had to act now or everything was lost. Lifting the broom up he knew it was his last chance. He had to knock her out or else he ends up like Sarah. Or anyone else of the drama club that Becky just had transformed. With a scream, he charged and-

There was a sudden sense of falling and then darkness. He could not move a limb or anything else. Fitz had lost. He was a simple object now and for the rest of his existence. However long that should be.

The darkness around him moved and a second later something grabbed him. Pulled him upwards. The light came back as he was pulled out of the bundle of clothing that once belonged to him.

Becky held him for a moment and then pulled him apart. Fitz felt like screaming, but no sound escaped as he had no mouth. To his surprise, there was no pain either. Only the confusion as he could now see from both parts.

"You know Kellie," Becky started while presenting Fitz in her hand. "This lipstick has the perfect color for you."

"I am not gonna wear Fitz!" Kellie spat back. While scared she still had a look of defiance on her.

"Was that his name? Nevermind."

Fitz was furious. She didn't even know who he was? She just destroyed his life and Becky didn't even care in the least.

"Don't worry." Becky gave a grin that was supposed to be reassuring but looked creepy to Fitz. "I am gonna wear him. As you."

Before Fitz could unpack the meaning behind Becky's comment he noticed something odd. The hands that held him changed. It was subtle, but not so much for the rest of Becky. Her features shifted. Growing taller by a few inches. Her breasts swelled. Yet the biggest change was her face. It shifted until it was a perfect copy.

"You look like me!" Kellie exclaimed.

"I am you," Becky corrected with a devilish grin. "My name is Kellie Ann Velazquez. The question is: Who are you?"

Before Kellie could answer she collapsed with a poof. In the middle of her pile of cloth was a handbag. Fitz knew it was Kellie.

Becky, now in the stolen body of Kellie, threw Fitz on the ground near Kellie and started to undress. Not for long as she slipped into Kellie's discarded clothing. Once done, she looked into the mirror and grinned. "Perfect."

Becky grabbed Kellie - the handbag - and started to gather the former members of the drama club in her. Then she threw all the discarded clothes away. At least, she remembered Fitz and picked him up again.

"Let's see if I was right."

She picked up his body and cap. Then lifting him up. The cap was thrown into Kellie. At once the darkness diminished his second view. The new Kellie twisted Fitz body and he felt himself grow. Soon he was lifted up and saw her lips get closer and closer. He knew there would be an impact, yet Fitz couldn't even flinch.

He felt pressed against her lips and then slowly dragged along them. His confusion intensified as a third point of view unfolded for him. One that was slightly dented and out of shape. Through it, he saw a lipstick up close. Himself. What was smeared on her lips was still part of him and he could see through it.

The new Kellie finished the first half of her upper lip and repositioned Fitz for the other side. Once again he felt himself get dragged over her lips. Which was a bumpy ride as up close the lips weren't as smooth as one might have guessed. There were creases and folds that might normally be small enough that they'd be hardly noticeable. To Fitz, they were prolific and scraped more of his body.

Soon, the pretender started on her bottom lip. More was scrapped off as he was dragged along her lips and a fourth perspective appeared for Fitz. Once finished, she smacked her lips together a few times. Which gave Fitz so much vertigo as his third and fourth view was pressed together repeatedly.

Eventually, the fashion witch was finished. With her mouth closed, Fitz's view through his third and fourth perspective was once again combined. She stepped over to a mirror and admired herself.

"I was right!" With each word strong vibrations traveled through the part of Fitz that was on her lips. "The perfect color."

With a smile, she headed out of the drama clubs room and spotted a teacher.

"Miss Hogan!"

"Yes, Kellie?"

"Was the practice run canceled? Because no one showed up!"

Fitz wanted to scream. Tell the truth. But the pretender played her game too good. The teacher looked into the drama clubs room and looked confused.

"I think I also saw a strange woman leave just when I around the corner into the hallway."

The teacher's eyes grew wide. "Stay here Kellie. I notify the principal and-"

Just like that, the fake Kellie had won. Having successfully snatched Kellie's identity and had declared everyone else of the drama club as missing. Presumed transformed by an outside fashion witch.

Fitz was livid. If he could just do something. But he was only lipstick. What could he do?

* * * * *

Fitz was worried. It had been two months since Kellie transformed him. And it was just Kellie now. Everyone believed her. Calling her lucky that she barely escaped the same fate of the drama club. The whole time Fitz witnessed all. Each and every lie that came over Kellie's lips. As he was her favorite lipstick. Nearly every day she wore him. And that was what worried him. He was slowly running out.

What would happen to him if he was used up? Would she toss him into the trash? Let him gather dust on her vanity table? That had been the fate for the last three days. There was barely anything left of him and Kellie appeared hesitant to use him up.

The fashion witch arrived at home. Stripping every piece of cloth as she reaches the room she had taken over from the real Kellie. Fitz knew what that meant. Kellie would practice magic by studying her books. She was paranoid about that a victim of hers could spy on her. That was the reason she usually even scrapes of Fitz from her lips. But not today, as she wore a mundane lipstick.

It might have been a day like any other if not for the fact that Kellie came out after an hour and picked Fitz up. Not to apply him to her lips, but to drag him off. She placed him in a magic circle made of chalk in her living room. That came as a surprise. He knew fashion witches could do more than just transform people into clothes. Yet, it was so rare that it was more rumor than fact.

His confusion grew as he saw leather straps near the circle. What were those for? Then it dawned on him. She was going to turn him back. If that happens then he had a short window of opportunity to-

"It worked!"

He heard Kellie's shout, yet at the same time, Fitz had his hands full. With hands nonetheless. How does one use them again? Or limbs in general. After more than two months as an inanimate object, he had forgotten how to use a human body. He was in a tangle and it didn't help that someone was manhandling him. By the time he figured himself out, it was too late. Leather straps bound him. Or were those cuffs? Looked more like it.

Having a human body felt strange. Familiar, yet different. The answer came to him as he looked along his hogtied body. "Why the hell am I a girl?" Then he spotted a mole on his left breast. He knew that mole. "I am you?"

"Stop complaining," Kellie snapped back. "It is hard enough to transform an object into a human. Copying my body is easier. Now shut up. I am contemplating what to turn you into next."

Fitz's eyes grew wide. She was gonna turn him back into an object. Yet bound as he was he couldn't stop her. There was no denying it. He would be trapped once again as an inanimate. As the shock wore off his mind started racing. Maybe Kellie could only transform humans into objects and vise versa. Not objects to objects. Why was beyond him, but he knew not all was lost. If he could talk her into a transformation that warranted a change later then he might have a second chance to escape.

"Can't I be your lipstick again?" Fitz blurred out.

Kellie looked at him as if he had sprouted a second head. "You want to be a lipstick again?"

He really didn't. In fact, he hated it. But it was the only object he knew would run out of usefulness. It was a gamble. One he had to take. Now was the question of how to sell it to her.

"It feels so good to be on your silky lips." Silky? Not by a long shot. "When you talk I vibrate with pleasure." More like tormented with vertigo. "And don't you always say I look beautiful on you?"

"I did-" Kellie slowly agreed. "And you really want this?"

Fitz knew he nearly got her. Just a push more. "Please. I can be any color you want. Just let me be on your lips again."

Kellie sighed and then shrugged her shoulders. A wave of her hand and Fitz fell amidst the leather straps on the ground. Once again an object. Small, round, and smooth. When Kellie picked him up and removed his cap, Fitz knew his wish was granted. At once she coated her lips with him.

Then, as she finished, she mused out loud. "Someone who wants to be an object. Who knew that was possible. I expected more like struggling and begging. Oh, well-"

Fitz would have grumbled if he could. He didn't want to be a lipstick. In fact, he hated it. But he got his second opportunity. In about two months he would run out again. Then he had to strike. Escape at all costs.

* * * * *

Fitz had enough. He was so done with being a lipstick. Having found out that he seemingly wanted to be a lipstick Kellie counted him as renewable. This changed her behavior in a way that she wore him nearly every day. Sometimes even to bed. This used him up at an exhilarated speed. Nearly one and a half months later, Kellie was drawing a circle made of chalk again. Fitz knew it was for him as he was once again nearly used up.

As he was worn nearly constantly Fitz had been witness to all her lies and sins. Worst of all the times when she stalked prey: humans she intended to change into clothing. In most cases, she succeeded. The only good news was that she didn't hunt ferociously or in his hometown. Always traveling to a bigger city for it.

Fitz mentally pulled himself back to the present. It was no time to let his mind roam. As Kellie placed him into the center of the circle, Fitz prepared to fight. He had to untangle himself and then somehow either overwhelm her or escape. Maybe he should-

There was a flash and suddenly Fitz was flesh and blood again. Once again, the sudden change left him disoriented. Trying to push through he tried to move, but instead, his arms twitched. Already, he could feel Kellie's leather cuffs on him. He had to act before she closed them. He tried pushing himself up with his legs again and-

"You kicked me!"

She painfully twisted him around. Squashing his new breasts under him as she pulled on his arms. Then the cuffs clicked close. He had failed. Worse, he had made her mad.

At once, his mind raced to do damage control. He needed another chance. Lipstick or bust. But first, he had to calm her down.

"I am sorry!" he whimpered. "Please. It was an accident."

"I don't think so. You fought me."

"No. I- " Fitz tried to gather his thoughts. He needed a lie. A good one. Those were usually close to the truth. "The limbs. They are so confusing."

"What?"

"I usually don't have any. For over three months now. And when you transform me back then- It is hard to coordinate. I wanted to bring my arms into a position for you to tie me up, but my leg moved. I am sorry."

She eyed him with suspicion and Fitz held his breath. Eventually, she shrugged. "Next time, just be still until I am done."

Fitz couldn't believe how lucky he was. It had worked. But while Kellie continued to bind his body his mind was racing. Overwhelming her might not work. Ever. The disorientation this time was worse than before. It frightened him to admit it, but he slowly was unlearning how to operate a human body. Next time it might even be worse. There had to be another way.

If only Fitz could beat her with her own tricks. Or in this case magic. But how could he get access to her knowledge? She always scrapped him off her lips when she studied her arcane collection. However, Fitz had a sudden idea. Yet, he might need an opportunity to use it.

"It is autumn soon," Kellie offered. "And I thought it might be nice to find a good lipstick color for the season. Get your input on it, because it will be your color too. But now that you kicked me-"

"I am really sorry," Fitz repeated.

"Yeah, yeah," Kellie waved him off.

For a few minutes, they browsed various women's magazines for the latest autumn and make-up trends. Fitz tried his best to be enthusiastic about what possible lipstick color he could be. Meanwhile, his new body distracted him. It wasn't the first time he was in a copy of Kellie's body. But the previous time had been very short. Now, he got a better feel. It wasn't his old body. Not even male. But he at once decided that it would be a thousand times better than being stuck as a lipstick. Or any other object for that matter. And of his new plan worked he might be stuck in Kellie's body. Possibly for the rest of his life.

"I think this color," Kellie said while pointing at the one lipstick she had stopped paging through three times before.

"I'd be happy to be that color for you," Fitz pressed out with forced enthusiasm. Now or never was the time to make his move. Once again he had to lie his ass off. "Kellie, may I ask for a little favor?"

"I am not leaving you as a human," Kellie replied at once. Her voice dropping nearly to a low growl. She was getting pissed off. And fast.

"No, no, no, no," Fitz quickly countered. "That's not it. I want to be your lipstick. Really. I only ask that you take more selfies of yourself when you wear me. That is all."

Kellie's anger vanished and was replaced by confusion. Just as Fitz had planned. "Why?"

"So I can see how beautiful you look with me on your lips."

"Don't you see that every time I look into the mirror?"

"Not really." Here it came. The lie that determined Fitz's own future and of everyone else Kellie had transformed. "I can only see clearly from my body. Uhm. The plastic body of my lipstick self. As for when I am on your lips- It is hard to describe. I can see, but it is fragmented. Like it is broken in a million tiny pieces. And each piece shows me a different direction."

"That sounds horrible," Kellie blurred out. Showing compassion that was surprising to Fitz. He didn't think Kellie would be capable. "But then why do you like being a lipstick so much?"

The question was like a punch in the gut for Fitz. One he hadn't prepared for. It threw him off for a second, but luckily not longer. "Because it is beautiful," Fitz gushed with fake enthusiasm. "It's like- What is the word? Kaleidoscopic! That's it. It's like my own personal light show. Uhm. Ah. Imagine a disco ball. All covered in mirrors. Now imagine the mirrors smaller. A million of them and-"

"I got it! I got it," Kellie stopped him. "Geez. Okay." She gave him a wry grin. "If it makes you shut up then I'll take a few selfies."

Fitz grinned. And for once it wasn't a forced one. Little did Kellie know otherwise. But now came another hard part. Staying in her good graces. Which meant being enthusiastic about turning back into a lipstick.

"Thanks. Can you turn me back now? Please?"

"Alright. Alright," Kellie agreed.

"And don't forget the sel-"

Fitz didn't come further as he once again was a simple lipstick.

* * * * *

Five days later, Fitz's heart would beat a mile a minute. If he had a heart at that moment. Sadly, as a simple lipstick, he hadn't. But what he had was a plan. One that now might come into fruition or not.

The parents of the real Kellie, not the imposter that currently wore Fitz on her lips, were gone for a few hours. Kellie was stripping down and put each sentient piece of garment away. Fitz knew that meant she would study her tomes and grimoires.

Now naked, Kellie walked into her bathroom. Grabbing a tissue and raising it to her lips. Fitz plan was about to fail as he would be scrapped off her lips. Then Kellie stopped. Shrugged and put the tissue away. In his mind, Fitz howled with glee.

Satisfied that no one could spy on her, Kellie pulled out her grimoires. Or what counted as such. Fitz was baffled at what he saw. No leatherbound books. Not even one page yellowed by age. It was all freshly printed paper. It was just some printout from the internet.

Now he understood how easy it had been for an emotionally compromised teen to get her hands on magic. It filled Fitz with anger. The wrath that he couldn't afford. It was time to learn. While Kellie refreshed her knowledge, Fitz learned. And new plans unfolded.

* * * * *

It was late autumn. By now, Fitz had learned a lot. Kellie was still obvious to the fact that he could see from her lips when he was applied. Every time she studied her magical material, he soaked everything in that he could.

Slowly, Kellie warmed up to him. She might even call it a friendship. Fitz was glad for it. It would help him in his plans to break free. On the other hand, Kellie reverted him into a human more and more often. Nearly every weekend. It was a routine by now. Kellie would show him her selfies. Fitz would pretend to gush over them. Then they paged through teen magazines together. Hunting for the next trendy color Fitz would be turned into.

But not everything was peachy. Kellie still couldn't change him into anything else than a clone of herself. At first, Fitz had resented that. Now he grew more and more appreciative of being a girl. As it was a break from being a lipstick. While Kellie was acting like a friend she still was paranoid. Always binding Fitz up as soon as she turned him human. Not that Fitz dared to ask her to forgo it. It would no doubt raise her suspicion again.

Right now, Kellie was out and about in their small hometown. Skipping from shop to shop. Fitz mostly blended it out, but when Kellie suddenly stopped, Fitz knew something was wrong. He could feel her heart beating faster. It was faint, but there were blood vessels in her lips. It told him that she was suddenly scared.

Kellie took a few steps backward. Suddenly twisting around an ran with all her might. In such reckless abandon that she bumped into people along the way. Four blocks further, she had to stop. Breathing hard. Always glancing behind her. A moment later she was running again.

Fitz didn't know what was going on. Was this real or did her paranoia reach a new height? All he knew was that Kellie more or less ran the whole way to her home. She ignored her parents and stormed up the stairs to her room. There she stuffed clothing into a bag. Not all, as she threw on some shirts. By the time she was done packing, she wore six layers and every sentient piece of cloth was on her or in her beg. Her handbag contained all her printed out pages of the arcane.

Not five minutes later she was out of the door. Running further. And then it hit Fitz. Kellie had packed everything, but him. All his plans were for nothing if she left him behind. Now, he started to panic as much as Kellie was. Nearly missing that Kellie had turned around.

Once again, Kellie burst through the front door. Raced to her room. But this time she grabbed Fitz who sent a silent prayer of thanks towards heaven. A toss later and he was inside Kellie. The original Kellie. Still a handbag. Thankfully, he still could see from her lips what was going on.

Kellie made her way to the border of the town. There, she walked to a random tree. Or so it appeared to Fitz. A large stone was pushed aside and beneath it was a sealed plastic bag. If Fitz saw right then there was money in the bag. Lots of it. He guessed about ten grand. How had Kellie gotten her hands on so much cash?

The plastic bag was stuffed into the handbag. Pushing Fitz's main lipstick body deeper into the nirvana that was a woman's handbag. It was irritating to be squashed like that, but Fitz ignored it. Kellie's flight continued. Soon, she was at the only greyhound bus station in town. An hour later they were on the move.

Kellie didn't look back as they left their hometown, but Fitz wondered if he would ever find his way back.

* * * * *

Two weeks later they arrived in a dingy motel on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Behind them a frantic run across the country. Kellie had switched from bus to bus. Now and then opting to tramp to the next city. All to escape someone.

After a short shower, Kellie changed. Just like the last two weeks, she dressed nearly exclusively in sentient clothes. Even if they didn't mesh. Which was strange as Kellie normally gave a lot of thought about her wardrobe. Thankfully, she still wore Fitz every day. As such he had witnessed the whole crazy flight from start to finish. At least he hoped they were now finished. Which worried him was that he was nearly used up again.

It was near evening when Kellie headed out again. Apparently, she knew the way around town. Even without asking anyone or consulting a smartphone. Hers she had left at home before her great escape. This puzzled Fitz even more. How would Kellie know her way around? Maybe she had visited it in her previous incarnation: Becky?

Her goal was apparently a sex shop. As Kellie entered Fitz could see the interior in all its glory. Or lack thereof. He had never been in one. In one way it was right along with his expectations and in the other way it was in stark contrast. It had a little filthy look to it but was way bigger than Fitz would have imagined.

The shop was nearly empty. Only a clerk, a punkish looking woman in her twenties, manned the store. She immediately noticed Kellie and shouted out. "I need to see some ID, girl. No minors allowed. A wave of Kellie's hand and the clerk collapsed in herself. A moment later, Kellie fished a ballgag out of the pile of clothes the clerk left behind.

Kellie steered towards a section clearly catering to the S&M crowd. Ignoring the whips and such, she plundered everything that could be used to tie a person up. Coils of rope and dozens of leather cuffs and straps. Now, Fitz knew where the previous set had come from, but not why Kellie did go all out in acquiring a dozen sets.

Kellie headed out of the sex-shop, but couldn't do so without swiping a dildo too. Despite the dire circumstances it made Fitz laugh with the absurdity of it. Kellie's spoils were unloaded in the motel room and she immediately went out again.

This time she headed for a home depot. Thankfully here there were witnesses and Kellie didn't dare to transform anyone. Instead, she got a battery-operated drill and an assortment of screws. That confused Fitz even more. What was she up to?

Fitz had to wait a few days to find out. Each day Kellie left the motel to walk seemingly randomly through the crowds. But Fitz recognized the behavior. Kellie was looking for a victim. On the fifth day, Kellie suddenly stepped into a smaller casino. Something must have caught her eye. Or someone. Fitz pitied whoever it was.

She walked into a magic show. "The great David Sanders" a poster nearby proclaimed. For a while, Fitz was distracted by the show. It wasn't the best, but it was entertaining. But soon he noticed something curious. Kellie's attention was not on the magician, but on his assistant. She was a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, who had some color to her skin and long luxurious brown hair.

After the show, Kellie walked around the casino. Finding a secluded corner and waited. After an hour the magician exited the back entrance, but Kellie ignored him. But when the assistant left a half-hour later, Kellie was on the prowl. There were a few times Fitz thought she might make a move to capture her victim, but Kellie kept her distance. Only coming close to her victim as she grabbed a bus to the outskirts of the town. Kellie had to take the same bus to not lose her target.

She followed the assistant right to her apartment. Only to suddenly turn around. Not for the first time, Fitz wondered what Kellie was up to.

Kellie headed straight to her motel room. Immediately drawing a circle on the floor with chalk. That it was on the dirty carpet didn't seem to bother her. Kellie was transforming someone back. Would it be him? He hoped so.

To his disappointment, she grabbed a random sentient object. A green bra she had acquired a month ago. Of course, leather straps and cuffs were put nearby. A moment later a copy of Kallie was sprawled on the floor. Trying in vain to sort out her limbs. Fitz knew her confusion too well.

Kellie didn't hesitate and hogtied her copy within seconds. As her victim started to protest, Kellie shoved a ball-gag into her mouth. "This used to be a person. Don't bite too hard on her."

After making sure her former bra wouldn't wander off, Kellie started to pack again. Just a few sentient clothes and a lot of leather restraints found their way into the handbag. Topped off by the battery-powered drill and a few screws.

It was late evening and Fitz wondered what Kellie was up to now. Soon, he got a queasy feeling as he noticed her backtrack to the apartment of the magicians assistant. Yet, this time Kellie didn't lurk around. Walking straight to the apartment door and knocking on it with insistence.

Fitz could hear some cursing from inside and steps that came closer. How Fitz wished he could warn the woman to not open her door. But she did. As soon as Kellie saw her Fitz felt her change beneath him.

"What the-"

The magicians assistant didn't make it further before she collapsed. Leaving a bathrobe on the floor from which a feathered boa peeked out. Kellie kicked the bundle aside and stepped in. There, in a mirror beside the door, Fitz saw the truth. Kellie wasn't Kellie anymore. She had stolen another body and identity.

Kellie looked around and eventually found her victim's purse and ID. "So, I am Maritza Cameron now. It could be worse. Or better."

Kellie didn't stop there. She hunted through the new apartment for a while. Stopping in the kitchen as it hardwood floors. There, she drew another magical circle. But not before anchoring a chair to the floor with a few well-placed screws.

It all appeared so well practiced that slowly Fitz doubted that it was the teenage girl Becky who stole Kellie's identity. It was more likely that Becky had been another victim of identity and body theft.

Blue panties were thrown into the circle and a moment later a copy of Maritza struggled on the floor. Not for long as Kellie bound her quickly. Then she heaved her victim on the chair and tied her down there. Just like her other victim in the motel.

Only then, Kellie seemed to relax slightly. "Let's see what I've got to work with-' she mused out loud and hunted through the apartment for a mirror. She found a full-sized on in the bedroom and now Fitz got a good look at the new body.

Maritza must have been of mixed heritage. Fitz guessed half was from some Asian country and the other half was probably African-American. It gave her an exotic and beautiful look. It was also a stark contrast to Kellie's body. Which clearly lacked on the skin color department. It wasn't completely Caucasian pale skin as Kellie spend a lot of time sunbathing and later under a tanning bed.

"Hmm. Sorry, lipstick," Kellie mused out loud. "You are clashing with my new look." Then, she scrubbed him off her lips. A moment later Fitz had only the view from his main body. The tube of lipstick that was left in a dark bathroom in the motel.

As minutes passed by, Fitz fears grew. If his theory was right - that Becky was just another victim - then the fashion witch he now knew as Kellie had a habit of self-reinventing by stealing identities. How clean was the cut? Would the new Maritza leave everything in the motel behind? Fitz included? And there was a copy of Kellie's body bound to a chair in the other room. Was she a decoy? Left behind as a distraction?

It all made sense and Fitz grew desperate. He had been so close to escaping. His revised plan had worked so well. Maybe in a month or two, he could have made his move. But now? Most likely he would be thrown away because no-one knew he was sentient. Just another abandoned lipstick in a motel's bathroom.

He suddenly was blinded as the bathroom's lights had been switched on. There stood the copy of Kellie. How did she escape?

"There you are," Kellie purred. "I admit I felt naked without you."

Now it made click for Fitz. It was the real Kellie. Not the original one, but the fashion witch. A moment later, Fitz was pulled apart again as the witch removed his cap. Then, she spread a new coat on her lips. Once again, Fitz had a view from Kellie's perspective.

As Kellie walked into the other room, Fitz noticed that Kellie's copy was gone. Probably transformed back into a piece of cloth. Kellie hurried to gather her belongings. This time she thought to pack Fitz. Then, the fashion witch walked out of the motel without a second glance back. The keycard to the room thrown on the sidewalk without much thought.

Once again, Kellie headed to the place of the magicians assistant, Maritza. This time she had the keys and let herself in. Scooping up the feathered boa, Kellie grinned. "We need to talk. But in a few days. You will tell me everything about my new life."

With those words, Kellie left the feathered boa fall. Dumped her handbag in a corner, and collapsed on the bed.

* * * * *

A new rhythm unfolded. Apparently, the fashion witch liked Kellie's body. So, every time she did go out, a random piece of clothing was changed into a copy of Kellie. Left bound on a second chair beside the copy of Maritza's body. Then, the fashion witch transformed herself into Maritza and the copy of the assistant back into a sentient object.

When the witch came home, the exact thing played out in reverse. This left the witch practically with two identities. Maritza's for work and everything outside.Kellie's for being at home. Fitz guessed the witch has grown fond of being in Kellie's body. Why else would she go through the trouble?

What irked Fitz the most was that both bodies - of Maritza and Kellie - had a different complexion. That meant Fitz color could only be matched to one of the bodies. Which turned out to be Kellie's. This left Fitz for hours on end with nothing left to do than to stare out of his main body. He had been curious about the magician's show and all the backstage activities. But that part eluded his grasp.

Thankfully, the witch only consulted her arcane papers when being in Kellie's body. That still left Fitz free to snoop over her shoulder. Or in his case, her lips. Why she had to study them regularly soon became apparent to Fitz. There were different spells to transform a person into an object. The easiest, but slowest was with the help of a drawn witch circle. Of course, no potential victim would step into one free of choice. The witch's favorite way was to envision a few glyphs in her mind in a specific order. As the glyphs were fairly complex, the witch had to memorize them over and over, so she wouldn't forget a detail or get one wrong.

Of course, Fitz started to memorize them too. That was his plan. Beat the witch with her own tricks. Of course, he could only take her on when he was in human form. He also knew that he would be stuck as said human for a long time. Fitz had long since made peace with the fact that he would end up as a girl. Not that he minded. It was better than being a lipstick. Slowly it also became more natural being a girl than a boy. Not to mention that he always looked forward to being a girl, as it meant to be mobile.

At least in a limited fashion. Kellie still would tie him up, but less strict. Sometimes leaving him as a girl for hours. Like right now, he was with Kellie sprawled on the couch. Though he could barely use his hands. It had become a thing that it was Fitz who had to page through and gauge aloud what color might be best for him.

Just like right now. He pointed as best as he could - as he was still bound - to a pinkish gel lipstick. "This could be nice for a playful look. What do you think?"

As the witch didn't answer Fitz twisted around to look at her. At once, his eyes grew wide. She was asleep. Dozed off without him noticing. Now was the time to strike.

One by one Fitz imagined the glyphs for transforming the witch into an object herself. He finished the last glyph and-

The witch shuddered. As if she was cold for a moment. Fitz held his breath. Was she waking up? After ten seconds he relaxed. She still was asleep. But what had gone wrong?

He nearly cursed out loud when it came to him. According to those texts, the witch has to train their magical affinity past a certain point to be able to cast a spell. As Fitz had never done any training, he was as mundane as he could be.

His eyes darted around and looked for a way out. There was the front door. Not too far away. But bound as he was there was no way for Fitz to reach the doorknob. Not to mention the door's security-chain above. The apartment didn't have a back entrance. That left Fitz with a need to slip his restrains. Which was unlikely in itself.

Then, it dawned on him. If the witch was currently Kellie, then some poor schmuck was currently bound as Maritza in the kitchen. Should he go for it? If he was caught, who knew what the witch would do to him. Fitz might lose all the goodwill he had garnered with her. Then again, if he ever wanted to escape, then he had to take risks.

Carefully, Fitz wiggled himself to get to the edge of the couch. Now he knew how worms felt. Dropping down the edge was hard doing silently. There was a thump as he slit down and for a moment Fitz held his breath. Listening if Kellie stirred awake or not.

As a minute passed without anything happen, Fitz looked towards the kitchen. He knew if he started moving over there then he would put all bets on one horse. Right now, he could argue he fell down the couch by mistake. But if he moved too far away that lie would lose meaning.

His hesitation didn't last long. Fitz started to wiggle his way to the kitchen and to the only other prisoner in this house currently in a human body. After a few feet, he knew he was screwed. Tied up as he was every inch of progress was hard-fought and took a long time. Already an hour had passed and there still was some way to go. Nevertheless, he couldn't stop.

He guessed two hours later, Fitz made it to the entry of the kitchen. The faint sound of creaking and clinking told him that the other captive fought against her restraints too. She stopped as she saw Fitz wiggling closer. Urging him with big eyes to hurry on.

By the time Fitz reached her, he was exhausted and hurt. The leather straps - while wide in themselves - had dug into his skin. Rubbed it raw. He was sure it would leave quite a few bruises. But only if he succeeded. A lipstick couldn't bruise after all.

Now came the hardest part. The other captive in the body of Maritza was strapped down tight. Thankfully her hands were free, but her arms pinned against the chair's armrests. Fitz would have to try righting himself up against the bound captive. High enough that she could reach a few of his buckles. And all that, without being too loud and waking the witch.

He tried and tried again. It was hard to come up and keep the balance. Then trying to present a buckle for her to grab. After a few tries, Fitz was ready to give up. Then a thought came to him. He abandoned his current attempt and slid down to the floor again. Lying flat on his back he tried raising his bound legs. It nearly reached towards her hand. Painfully wiggling closer, Fitz tried again lifting his legs up higher. The muscles of his stomach protested by the strain and he was slowly sliding to the side.

Suddenly, his movement stopped. He felt a hand on his restrains. She had grabbed him, the other captive, by one of his leather straps. A moment later, she had helped position him so she could reach a buckle. And it was the right one too. As she opened it, Fitz felt slack in all the other leather belts that bound his legs tight together. The captive helped him slide the whole mess of leather from his legs.

Fitz didn't lose a moment on hesitation. Rolling away from the chair, he gave himself enough space to stand up. Which proves harder than he had thought. After all, he hadn't stood on legs for months now. Most of the time not even having legs. He was shaky like anew born giraffe, but he managed. Now he could walk over to the other captive and present the buckles that bound his arms and upper body. A few seconds later, they too fell away.

At once, Fitz freed the other captive but whispered to her urgently. "The witch is asleep. We have to be quiet."

The other woman nodded and as soon as Fitz freed her of the ballgag she whispered back. "We have to get out of here."

The thought was tempting, but Fitz knew they had to be smart. "We can't. Not yet."

"Are you crazy?" the scarred woman shot back. "Why the fuck not?"

"She's a witch," Fitz replied. "Who's to say she doesn't have a tracking spell or so. She can't let us escape. We would expose her."

"But what else we can do?"

"I have a plan," Fitz assured her. "But I need to wear as many sentient clothes as we can find."

Together, they tiptoed towards the bedroom. There, Fitz threw on whatever cloth he could find. Even if it meant wearing ten tops over each other. His theory and plan were rather simple. He learned that sentient clothes are enchanted to bestow part of their magical aptitude to their wearer. If he wore enough then maybe it was enough to awaken his access to magic.

Soon they didn't bother making him slip into each garment anymore. Just pushing his arm through one loop of ten bras did the trick. With each garment added Fitz noticed something peculiar. The sentient clothes around him started to glow. He reasoned it was their magical potential and-

"Lipstick! Where the hell are you?"

Fitz twitched as if he had been hit. The witch was awake. Time was running out.

"Hurry!" Fitz urged his fellow escapee on.

"I hope your plan works," she remarked. And added in a whisper. "I should have run."

"There you are!" The witch arrived in the bedroom. "Time to punish you."

There was a sudden pressure on Fitz. Lasting only for a moment. It had worked. Combining his magical aptitude with those the sentient clothes gave him.

"My turn," Fitz pressed out. He envisioned the glyphs in his mind and mentally pushed them onto the witch.

With a yelp, she stumbled. But remained human. It had not been enough. Fitz still needed more clothes. Kellie managed to stand up again, but Fitz saw something on her face he never thought he would see: an utterly scared look of panic. She stumbled out of the doorway. Clearly, Fitz's attempt had weakened her.

"So close. I need more," Fitz urged the woman that sought shelter behind him.

"There isn't anymore. You are wearing them all."

His mind raced. He should go after the witch. But what good would it do if he couldn't transform her and eliminate her threat forever? He needed more.

"The ballgag!" Fitz cried out as an epiphany came to him.

Running for the kitchen he arrived there just as the witch stumbled out of the apartment. Fitz didn't spare a glance. He was busy looking through the leather straps. Triumphantly he held her up. The punk girl that used to man the sex shop, but was now only a ballgag.

As Fitz ran after the witch, he wondered if holding the gag was enough. Just to be sure, he popped the ballgag between his teeth. Instantly cursing how big it was. But he didn't spit it out or bothered to buckle it tightly. Instead, put every ounce of his strength into chasing the witch.

She had quite the headstart. Her weakness after Fitz had failed to transform her already tempering out. She ran. Like a drunk, but she ran.

As she was already halfway down the street, Fitz panicked a little. Maybe if he hit her again with the spell it might not transform her because of the distance, but may cause her another disorientation spell. Breathing hard, Fitz stopped and concentrated. Envisioning each glyph and mentally pushing them to the fleeing witch.

She stumbled. A moment later there was only a pile of garments.

"Mpf mhmpf mphf!"

His cry of triumph utterly garbled by the ballgag between his teeth. Popping her out, Fitz just had to repeat himself. "I did it!"

A soon as his wits returned, Fitz looked around. By now it was late in the night and thankfully the street was empty. He hoped that meant nobody saw him. To minimize his exposure, he ran to the pile of clothing and grabbed it all. Then hurried back to Maritza's apartment.

His fellow escapee waited for him there. For a moment her eyes grew wide in fear. Fitz had after all the same body the witch used to have up until a moment ago. Then she relaxed. Not a lot, but Fitz saw some of her tension slip away.

"Did you get her?"

Fitz unloaded the pile of garments onto the couch but kept one object to himself. Grinning, he turned around and presented a lipstick. "Oh, I got her. Found it kind of poetic to change her into the same thing she tormented me with."

"I thought you liked that," the other woman blurred out. "We all saw you gushing to Kellie about it."

"It was all an act," Fitz assured her. "Guess my time in the drama club really paid off."

"What do we do now?"

"I have an idea," Fitz said while stripping garments off himself. "Can you help me undress? Getting kind of warm under so many layers."

Once Fitz was unencumbered, he darted to the bedroom and pulled out the witch arcane research. Bringing it to the living room he spread them out. Looking for something in particular.

"Got it."

Pulling out a specific piece of paper, Fitz used it to copy the shown magical circle to the wooden floor. Finishing up, he placed a black sports bra in it. Then, he grabbed enough sentient garments until he saw the glow around sentient objects again.

Mentally, he pushed a new set of glyphs into the sports bra. Once done, he nodded. "There we go. Maybe now he or she can talk to us."

"That idiot. I am still a bra. How am I supposed to talk?"

"She talks!" the person in Maritza's body exclaimed.

"I am? Oh my gosh, I am!"

"It's a spell I saw but Kellie always ignored it," Fitz explained. "You aren't really talking in the normal sense. The spell lets you broadcast thoughts to others. A form of telepathy, I think. Let me put it on everyone else and then we all can talk."

It took an hour and a lot of energy, but at last Fitz had given every sentient garment the ability to speak. Now they all were spread out on the furniture. A total of eighty-two former humans. The witch had been busy. Here and there sentient garments had discussions. Others found a way to narrow their broadcasts to only selected few. Engaging others in private talk. Fitz knew there was a lot of confusion, anger, and desperation. He had to step in before it got worse.

"Everyone. Can I please have your attention?" When the murmurs around him settled down, he continued. "My name is Fitz. I was a victim of the fashion witch like you. Some may know me as the lipstick she-"

"You are the suck-up that practically crawled up her ass!" someone shouted. Murmurs piped up again.

Fitz flinched, but then he had expected this. He held up a lipstick. Not any lipstick. "I did. Sweet-talking her allowed me to not only escape her but also to do this: I captured her. We don't have to fear the fashion witch anymore."

"Really?" One voice asked. "Isn't it: the witch is dead, long live the witch?"

Fitz held up his hands and cut through before random discussions could break out again. "I have no intention to replace her. Furthermore, I will do everything I can to transform as many of you back to being humans."

"What do you-"

"Please," Fitz interrupted. "I can't distinguish who is talking. I guess the others can't either. Please state your name and what you are."

"Nancy. Blue lacy bra. What do you mean as many of us? Can't you turn us all back?"

"Sadly, no," Fitz confirmed. As some voiced their protests out loud, he had to shout to continue. "At least not right away. In fact, I don't even know how many I'll be able to transform back in the beginning. Please let me explain."

As silence settled down again, Fitz continued. "I am not a witch. Wearing nearly all of you pushed me past a certain point that allowed me to use magic. In fact, I found out this is the real reason why fashion witches hunt us and wear us. To strengthen themselves. Without all of you, I can't do squat shit. Wearing some of you, and I don't know how many of you, might allow me to transform a few of you back."

"Bethany. The white panties. The one with the pastel pink bow. Who decides which ones of us get turned back and who remains stuck? I don't wanna be panties anymore! Do you know how horrible it is? Especially when she was having her period. I can't stand another second of it."

"We all decide," Fitz assured her. "But there is something you should know. Most of you weren't chosen at random. You not just pissed a fashion witch off and were transformed for that reason. No, you were specifically hunted. Fashion witches aim to transform those that have a high magical affinity. Because their spells allow them to siphon off part of it. That means each of you has a high chance to be hunted again."

"I see two options," Fitz continued. "Two groups if you will. Group one is those I can manage to turn back and they go their way. I suggest hiding. There is also the matter that I can only copy human bodies. Right now we only have two available. The one from Maritza and the one from Kellie. For those of you who had been male, like me, I hate to say it, but we will be stuck as women."

"Damn." The curse came from the left of Fitz. It was the person currently in the body of Maritza. She pointed at herself. "Kyle."

Fitz nodded. He knew Kyle from the drama club. Had witnessed his transformation. "The alternative is harder. As it means remaining longer as sentient clothing. In these documents is outlined how to raise one's magical ability. Even awaken as a witch. I suggest a rotation. We each take turns as a human and try to raise our magical level. Not only will it allow us to transform more of us back to human - eventually all of us - but it will strengthen all of us. So that we can protect each other."

"Judy. Striped grey panties. Will you take turns too?"

"Of course, I will-"

"No, you will not!" This fierce shout cut Fitz off. "Kellie. Uhm. The original Kellie. Argh, damn it. Just call me Ann. It's my middle name. Anyway. Fitz shouldn't take turns. I mean think about it. He not only escaped, but he is also giving us a chance. Even a choice. Right now we all are scared. And rightfully so. But I know Fitz from school. He had always been a decent guy. But I don't know anyone of you. I hate to say it, but one of you could panic when it is your turn and decide to take the previous fashion witch's place. Trapping us all again. I can't risk it. Can you? I vote Fitz remains a human."

Others joined in and soon the vote was near entirely in Fitz favor. Sealing Fitz fate. Now, he would have to get used to being a girl. Even more so to be in Kellie's body. The very girl he had a crush for so long. He joined the drama club just to be near her. But for now, he pushed the thought away.

"There is one of you we need as a permanent person too." Fitz looked around. "Where is the original Maritza?"

"Over here. The violet feathered boa on the couch."

"Okay. Maritza, I hope you join group two and help us out. Currently, you are the only one who knows your job. We need you in your original body to earn money again. To keep this place and help feed those whose turn it is to be human. And for that, you need to permanently be a human."

"Of course," Maritza agreed. "The way I see it we all are in the same boat. I mean I thought for a while that the witch just wanted my identity to hide. But now, I am not so sure. My boss - the stage magician - is an ass. The pay is crap. And not to mention I am on stage each night. Seen by hundreds. As a hiding spot, my identity is less than optimal. Which makes me guess I have been a target for my magic level, right? Meaning I am still a target for other fashion witches. I need you as much as you need me."

Fitz nodded. "Okay. Time to decide who wants to be in group one and who wants to be in group two. There are advantages to both, so chose carefully."

It took nearly five hours to hash it all out. Of the over eighty victims fifty-two chose group one. Only thirty-one were brave enough for group two and decided to stay with Fitz. By the end of their little forum, Fitz was tired and dozed off amidst his fellow escapees.

* * * * *

Fitz jerked awake as he heard keys in the door lock. It was only Maritza who returned from work.

"Napping again?"

Fitz gave her a lopsided grin. "Hey, I earned it. Today was the last one."

Nearly two months later he had finally managed to transform the last one of those that wanted to leave. Just researching how to turn someone back had taken a week. They had called in sick on Maritza's behalf, but she still had nearly lost her job. As soon as Maritza had her body back Fitz started to fulfill his promise. At first, he had only managed to transform one person back each day. And only barely. But soon he got better.

What he regretted was the lack of privacy. Two months as a girl and his curiosity about it didn't ebb away. By now he was used to the feeling of having a female body but never had the chance to really explore it. If he didn't prepare to turn someone back, then he was doing those meditation exercises that promised to raise his magical aptitude.

Even if he wasn't busy, Fitz was never alone. While everyone hated to be clothing, they hated it more to be not worn. No-one wanted to rot in the closet and be bored to death. Which meant Fitz had to cycle through them all. As most garments only fit him as he wore Kellie's body.

Most of the time, Fitz could deal with it. Heck, a secret part of him loved wearing sentient clothes. They felt so good on his skin. It was addictive. But sometimes he wondered. Maybe it was just being a girl in general that felt better.

Most distracting of all were those few mornings that he had woken hot and bothered. His first impulse was always to finish the job. He had always heard women had better orgasms. Was it true? He was eager to find out, yet could never make him continue. Not while others could witness. Not to mention that Jess and Claudia were the girls that had been transformed into his pajamas. Top and bottom respectively.

Maritza broke his musing as she collapsed on the couch beside him. A groan and then a sigh escaped her lips.

"Hard shift playing with fake magic?" Fitz needled her.

"The work not so much. David-" she frowned. "That guy is such an ass, but I just can't find a better job. Not if we have additional mouths to feed."

"Speaking of-" Fitz spoke up as he was reminded. "The first of our group is out. Tamara is in your bedroom and meditating. After dinner, I need you to bring Ann out."

"Dinner! I am starving," Maritza exclaimed. "Sure. After we have eaten."

Early on they had decided that the group would have one copy of Kellie's body out and one of Maritza. Aside from Maritza and Fitz themselves.

"I bet the girls are all excited," Maritza mused out loud.

"Oh, we are," Nancy agreed.

Her sudden outburst gave Fitz a light shock. Sometimes, he forgot that he wore sentient clothes which he gave the ability to speak. In this case, Nancy was the blue bra with lots of lace that he wore. To be accommodating to her Fitz had opened so many buttons of his blouse that it looked downright slutty. Just so that Nancy could look around. Not that the blouse, Camilla, minded. Or anyone around him.

"To be human again will be great," Nancy continued. "But being something else than a bra might be a welcome change too."

Fitz nodded. A side effect of this cycle he proposed was that everyone who had their turn as a human could decide what piece of garment they want to become. Fitz had witnessed quite a few discussions of small groups trying to coordinate who turns into what and which color. After all, Fitz was expected to wear them all and they shouldn't clash color-wise. Not that Fitz minded, but the women around him did.

Fitz got up and trotted after Maritza into the kitchen. By now it was routine that he would help her in the kitchen. While he had two thumbs in regards to cooking, he could dice stuff fine enough.

"By the way," Fitz started as he sat down at the kitchen table. "The girls have a proposition for you."

Maritza looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. "For me?"

"Some would like to be worn by you after their turn as human," Fitz explained. "Which has the added benefit that you would be more protected against other fashion witches. But it also draws more attention to you."

"I thought some of them might," Maritza confessed. "It would allow them to see the outside again."

Fitz nodded. It hadn't been a thought that occurred to him, but it was a valid opinion. If he was honest, he'd like to see the outside again too. Hiding in Maritza's apartment for the last two months slowly took a toll on him too.

"But we have to be careful of what we turn them into. Nothing that you have to undress and put aside. I am not suggesting that you would lose someone, but maybe they could get stolen."

Maritza gave him a grimace. "That is more likely than you might think. Over the past year, panties have been gone missing from my wardrobe in the casino. I bet it is that pervert boss of mine."

"The stage magician?" Fitz asked.

Maritza gave him a resolute nod.

"Then it certainly might be a risk," Fitz concluded.

"They could be part of my stage outfit," Maritza offered. "After all, I was forced to buy my own outfit. No one bats an eye if I take my outfit back home with me. It might offer a little more than just be worn on my way to work or back."

"We certainly can offer it up to the girls," Fitz agreed. "It is up to them."

For a moment his thoughts returned to the strange fact that he was the only guy in the group. And he still counted himself as such. Despite the body he currently had. Every other guy had high-tailed out of here. Not that there were many of them. Besides Fitz only five. Of course, none of them had been happy to be stuck as a girl either. Instead of the vague hope that Fitz would find a way to turn them all back to their original body, they thought it would be wiser to run and hide. Most of the girls ran too. Especially those that had been more demanding and degrading pieces of clothing. None of the former panties chose to stay.

Fitz could understand them all. His plan wasn't without risks. But running and hiding was even riskier in his opinion. Each one had received a copy of the fashion witch's texts. Fitz certainly hoped that they wouldn't abuse it, but there was a chance a few of them would become fashion witches themselves.

"I have an idea about that," Sarah chimed in and broke Fitz out of his concentration. She still was a wig and rested on a styrofoam head in the kitchen.

"About what?" Fitz asked. "Sorry, I didn't listen just now. Lost in thought."

"We were brainstorming how to earn more money," Maritza explained.

Fitz nodded. "So, what was the idea?"

"Well, Maritza said a few days ago that the magician is looking for an additional assistant," Sarah explained. "I say that could be one of us. Not a Maritza clone. I don't think they would believe that she has suddenly a twin sister. But a Kellie clone might do."

"There is the fact that someone is probably hunting for the fashion witch that caught us," Fitz pointed out. "And they are looking for someone looking like Kellie."

"I have thought of that," Sarah insisted. "You can alter a face a lot with make-up. In fact, we have to age whoever is up for the job. Kellie is a little young to be working, but with make-up, we can sell it and alter the features. Plop me on the head and it will be harder to recognize her."

Fitz thought it over. It had some merit, but still, he hesitated. "We can bring it up with the others. But I would suggest we wait. Over the last few months, we send dozens of Kellie clones out. They might be caught and even interrogated. Who knows how many would give us up if they'd be promised to keep their freedom. I'd like to keep us all as much together as we can. Just for the added defense."

"Makes sense," Sarah agreed. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Sure."

"Can you wear me a while?"

Fitz grinned and fulfilled her wish.

* * * * *

Fitz adjusted his bodice for the tens time when Maritza swatted his hand away.

"Stop it," she admonished him. "Ann sits perfectly."

Fitz looked down at Ann. She was a sparkly bodice and a marching twin to Camilla. The bodice that Maritza wore. Both sentient garments barely covered anything. Apparently, Maritza was used to it. Not so Fitz. His breasts were on full display. Granted he often exposed the twins in the apartment just as much to give the bra of the day a view out. But today he wasn't in the apartment.

"I am just nervous," he admitted.

It's been two months since Sarah proposed her plan. Having a second income would more than double the count of people they could have out at the same time. As it came down to who gets to play the second assistant the vote came down to Fitz. That he had been in the drama club was a plus, but the real purpose was the defense. Not only was he one of the strongest magic users of their group, but he could also cast a few spells. The sentiment was that he could defend them even when exposed.

"Why am I even doing this?" Fitz murmured. "I blame Sarah."

"Blame me all you want," Sarah whispered back. "I think it is showtime."

Sarah wasn't the only one he wore. Maritza and he each wore ten of the girls. Which wasn't as easy as they had thought. Especially since every garment below the beltline was a no-go. There were limits to what the girls wanted to be.

Claps could be heard and from the stage, Fitz could hear David - the magician - do his introductory monologue.

"… with my beautiful assistant Maritza …"

Maritza plastered a fake smile on her face and walked out.

"… and for the first time a new addition. Give warm applause for the newest addition to the team, Lindsey!"

This was it. The cover-name they had come up with for Fitz. A last deep breath and Fitz walked out. Hoping his smile was as convincing as Maritza's.

Two hours later, the show wound down. The audience had left and it was up to the assistants to clean up the stage.

"See? It wasn't so bad," Maritza insisted. "You did well."

"I could do with less ogling of my body," Fitz remarked dryly.

"All part of the job," Maritza explained again. "We are here to shift the focus. To distract from when the real magic happens."

"Real fake magic," Fitz corrected. "Honestly I didn't think it would be that much work being a magician's assistant. Is it just me or do we all the work and David gets to smile, talk a little, and get all the praise?"

Maritza sighed. "That's show-biz."

"Lindsey?" David shouted as he came out of his office. "Can you come over for a minute?"

"Hope I didn't mess something up," Fitz murmured and headed towards David who ushered him into his office.

"Take a seat," the magician offered.

Fitz complied but hoped this wouldn't take too long. The string tanga he wore under the bodice gave him a mighty wedgie. He certainly was eager to slip out of it. Sadly, he had to wait until they arrived at home.

"I've had my eyes on you," David started. "You have talent. And you are easy on the eyes. That is certainly a bonus. I would like to have you as a permanent assistant-"

Fitz nodded. That was fast. From what Maritza told him he thought David would make him jump through a few more hops. He was that kind of an asshole that insisted on a few free performances. Just to see how viable a candidate is.

"However," David continued. "You look a little too young. The paperwork you gave me is a little strange too."

Before Fitz could argue for himself, David turned around his computer monitor. "And there is this. An amber alert for a Kellie Ann Velazquez. Seventeen years old. Bears a strong resemblance to you."

"I can explain-" Fitz started and hoped he could. The magician might not buy the true story. Maybe Fitz had to lie again. Hopefully, his wits wouldn't leave him hanging.

David hushed him. He stood up, but not for long. Just long enough to step around and lean on his desk. For Fitz, it was uncomfortably close. Not to mention it was a bit intimidating.

"I don't care why you ran away from home," David assured him. "You have your reasons. Whatever they may be. All I know is that you want this job and we can come to a compromise. Won't we."

Fitz mentally cursed. He certainly didn't mean- Fitz gave a scared look towards David's crotch. Which was, thanks to David leaning on the desk, right at Fitz eye level and uncomfortably close.

"Now you get the idea," David remarked with a leer.

At once, Fitz stood up. Stumbling away from the chair. "I-'

"Relax," David insisted. He stepped close before Fitz could retreat further. Snaking one hand around Fitz's waist and let the other fell on his left breast. "it won't hurt."

"Back off, Asshole!"

"Get your dirty hands off me!"

David's eyes grew wide as he stumbled back in shock. Looking around to see who else was in the room. "What was that?"

Fitz needed a moment to gather himself. Cursing his own weakness. But seeing the magician scared gave him power. Not only pulled it Fitz out of his shock but also gave him an edge. One his wits latched onto.

"That was Sarah and Ann," Fitz remarked. "My wig and my bodice respectively."

David stumbled back. "You are wearing sentient clothing. Are you nuts. Everybody knows that can attract fashion witches."

"Well, I am one." As David took a few steps towards the door, Fitz shouted out. "Stop right there. Another step and you'll be a garment. Sit down in your chair while I get Maritza."

Warily the magician passed Fitz as he cautiously walked back towards his office desk.

After shouting for Maritza, Fitz took a position opposite David. Not sitting down. Instead, he started to undress. Which apparently calmed the magician down.

"What are you doing?" Maritza asked as she arrived.

"He," Fitz nodded towards David, " tried to force himself on me."

"I-it was a misunderstanding," David interjected.

"I think we both know it was not," Fitz remarked dryly.

"Then why are you undressing?" Maritza asked again.

Fitz put Ann down on a neat pile of sentient garments. It was topped off by Sarah the wig. "Because I think we can still come to an understanding."

"What kind?" David wanted to know.

"Right now, I don't trust you. And I believe none of the girls will either." Fitz's statement was cemented as a few girls spoke out in agreement. Meanwhile, he stripped the last few non-sentient pieces off himself "That means we simply can't let you go. Here is what I propose."

He rested a hand on the stack of sentient garments and fixed David. The magical glyphs Fitz projected in his mind by now very familiar. It took only a second and Fitz was the spitting image of David. "For a duration of one to two years, I'll take over as you. Not ideal, but better than the alternative. If you cooperate then you get your life back afterward. I promise to keep disturbances to a minimum."

After Fitz finished his piece silence settled down in the room. The magician was thinking. It was strange, but he appeared to be calmer. Fitz hoped that was a good sign.

"I have a counteroffer," David eventually spoke up. He leaned forward. One hand on the table and one to the side. Outside of Fitz's field of view. "Go to hell!"

The magician pulled something up and Fitz reacted on instinct. David's clothes started to collapse as no person was holding them up anymore. At the same time, something silverish flew over the desk, landed on the floors and slid over the floor. It came to rest a few inches before Fitz.

While never having an interest in firearms Fitz still could identify the snub-nosed pistol as a colt. He barely had managed to avoid getting gunned down. It shook him to his core.

Maritza had fewer qualms. She picked up the pistol and checked the chambers. "It is fully loaded," she remarked before walking over to were the magician had vanished. Rummaging around, she found a lipstick among the pile of clothes. "I guess this is him?" She looked at Fitz and her expression shifted to worry. "You okay?"

"What? Yeah." Fitz shook himself. "That was not what I wanted. Going in here."

"That fucker got what he deserved," Sarah remarked and got agreement from a few sentient clothes.

"What do we do now?" Maritza asked.

"I think Fitz improvised idea is good," Ann remarked. "He takes over as David. Which would mean we need someone else to step in and train as Lindsey."

"It's not ideal," Fitz remarked. "It exposes more of us. But it was the best I could come up with. If he only had gone for it-"

Maritza stepped close and rubbed Fitz's arm. "David had always been an asshole. He got what he deserved. And I don't doubt for a moment that you will make a better boss than him."

Fitz nodded. "Okay. Time to take a breather. Let's clean up here and then-" He fell silent for a moment. Lost in thought. "We need to find out as much as we can about David if I am to take over for him. I doubt he will be very cooperative and simply tell us all we need to know."

"We should visit his house," Camilla - who was Maritza's bodice - suggested.

"Good idea," Ann said.

* * * * *

"I got something," Sarah yelled from the bedroom.

Her yell got the attention of everyone else. They had swung by Maritza's place and loaded everyone in before heading to David's apartment. There, Fitz returned as many into human form as he could. Giving them more eyes to look through stuff.

Together with three Maritza clones and five Kellie clones, he walked towards the bedroom. Unsurprisingly, no girl wanted to be a copy of David. Which left Fitz as the only male in a gaggle of women.

He found Sarah sitting at David's computer. For once, not as a wig. She too was a copy of Kellie. After everyone had shuffled in, Sarah started to explain.

"The security of his computer was abysmal. It took me no time at all to get access and look through his stuff. It is all there. Bank information and even the pins for his credit cards. Past bills and so on. I saw what he earns and what he pays Maritza as pay." She looked at Maritza. "Girl that dude was scamming you. He could have been way more generous with your salary."

"Anything else useful?" Fitz asked.

Sarah nodded. "I found something interesting in his email account. A deleted mail that offered him a job."

"What kind?" Jess asked.

"Same as here," Sarah explained. "As a stage magician. Just on a cruise ship. It pays less. Probably the reason why David ignored it."

Fitz nodded as his mind deciphered why Sarah brought it up. "This might be ideal for us. A cruise ship is more out of the way. Better to hide. There is also a smaller risk for other fashion witches to find us. I observed how 'evil Kellie' hunted. Always in big cities and never in small communities. Which always bothered me with Las Vegas. This city must be a prime hunting spot for fashion witches."

"Sounds like a plan," Claudia remarked. "Do we vote on it?"

They did a moment later. They all were in favor to escape the big city and go for a cruise.

* * * * *

Fitz sighed in relief as he arrived home. Well, not his home. David's. And not for much longer. They had signed on with the cruise ship and would travel down to New Orleans in a few days. The port of call for the big ship that would be their new home.

Maritza already had canceled her apartment and everyone stayed in the bigger apartment of David. Which meant a second shower that Fitz was just happy to use right away.

As he walked out he noticed an unusual quietness. All those that were currently human of their group were quietly talking among themselves. It made Fitz uneasy.

"So, what is up?" he demanded to know.

No, one spoke to him, but Sarah. "You should talk to Ann. She is in the bedroom."

That statement wasn't really helpful. But Fitz did decide to not avoid whatever was going on. Heading to the bedroom a moment later.

The sight that awaited him was breathtaking. Ann - in the body of Maritza - was laying in flimsy lingerie on the bed. The room was dimly lit by a dozen candles. Clearly, this was planned beforehand.

It pained Fitz that his first reaction was to sport a boner. It annoyed him a little. So long he had lived without this troublesome detail that it now could rub him wrong.

"There you are," Ann purred. "We need to talk."

"This doesn't look like you want to talk," Fitz remarked with a small grin he couldn't deny.

"All this," Ann gestured to herself and the room. "Is a reward. If our little talk works out."

"I am all ears."

"David needs a girlfriend. Two in fact," Ann opened. "The beautiful assistants have conquered his heart and changed his cocky playboy self to something decent."

"That is quite the narrative," Fitz remarked. "But I see a problem. Is Maritza up for it? Or any of the girls that cycle through."

"We all voted on it together," Ann assured him. "We all want this. But there is more. We want to be more than a role. If you agree we all will be your girlfriends."

"Like a har-" Fitz started to ask.

"As in you will have about thirty girlfriends," Ann insisted. "Look. We all want the time when it is our time in the cycle as human to be as rewarding as it can be. To feel as human as we can. You can help with that. To give something steady. Some might reward you with becoming intimate. Others won't. It is up to them. Do you agree to the terms?"

Fitz took a moment to think about it. To mull it over with the brain in his head instead of the one between his legs. Eventually, it resulted in him nodding. "I, David Sanders, am a changed man thanks to you all. It would be my honor to be your gentlemen-boyfriend and to the others."

"Well said." Ann gave him a naughty grin. "Time for your reward. I need you. Not as David, but as Fitz."

"Are you sure?"

"I have waited a long time for this."

The confession made Fitz stumble a bit. "You did?"

"I had a thing for you even before you joined the drama club," Ann confirmed.

"I only joined the drama club for you," Fitz admitted.

Ann gave him a wonderful smile and pulled him on the bed. "If only we could go back to those days."

"Well, my body is lost, but we could wait with this until you are in your body again."

Ann froze. Just for a moment, but Fitz noticed. "I am not ready yet. To be Kellie again. It sounds stupid, but I learned to hate my old body. Seeing what the fashion witch did with it. I can't get past it. At least, for now."

Fitz nodded. "Maybe it is only fitting that we both aren't in our original bodies anymore."

"Fitz?"

"Yes?"

"Stop philosophizing and kiss me," Ann demanded.

He did and for a few hours, the world around them cease to assist.

It was late at night as both enjoyed the afterglow.

"Was being a lipstick really that awful?" Ann suddenly asked.

"In hindsight, yes. Yes, it was," Fitz insisted. "Though sometimes I miss it. Just slightly. The simplicity of being it."

"I know what you mean," Ann admitted. "Quite a few of us do. A few don't even mind a lot when we go back to being a sentient item. As long as we know it won't be forever. Heck, Sarah skipped a few of her turns to remain a wig longer."

It made Fitz grin. In the following silence, he admitted something else. "I feel bad for it, but sometimes I miss wearing sentient clothing. It felt special."

Ann nodded. None of the girls wanted to be male garments. Leaving Fitz the only one who didn't wear anyone of them. "Yes, it does. Some of us don't want to stop. The cycling between being human and being clothing. Say, you have been a girl for so long. Do you miss that?"

It took a few heartbeats before Fitz answered. "For the longest time, I thought it was just that. Becoming a girl forever or lipstick. I tried to make my peace with it. Then the thing with David happened and I was suddenly male again. And-"

Fitz stopped for a moment. Hunting for the right words. "It doesn't feel as it used to be, you know? It might be because David's body is more than a decade older than mine, but somehow I doubt it. I admit it. Looking back, being a girl felt sometimes better."

"Well, maybe when all this is over and we are more secure then you can change back," Ann mused aloud.

"You wouldn't mind?" Fitz asked. "I mean you are my girlfriend now, right? So are the girls out there. Wouldn't they mind?"

Ann gave a brilliant laugh. "Well, no. You see here is the secret. Not everyone whose turn it was to be a human spend all their time on meditating. You can only spend so much time as a garment on a female body without it becoming special. Even sexual. Some developed quite the fetish for the body parts they mostly hung around at. Don't think I didn't notice how often you kissed me on the lips. I swear it appeared half the foreplay that you needed."

Fitz blushed but soon needed a definite answer. "So, you wouldn't mind me becoming a girl again?"

She nodded. "I can't wait for David as a cover role to lose his importance. And then we can experiment. Deal?"

"Sounds good," Fitz admitted. "Sounds perfect."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The end.

For now.

Fitz and his (harem/) many girlfriends will return in "Evelyn builds a lair."

John winced once again as the bus stopped. The brakes had a nasty squeal to them. Probably run down and in desperate need of a change. Not that it mattered. He had finally reached his destination. Grabbing his backpack, he stepped out to a strip of dirt to the side of the asphalt road. There wasn't even a bus stop that marked his destination. John had to shield his eyes from the sun. What he saw wasn't very promising. Fields of grass as far as he could see and a horizon so flat god must have ironed out every hill for dozens of miles.

"That's Montana to ya," he murmured to himself. Worse. It appeared to be bumfuck nowhere in Montana.

"Your baggage, mister."

The bus driver had opened the compartment to the side of the bus, and John could see his luggage peaking out. Not that there was a lot of it. One big travel case and his backpack. It was enough. A seasonal worker needed to travel light, after all.

As the bus left the dirt spot, John had to cough loudly. Too much dust was whirled up. It clearly hadn't rained in weeks. Hopefully, his contact would show up soon. A man named Ernest.

Looking around, John was surprised. Not by the landscape on the other side of the road. It was flat as a board too. No, it was the spiffing new pickup truck parked there. An even better sight was the lass leaning against it. Damn, what a woman. John wouldn't have minded getting to know her. Any red-blooded man would.

Well, Ernest was so far a no-show. And miss easy-on-the-eyes is waving him over. He might as well introduce himself while waiting. Who knew what would come out of it.

"You, Hendricks?" she shouted before John could even think of a pickup line.

"Yes, mam. John Hendricks at your service."

"See? I told her I need no stinking sign to pick you up." The woman pushed off the truck and pointed over her shoulder to the truck bed. "Put your stuff in the back and get in. We are wasting daylight."

"Yes, mam," John said and hurried to pick up his stuff.

The woman laughed while climbing into the driver's seat. "Ain't no mam. Not yet anyway."

John was about to throw his things in the back when he indeed spied a sign on the truck bed with his name on it. It looked like this was his ride after all.

Dumping his stuff, John walked up and sat down to ride shotgun. "No offense, but I was supposed to be picked up by a man named Ernest. But I must admit this is a welcome change of plans."

Once again, the woman laughed. Giving him a cheeky grin before putting the truck in gear and pulling onto the road. "Sorry, lad, but you are mistaken. Not your fault mind you, but my own stubbornness. I'm Ernest."

She offered her hand to shake. After a moment of hesitation, John shook it.

"I get why you are confused," she said when concentrating on the road again. "Barely a man anymore. Just where it really counts. If you get my meaning. Should have picked out a woman's name, you know. But now, doesn't matter much longer anyways."

"You are transgender?" John blurred out. Not the most tactful way to ask, but John could hardly believe it. If he ever met the doctor who created this miracle of female beauty, John would be sure to buy them a beer.

"Nah, can't really claim that," scratching her head through her luscious mane of hair. "This is a recent thing. Well, not really. A half-year next week I think. How the time flies, eh? Anyway, a few of the girls dared me to jump the fence for a week. There is only so much teasing and needling a man can take, right? So, I did. And what can I say, I like it. Huge surprise. Most of all to myself, I tell ya."

Half a year? John doubted it. So, those girls got Ernest to cross-dress and then he transitioned. And the end result was this divine creature? In half a year no less. John didn't know much about transgender people and their transitioning. But half a year sounded everything but realistic.

"I know that look," Ernest said with another chuckle. Turning onto a dirt road a moment later. They then drove through a gate that had 'Brentess Ranch' written in large letters over it. It was framed by two mighty oak trees. Both looked more than a hundred years old. "Magic, you see? One moment I was a man - even burlier than you I might add - and the next- Well, you see the result. Can't complain."

A cold shudder ran down John's back. Magic. That meant a witch must be around. While John knew all kinds of types existed, most were of the fashion vocation. A nasty specialization that allowed them to transform people into sentient pieces of clothing. John couldn't think of a worse fate.

"Ah, yeah, I know that reaction," Ernest said after glancing at John. "Don't worry. Julia won't harm you. Not unless you fuck with her or her girls. Unless the girls want to fuck you. In the literal sense. See? There is a reason why I still got my cock. The best tool a rancher can have around here."

After mentally blocking out the last part, John finally put together an important fact. "Wait. Julia Brentess is the witch? The owner of the ranch?"

"Wouldn't be much of a ranch without her," Ernest mused aloud. Then pointed out through the windscreen. "Speaking off. We are nearly there."

John relaxed slightly. "So, she is not a fashion witch, I take it?"

"Eh?" Ernest furrowed her brows for a moment. "Julia tried to explain it to me. Something about how all witches are the same, yet different. If asked, she insists that she is a lair witch."

Ernest slowed at the entrance of a large paved driveway. Ahead was a farmhouse that resembled more a mansion than anything else. It was flanked by two large barns. One of them Ernest steered towards. Parking in a small lot between other pickup trucks and SUVs.

"We're here," she unnecessarily added.

"So, a lair witch," John picked up the topic back up. Not letting it go to rest. "Not sure what the difference is. Does that mean she doesn't wear sentient clothes?"

"Does have a few," Ernest admitted while getting out of the truck. When John got out too, she continued. "Told ya. Don't fuck with her or her girls. Some fashion witches tried in the beginning. Bet they are regretting it now."

"What lies are you telling this time?" The new voice belonged to a petite woman with brown hair and blue eyes. She was small. Not even the height of John's shoulders. Her breasts might be half a handful, but compared to Ernest, she appeared flat-chested. Still, despite being challenged in height, she extruded an aura of authority.

"Just the honest truth, Miss Brentess," Ernest said with a look on her face that tried to proclaim innocence but failed at it.

"Sure, Ernest. Sure. Why don't you take mister Hendricks' luggage to his new room while I give him a tour." Julia turned to John and gave him a tired but honest smile. "Provided she hasn't scared you off. I am Julia by the way. The owner of this ranch."

John hesitated to shake her offered hand but did then anyway. He knew witches didn't need skin contact to do their magic. If she wanted him ill, she'd have done it by now. "John Hendricks. A pleasure, mam."

"Let's take a walk," Julia suggested. She took a few steps and then waited to see if John followed. Once he did, Julia leaned over. "Alright. Between us, how much has Ernest spilled? I swear, ever since she jumped the gender fence she took it as Carte Blanche to gossip up a storm. Why now and not as a man? Beats me."

Should John dance around the topic? No, he decided to take the bull by the horns and see how Julia would react. "He mentioned you are a witch."

"Ha, yes! The big one." Julia gave him another smile. This one was more lively. "And you haven't run away yet. A good sign I hope. Yes, I am a witch. A lair witch to be precise."

"I am afraid, I don't know what that entails," John admitted. "Ernest's explanation was more confusing than helpful."

"Alright. Let's see."

Julia stopped at a wooden fence and leaned against it. Taking in the view of the pasture. John thought he could make out a large group of sheep in the distance.

"There are some misconceptions about witches. I am a witch." Julia pointed to herself. Then to john. "You could be too. No, it is not a trait you are born with. Everyone could be a witch if they wanted. Though I don't recommend it. All it takes is special training to awaken as a witch. And contrary to popular belief, a witch isn't safe from other witches. The opposite is the fact. Witches and those close to awakening as witches are the top prey of stronger witches. It is a cut-throat world for witches. Most end up a victim of another."

There was a pause and John took it as a sign to ask the obvious question: "Then why did you become a witch? It doesn't sound like a smart move. Or a safe one."

"I was tricked," Julia admitted. She gave a heavy sigh and a short thousand-mile stare. "I used to be a journalist, you know? Under a different name. I hadn't known at the time, but our boss had been a fashion witch. Everyone made fun of her daily morning meditation exercises she had us do. Behind her back of course. We didn't know. Like pigs, we were fattened up for slaughter."

"Those special exercises you mentioned." John put two and two together. "She wanted you to awaken as witches."

"Not awaken," Julia corrected him. "But close to. That's where she would have gained the most benefits from us. Then my mentor showed up." Julia gave a heartfelt laugh. "I knew her for all but ten minutes, but still I can't help but call her that. She opened my eyes to the truth. Spilled all the beans about witches. It was there she told me how to react. What to become in order to not end up as a sentient garment."

John took it as his cue to spur her on. "To become a lair witch. What does that entail exactly?"

"Come find out," Julia said before climbing over the fence. Walking a few steps, she stopped to give John a wave that said follow me.

Seeing not much of a choice, John climbed after her. Then following her one or two steps behind. Their goal clearly was the herd of sheep in the distance. Yet, the closer they came, the less these sheep made sense. Their form looked wrong.

It became much clearer as one sheep suddenly stood up on two legs. Now showing a humanoid form. A moment later, the person started to run towards them. As both parties came closer together, John could make out more details. It was a young woman. She was quite shapely. She looked a little plump, but that was probably the thick fleece of wool that clung to her.

"John, meet one-"

"Oh my gosh!" the strange hybrid of sheep and human exclaimed while coming to a dead stop before them. If the short sprint taxed her, then it didn't show as she started to ramble on. "Is that the new wrangler? He looks handsome. And so beefy. Nice catch, Julia. Me likey. Can I touch your arm?" Promptly ignoring her own question and going right ahead. "Oh, he is strong, Julia. I can tell. Hopefully, he has good stamina too. What's his name? Maybe later-"

"Sixty-Nine!" Julia's sharp words stopped the waterfall of words coming out of the sheep-girls mouth. "Have some manners, will you? I haven't even finished the tour yet. There is plenty of time for introductions later."

"Right! Right." The sheep-girl's attention snapped back to John. "Come find me later, will you? I am Sixty-Nine, by the way." She showed him the yellow tag in her ear that had nothing more than the number printed on it.

"I'm John Hendricks. A pleasure to meet you." John wasn't sure about the truthfulness of the latter part, but showing manners rarely made things worse.

"Hi, John. You'll come to find me later, right?" Sixty-Nine slowly walked backward towards the herd. "I'll make it worthwhile. But not with sixty-nineing you. I am Sixty-Nine, but I don't actually like doing sixty-nine. Kinda ironic if you think about it. But we can do a lot of other stuff. I mean have you ever-"

"Sixty-Nine!" This time Julia sounded more tired and resigned.

A last wink and Sixty-Nine took off in a sprint again. Soon lost among the herd of sheep-girls.

There were a lot of questions now in John's mind. But what bubbled forth and won was: "Are they all like that?"

"Ha!" Julia shook her head. "That's just Sixty-Nine. Thankfully. If they all were like that I'd hang up my lair-witch-hat and offer myself up to another witch voluntarily."

"If she is so much trouble, then why catch her in the first place?" John wondered aloud. "I take it she used to be a normal human before, right?"

"That's not how it works. At least around here. Everyone in my herd is here of their own free will. It is-" Julia broke off. "See? This happens when people mess up my tour. How about we start at the beginning?"

Maybe John should have run. Julia was a witch after all. But she didn't give him malicious vibes. If any, it was more along the lines of a well-meaning person who suffered the trials and tribulations her peers enforced on her. And that's why John stayed. It was simple curiosity.

"That's probably best," John agreed.

"I mean it," Julia said while starting to walk again. "Everyone in my herd is a volunteer. But starting out I was young and scared. Yes, in the beginning, I transformed people by force. I remedied that later, but in the start things were hard. Do you know why witches collect humans?"

John's first reaction was to outright say no, but there was something Julia said previously that gave him thought. "You mentioned that everyone can awaken as a witch, right? I guess to stifle competition before they grow into witches? No, there has to be more to it. You said you were set up by your previous boss. They wanted you to get stronger."

"Correct," Julia confirmed. "Strong, but not too strong. You see the strength of one's own magic doubles as resistance to it too. There is only one way to heighten your magical strengths artificially. You have to get it from others. Either by borrowing or stealing it. What we call fashion witches are doing the latter. They subjugate people and steal part of their magic. But for it to work, the victim needs to be close. Hence the transformation into clothing. As sick as it sounds, it is just practical. But the transference spell is flawed. Only a fraction can be used to the witch's benefit. Hence they try to hunt for someone strong, but not strong enough to resist their magic."

"That explains a lot!" John ran his hand through his short hair and then scratched the back of his head. What Julia had just revealed was a game-changer. It threw John's view of the world for a loop. Certainly, it gave him a new perspective. "I guess that explains your former boss. Why hunt when you can grow."

"Yes, that was her thinking," Julia confirmed, but then quickly turned around. Alarmed over her own words. "But that is not what I am doing here. I swear."

"I believe you," John assured her. And to his surprise, he actually meant it. Julia didn't strike him as the predatory creature everyone normally described witches. "So, fashion witches are bad and lair witches are good?"

Julia let out another deep sigh. Before answering, her gaze roamed over the landscape again. They had walked a surprising distance and were close to the gate of the ranch. Julia pointed to one of the mighty oaks flanking it and started walking towards it. "No, lair witches can be good or bad. Which is an advantage over fashion witches who have no choice but to be evil or become the prey of another witch in the long run. And I have to admit, when I started out as a lair witch, I definitely was not on the side of good. As Elise over there can confirm."

"Elise?"

"The left oak tree," Julia replied but continued speaking before John could ask for details. "You see, fashion witches need their victims close for the spell to work. Not so lair witches. They create cornerstones that define a territory. Mine are the nine oak trees that surround my ranch."

Arriving at the oak tree, Julia circled it for a second before stopping. Placing her hands around her mouth, she shouted out: "Elise. Are you awake? If so, can you come out for a moment?"

The mighty oak rattled and shook for a few seconds, before calming down. Making John involuntarily step back. Then a new movement caught his eyes. A slim brown hand appeared out of the bark. A forearm followed. Then close by a face. Slowly a woman started to extract herself out of the tree. To John, it kind of looked like she was growing out of the oak, but still part of it.

"That's Elise," Julia pointed out. "One of my first victims. You see, lair witches still need people with strong magic within their territory. And when I first fled west, I was scared and nearly constantly in panic. To my shame, I became what I feared the most. A predator."

"And there I came in." A melodic voice cut in. It belonged to Elise who had nearly extracted herself from the tree. Her body was nearly nude, but a few pieces of bark clung to her. None of them in any spot to make her appear decent. In fact, they only appeared to underline that all intimate areas were uncovered and for the world to see. "A young damsel soon to be in distress. Once I was a hitchhiker bound west. Soon lured into a cove and taken root there by force. My young innocent self was taken by force at the hands of a witch."

"Drama queen," Julia said dryly before rolling her eyes. "And I can't recall you being a damsel or innocent."

"Oh, right!" the dryad exclaimed wide-eyed. Then addressed John directly again. "She stole my manhood. Oh, woo me. Lil lad of nineteen and robbed of my masculinity before I could bed even one fair lady. Blamed it all on mythology. Oh, Elise, there are no male dryads. Have you never read upon the old tellings of ancient Greece?"

"Could you stop going on a tangent for one minute?" a suffering Julia asked. "And how many times do I have to tell you, it was the dryad spell that did you in. Not my adherence to lore." She turned to John. "It was the spell, I swear. It was one of my first and it was before I learned to properly dissect and modify them. Not to mention that it was the best I could find on the dark web at that time."

John was baffled. "You got a spell from the internet?"

"Most of my basic spells are from the dark web," Julia admitted. "You'd be surprised what one can find. How else do you think that many fashion witches exist? Keep in mind that fashion witches hunt each other. To keep the numbers up somehow they have to replenish."

"Alright. I believe you," John said while raising his hands in a placating gesture. "So, why go for dryads in the first place?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Elise said while posing for John. Even wiggling her eyebrows at him seductively.

"Well, I was about to explain that." Julia took a moment to give Elise a hard look of warning. "You see lair witches can collect the magical potential of their donors-" - "Victims," Elise corrected - "Victims. As long as they remain in the territory. Which usually means making them immobile. As in turning them into statues or other fixed objects. But that sounded just as bad to me as turning them into clothing. So, I looked and found the dryad spell. Transforms the target into a tree. In other words, fix them in place. But it gives them the ability to manifest a humanoid form."

"A compromise," John concluded.

"A flawed one," Julia admitted. "Just enough to soothe my bad conscience. So, that's what I did. Lured in hitchhikers and homeless people, while trying to stay under the radar of the authorities, or worse, other witches. It worked fine until I had a cove of around thirty-five."

"There is something I don't get," John spoke up and turned to Elise. "Why didn't you turn on her? I mean, you were thirty-five people. Well, trees. But you can take humanoid form. Why not overwhelm her or something like that?"

"And then what?" Elise asked in turn. "Wouldn't mean we return to being human. We'd be still stuck. And worse, we'd be without a protector. Cassandra at least told us why she did it and tried to accommodate us."

"Cassandra?" John frowned.

"My old name," Julia said and then turned to Elise. "I told you to not use it anymore."

Elise shrugged. "I know. I know. Habits die hard, you know?"

"Then what happened?" John asked to get back on track. By now he was truly invested in the story and wanted to know more. Most of all, how this ranch and herd came to be. "You made it to thirty-five dryads, but I don't see us standing in a forest. And you mentioned that only nine oak trees mark your territory now."

"A rude wake-up call happened. That's what," Julia said with a lop-sided smile. Clearly, it still pained her a little to admit it. "I got careless and attracted the attention of a fashion witch. She thought I was an easy target but didn't realize I was a lair witch and that she challenged me on my turf. The problem was, that she was strong. Not strong enough that she could take me on, but enough that I couldn't influence her either. And there we were. Two strong witches with spells galore at our fingertips and what did we resort to? A cat-fight."

"Obviously, you won," John guessed.

"Not without help," Elsie interrupted. When Julia didn't continue, Elise took it as a sign to continue with her perspective. "Most of us dryads were indifferent to Cas- I mean Julia. Most didn't like her a lot, but the thought of living without her wasn't very appealing either. And then miss high and mighty fashion witch walks into our midst. Boasting and teasing before Julia. I think at this moment we all realized that yes, Julia was our personal bad guy, but we could have it worse. At least Julia tried. So, we stepped in. No fashion witch is a match for over thirty dryads."

John got a queasy feeling in his stomach. Not that he had any love for fashion witches, but he had to know. "Did you kill her?"

"Worse!" Elise exclaimed with eyes wide open and then hunched over to John to clue him in. "She's now Julia's skirt. Many would prefer death. Especially since Julia likes chilies and other stews."

"Tattle-tale," Julia said while rolling her eyes. "I am not that bad. Anyways. Yes, it is true. I wear her as a sentient garment. You have to understand that she was too powerful to let go. Probably vengeful too. Couldn't even make her a dryad. Anyway, Elise and the others stepped in. Stripping the fashion witch of her sentient garments. With enough distance, the transference spell stopped and the witch lost strength. Until she was weakened enough that I could influence her with my magic."

"What happened to all those sentient garments?" John wanted to know. Then a little more hesitant he added: "Did you wear them?"

"Oh, no!" Julia waved him off. "The only sentient garments I wear are fashion witches who were stupid enough to challenge me and lost. Seven so far. No, the others I made into dryad trees."

"And that's how the big dryad civil war started!" Elise exclaimed. Striking a pose that might have had the intention to invoke action and drama had been afoot.

"She is exaggerating," Julia assured him.

"Well, it was like this," Elise continued before Julia could. "We, who had been first, knew Julia. She had caught us one by one. Explained things to us. We had time to get used to it. But the new ones were more upset. Oh, they were happy that they had humanoid bodies again. But soon the complaining started. Why am I female now? And a tree? Not even explaining that Julia was a lair witch helped. Why not give us human bodies? We promise we stay close. As if. They would have run the first chance they got, I'll tell ya."

"The month that followed was tumultuous," Julia admitted. "On one hand I had defeated a fashion witch. Granted, with the help of my dryads. I then knew I could count on them. At least the original ones. Not so much the new ones. Their complaints got to me and I started to really wish there was another way. And then one of the new dryads mentioned that her circumstance reminded her of a story she read on the internet."

"Yeah, turns out the internet is full of deviants just happy to leave humanity behind," Elise quipped up.

"Says the person who volunteered to stay a dryad," Julia added deadpan. "Anyway. That's where I met Julia. The original Julia. She had a small site dedicated to stories of the fetish variety that focused on human-animal-hybrids. Over the months we talked she assured me that there would be plenty of volunteers to leave their boring lives behind and become something different."

"Chief among them was the original Julia," Elise remarked.

"So, a plan was formed," Julia continued. "I would dismiss all my dryads and move to Montana. To take over the small farm Julia owned by becoming her. We'd then invite like-minded people to join her in sheep-girl form."

"By the looks of it, former Julia was right," John remarked. "That's a big herd you have. And they really are all volunteers?"

"Yes, but not all are recruited from the internet," Julia admitted. Looking slightly embarrassed doing so. "Maybe three quarters. Some of my original lair's inhabitants chose to stay with me. Eight remained dryads and seven came with me to try being a sheep girl."

"You said there are nine dryad trees marking your lair," John pointed out.

"Elise managed to convince one of the wranglers to join her," Julia said while giving the dryad a hard stare.

"Hey, that is only fair," Elise exclaimed while crossing her arms. "If ranch hands are fair game for recruiting by the herd then all is fair, right? Because, John, that's where the last quarter of the volunteers for the herd comes from. Don't know why you are angry, Julia. I only napped one."

"Even one-" Julia shook her head.

Suddenly John didn't feel that safe anymore. "Should I be worried?"

"Look, I'll be level with you here." By the tone of voice, Julia meant it too. "I only accept volunteers. But I must admit my herd is very good at recruiting. Be on the lookout and you'll be fine. Else, I have to look for more ranch hands." Julia threw her hands in the air. "Heck, even with you, I still need more wranglers. Do me a favor and resist them. I beg of you."

"I'll try my best," John promised. But one thing lingered on his mind. "Elise, you had the chance to be human again. Maybe - probably - even male again. Why stay a dryad?"

The dryad gave it a short thought and then crouched down. Motioning for John to do the same. "Place your hand on the ground and tell me what you feel."

John did as told. Even going so far as picking up a bit of earth and crumbling it between his fingers. "Good soil. Could hold more than grass. Might hold a crop for a few rotations."

"That's your head speaking," Elise chided him. "I feel more than just the topsoil. You speak of nutrients. I not only feel them as they nourish me. My roots reach deep down. Piercing through layers of earth and soil. Right down to the water level. For you, rain is annoying. It is a refreshing drink for my sisters and me. A welcome shower to cool us off. When it rains I can feel the water making its way down through each layer of soil and earth. And the sun-" Elise closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment. She looked blissful. "There are no words to describe how it feels to take in the sun through your leaves."

Elise then stood up and gave her best shot at a sexy pose. "And why give up this? Be honest. I am an eleven on a scale of one to ten." At last, Elise sobered up in her little lecture. "But, in all honesty, why should I go back? I ran away when I was fourteen because it never felt like a home or family, to begin with. Here, I have that. A place to take root - pun intended - and a purpose."

John gave the dryad a nod. He didn't come from a bad home. His had been quite nice. But he knew how it felt to be adrift. Banks had robbed him and his brothers of the family farm when his parents died.

"Elise doesn't just act as a cornerstone of my lair," Julia now added. "She and her sisters are my guardians. They can sense trouble coming from a mile away. No fashion witch can sneak by them."

"Julia taught us how to read magical auras," Elise boasted. "Among a few other magic tricks."

"Impressive," John remarked and meant it too. He wouldn't give up his humanity to become a dryad, but now he understood why someone might. John even had respect for it.

"Maybe we should return to the herd and then conclude our tour?" Julia suggested.

"Yes," John agreed. Though a part of him found it hard to depart from the dryad. "Elise, it was a pleasure getting to know you. I rest easier now that I know we are protected by such loyal guardians."

"Such a charmer," Elise gushed. Suddenly acting a little shy. It didn't last long. "Tell you what. Come by after work. You can help me fertilize my soil if you like."

Before John could give an awkward reply, Julia pulled him away. "Speaking of work. He really should get to know his duties as a ranch hand. Come on, John."

Walking away, John couldn't help but glance back now and then. Elise was waving all the while walking back to her tree. Even as her humanoid body was absorbed back into the bark and wood.

As they walked back to the herd of sheep-girl, John slowly realized just how big it was. "You said you started this ranch five years ago? This must be over fifty sheep-girls."

"About," Julia agreed. "But this is only a fraction. A good chunk is on the other pastures or in the barn. I think my herd is up to-" For a moment, Julia appeared to concentrate hard. "One hundred and eighty-one. No, wait. Forgot Eric. Eighty-two with him. Her."

"One hundred and eighty-two. And all volunteers?" John let out a whistle of appreciation. That certainly was something. Especially since it was such an unusual herd. To find that many volunteers in just five years. But then another fact dawned on John. "You said a quarter of them used to be wranglers?"

Julia gave him a long-suffering look. "I know, right? So many. I constantly have to look for a replacement. John, I'll be honest. If you come to me and volunteer for my herd, then I'll do it. Make you one of my sheep-girls. But please - PLEASE - try to resist. I won't lie. They are getting crafty. By now they narrowed down their recruitment to a science. Be wary. If you can resist, I promise you I treat my ranch hands well. Good pay and many benefits."

"I think I can see one of the benefits," John remarked as he slowed down to see an unusual display of frivolity. About two dozen sheep-girls sat in a wide circle. Munching on the grass while watching. The center of attention was a blanket spread out. John spotted Ernest half undressed plowing his remaining vestige of maledom into one of the sheep-girls.

"Depends." Julia grabbed John's arm to turn him away from the deviant ongoing and demanded his full attention. "I say this only once. I am very protective of my herd. If they want - and many will want - then you are free to have your fun with them. But consent matters and I won't tolerate any wrongdoings. I am a witch. There are no lies I cannot spot."

The threat was clear and in John's book it marked Julia as one of the good ones. Despite her earlier insisting that she became a bad guy. She wasn't just using the herd for her personal gain. Their protection means something to her.

"Miss Brentess. Julia." John put his hand over his heart. "My momma raised no fool, but a gentleman. Sheep-girl or not, I will treat any lady with the respect they deserve. I vow that on my honor."

"Good." Julia visibly relaxed. "One can't be too careful, you know?"

"I understand," he assured her.

While they talked, Ernest had finished up and hurried over. "Julia. John. How is it going?"

"We nearly finished our tour," Julia replied. "And so far he hasn't run away yet. Despite everyone's antics. A good sign."

"And John," Ernest now addressed him. "Do you think you'll fit in?"

John was a little troubled. He reminded himself to look into Ernest's eyes. Not the shapely body. Her generous endowment, narrow waist, and large hips. Most of all she clearly had one part left that was male. Very much so. John knew Ernest was bigger than him. It was slightly intimidating.

"I might need a bit more time to adjust than usual," John admitted honestly. "This ranch is very different from the rest. But I would lie if I said I wasn't intrigued. So, I'll hope I'll fit in." Just to be clear, he turned to Julia. "As a wrangler. Not as part of the herd."

"We'll see," Ernest remarked and got a glare from Julia in turn.

"How about I show you your accommodations?" Julia suggested. "You can take the day to settle in. Dinner will be in about two hours. Tomorrow, Ernst will show you the ropes."

"Sounds good."

Walking back to the main compound, John had a new question popping into his head. "You said you've taken over a small ranch from the original Julia. This doesn't look small."

"Oh, we had some construction done," Julia admitted. "Most of these buildings aren't very old. You'd be surprised how fast they can build if you throw enough money at a company. In fact, we are already in the stages of planning for a new barn. The herd keeps on growing, you know?"

"How do you keep this all secret?" John asked, baffled. "I worked a year in construction when ranch work had dried up. They won't admit it, but construction workers share as much gossip as anyone."

"Magic," Julia admitted. Then she added a little more. "I adjusted their memories a little. Make them forget what kind of herd and workers I have on the ranch." Her voice took a seriously grumpy tone when she continued. "At least those that left. A quarter of them joined my herd. Well, at least they do some of the minor repair work around here. Who knows? Two to three more buildings and I have enough construction workers in my herd to do future buildings in-house."

"Someone shouldn't have animated a broom," John remarked.

At first, Julia looked confused. When the reference dawned on her, she gave a good-natured laugh. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. Except, I don't need an ax to make my herd multiply. They do it all by themselves."

Julia led him into the main building. It looked less than a rancher's home and more like a hotel. And not one that was going for the rustic feel, despite it being thematically appropriate. Julia gave him a small tour inside, before leading him to his room.

"Here we are," Julia unnecessarily said. "Make yourself at home. I will see you at dinner."

"I will," he promised.

---

John and Ernest left the dining room early in the morning. Their breakfast was taken at the crack of dawn. He was used to getting up early. Ranch work can lead to long days.

"Alright," Ernest said just before entering the barn. "Before we start on the actual herd, it is time to meet your new partner."

Pairing up on a ranch was not uncommon. However, John hadn't expected to be matched up with someone else. "I'd thought you would be my partner."

"Nah, I'll be your mentor alright, but Splits will be your partner." Then Ernest leaned over. In a whisper, she confessed: "Don't tell Julia, but you'll be my replacement."

"You're joining the herd?" John was shocked. He hadn't known Ernest for long, but she appeared to have fun being a stable hand. Why would she switch?

"Shh! Not so loud." Ernest looked around. As no one was near, she relaxed. "Yeah, I'll be joining the herd. But not yet. The herd knows it. Heck, they celebrated their victory long ago. Julia knows it too, but I think she pretends I might change my mind if she just ignores the topic." Ernest gave a good-natured chuckle. "Heck, the last person to know was probably me. The herd has seen plenty of stable hands eventually join. They recognize the signs of someone folding way ahead when the person thinks they are still resisting."

"How soon?"

"Not for a few months," Ernest assured him. "Oh, the herd knows I'll be joining, but my pride makes me push it off. Make them work for it, you know."

"I see," John said but didn't really mean it. He could see no appeal in becoming a sheep-girl himself. Then again, Ernest might have thought the same in the beginning. It was time to focus on the here and now. Whatever unfolds will happen soon enough. "So, who is this Splits? I haven't heard of anyone with that name at dinner or breakfast."

"Oh, she isn't a ranch hand. And she sleeps in the barn. Her full name is Splitting Grass. But everyone calls her Splits. And if we are lucky, she is already awake."

"Her name. Is she - how do I say it - a native American?"

"Nah," Ernest waved him off, but then stopped at a small door. There was a sign on it with a few different names. All of them were quite strange. Splitting grass was among them. "She got it from her habit to race around everywhere. Real firecracker that one. And if she runs into a field of tall grass- Well, you can see her path from far away. Cuts a furrow right through it."

"I can hear you through the door!" The shout made Earnest cringe and take a step back. "Hurry up. You are late."

With a sigh, Ernest stepped forward again. "John, meet Splits."

As Earnest pulled the door open, John mistook the first sight of Splits as a normal human woman. But then the details tickled in. First, she was naked. A habit that many on the ranch shared. Even discounting the herd that only needed their own fleece.

The second was her ears that twitched slightly. They appeared equine. A trend that continued downward. John could see a tail swaying behind her. Her feet ended in hooves that one might mistake for high-heeled boots at first glimpse. Even her hands were exchanged for hooves.

Splits was Caucasian. With her dark skin, one might not guess it if it weren't for some very weird tan lines. Most of her waist was still pink. As were a few lines that might hint at strings of fabric or belts of some kind. Splits was posed on a hay bale left in the center of the room. She clearly had been waiting.

As no one said anything, Ernest entered the room first. "Good morning, Splits. I see you are already awake. Had a good night's sleep?"

"So, you are the new guy?" Splits addressed John. Pointedly ignoring Ernest. "By the way your mouth hangs open, I take it I am the first real ponygirl you see?"

John needed a moment to catch himself. When his mind snapped back to the task at hand, his mouth did double time. "Yes. Yes, mam. Hendricks. John Hendricks. At your service."

"Mam? At my service?" Splits turned to Ernest. "Well, look at that. Someone knows how to treat a lady. You could learn from him."

Splits went even a step further. Standing up, she bent one leg while keeping the other leg straight and a little forward. At the same time, she bowed. An athletic feat that might have landed John on his bum. It was a strange mix of a cutesy and bow that prompted John to give a bow on his own.

"Urg, don't make me gag," Ernest commented on this display. "John, forget all that nonsense. We are here to play dress-up. Not to play pretend tea parties."

"Well, then get to it, dress maid," Splits quipped.

"The first, and most important, step is to gag her," Ernest said with gusto to John. "Because Splits has a temper and quite the mouth on her."

"You aren't really gonna-" John fell silent as Ernest pulled something out of a closet. It was a gag alright. But not just that. There was an unholy amount of metal rings and leather strips attached to it.

"Open up," Ernest commanded. Splits gave Ernest a playful raspberry, before complying. Opening her mouth wide. The senior stable hand wasted no time and popped the rubber bar between the pony-girl's teeth. Then proceeded to wrap the leather harness around her head and tighten the many straps. "Ah! Finally some peace and quiet."

"Is that really necessary?" John asked a little doubtful at the display.

"Okay. Okay. Real talk." All signs of jest and mirth vanished from Ernest's voice. "It is necessary. At least for pony-girls starting out. Splits is relatively new and still needs it. I admit our little banter between us is mostly roleplay. Have a little fun. But here are the facts. There are eight pony-girls on this farm. You are her partner, but you are not the only one. And this is the most important detail: she is not your equal. Neither is she yours to command around. Splits is your immediate superior. At least in the hierarchy of this ranch. Mind your manners, for she is a witch."

"A witch?" The question slipped over John's tongue without thought. There was no reason to doubt Ernest, safe for how Splits was treated. She was muted on purpose, after all. Still, the pony-girl posed proudly upon being proclaimed to be a witch. "I thought the only witch around was Julia. That she transforms any other witch that dares to challenge her."

"She is this ranch's lair witch alright," Ernest agreed. "But Splits and her brethren did not arrive here as witches. Neither did they challenge Julia. They came up through the ranks and proved to be loyal beyond doubt. In turn, Julia taught them how to awake as witches. They, the pony-girls, are the eyes and ears of Julia and second in command."

"Then what is with, well, all of this?" John pointed at the head harness and the transformed parts of Splits' physique.

"Catch!" Ernest threw him a brush instead of answering. She crouched down before Splits who sat on her hay bale again. Motioning for John to do the same. "Let me explain step by step."

Crouching down, John noticed two things. Splits legs had a little fur to them. Not much. Just to conceal the transition of hooves to skin. And the hay bale wasn't really made of hay. It was a firm large pillow made of printed fabric that mimicked hay.

"It all started with Silk. Or Dancing Silk as it is her full name." Ernest's explanation was interrupted by a dismissive snort by Splits. "She doesn't really like Silk. Her being the first pony-girl. But back then, she hadn't been one. Just a normal human."

Ernest motioned for John to gently brush Splits' fur. As he did, she continued. "One of the first spells Julia taught Silk was to enhance running speed and stamina. Which is now a trademark of pony-girls. You should see Splits in full run. Practically flying over the fields. The problem Silk ran into was that she ran through her shoes quite fast. Literally. Sometimes she had run through a pair within one day. The obvious solution might have been to not run around like a maniac on magical steroids for every little errand. But what do I know? Silk asked for a way to run without shoes. Hence the hooves. And the tail. Helps with balance."

"I see," John slowly agreed. It kind of made sense in a twisted way. "But why take her hands? Wouldn't Splits be of more service with having a normal pair of working hands?"

"Ah, yes. That confused me at the beginning too," Ernest admitted. He then took the brush from John and handed him a tool to clean the grime and dirt from under Splits hooves. "You see, learning magic is not always straightforward. Sometimes you need a little help. A trick to get things right. Silk was tired of heaving stuff off the ground. Never been one of the strongest gals around. So, Julia tried to teach her telekinesis. Do you know what that is? Moving objects with your mind. And we are not talking parlor tricks like a pencil. Splits here can lift a pickup truck."

"That is impressive," John admitted. "But it still doesn't explain the hooves."

Splits gave an amused snort. It earned her a glare from Ernest. "I was coming to that. You see, at first, Silk utterly failed at it. She always tried to reach out and make the objects move. Use the force, Luke. Like that. Except, the gesture was more of a hindrance. So, Julia pulled out a trick. She bound Silk's hand up. With no use of her hands anyway, Silk did better. But she instinctively still went for her hands when it came to performing. So, in an even cheekier move, Julia transformed Silk's hands into hooves."

"And that helped?"

"Like a charm," Ernest confirmed. He stood up and motioned for John to do the same. She then handed John a large leather garment with lots of belts and buckles. While he tried to figure out what it was, she continued to educate him. "You see, once her hands were gone, Silk had to acknowledge on a subconscious level that she couldn't rely on them. Her first instinct became not to go for hands that weren't there, but to use magic."

"So-" John looked up from the strange garment. "Once Splits masters telekinesis, Julia will turn her hooves back to hands?"

Suddenly, John lost ground under his feet. Being heaved upward everywhere at once. Slowly drifting towards the ceiling.

"I think that is Splits pointing out she has already mastered it," Ernest remarked dryly. She then turned to Splits. "I think you made your point."

John was let go from one moment to the next. Making him fall a good four feet. Nearly making him lose the strange garment he was supposed to untangle.

"Think about it," Ernest urged him. "Why go back to boring hands when your mind and magic can do everything you need and better. Before you ask, yes, she could dress herself if she wanted. Us doing it for her is a sign of prestige and laziness."

The last word nearly got Ernest's toes stomped, but she had anticipated it - provoked it even - and managed to evade it in time. As if nothing happened, she continued her lecture. "Silk refused to have her hooves taken away for boring human hands. She saw it as a sign of her accomplishment. And it is a reminder - to those who know - how powerful pony-girls can be."

"I guess so," John agreed and then handed over the leather as Ernest lost patience.

"There is just one problem with having hooves instead of hands. Namely, if you run like a maniac. Like these beauties do. Ever got hit by a hoof? Or even strived?" When John winced in painful memory, Ernest took it as a sign. She continued, but not before unfolding the garment in three quick steps. It turned out to be some kind of wide belt or even corset that was put around Splits' waist. "Yeah, it happens to them from time to time. Especially if they run at sixty miles per hour or even faster. Hence this garment comes in."

As Ernest buckled it tight, John could see that it covered exactly the strange tan lines Splits sported. One part even ran through her crotch and returned up on the backside, where it split to accommodate the pony-girls tail.

"So, what we do is restrain them. The arms at least." Ernest showed him in detail which straps went where. Effectively pinning Splits' arms to her side. There was not much give or slack. "Not like the girls need them anyway."

"Alright. That explains the hooves - both of them - and that belt-thingy," John admitted. "But what about her gag? And don't tell me because Splits has a temper." Which John now silently agreed, but didn't voice out loud.

"Same principle with the hands," Ernest proclaimed with a smarty-pants grin on her lips. "Think about it. What magical ability might benefit from taking someone's voice away?"

John didn't have to think long or hard. "Telepathy?"

"Now you are showing your smarts," Ernest said with a nod. "Splits and all the other pony-girls are in constant communication through their minds alone. Doesn't matter where on the farm they are. But it isn't just the pony-girls. The dryads can do it too."

John had more questions, but they died on his tongue when an epiphany hit him. "The dryads don't just act as cornerstones of Julia's lair. They're guardians and spotters. If they notice someone unwelcome approaching, they contact the pony-girls. Who then act as a fast response team to harass and delay the intruder until the heavy hitter arrives. Julia."

"I've never seen it that way," Ernest admitted to an amused snort by Splits. She then cuffed John on the shoulder. "Look here, Mister smarty-pants, showing off."

Being on a roll, John ventured another guess. "And her equine ears are probably to help her receive telepathic messages, right?"

"It was a fluke," Ernest exclaimed while throwing her arms in the air. "It's just to complete the look. I mean, a pony-girl with human ears. Psht."

"Yeah. Yeah." John waved his partner's amusement off. "So, what else? Is Splits ready to hit the field?"

"Not yet. Pony-girls fulfill a few roles around the ranch." Ernest grabbed a small first-aid kit from a shelf. Strapping it to Splits backside. "They help first responders in cases of accidents." The stable hand grabbed a large container. Probably holding a gallon of water. It joined the first-aid kit. "To hydrate the sheep-girls that neglect drinking enough. Happens a lot in summer." At last, she grabbed a blanket.

"Most often, pony-girls don't have much to do," Ernest explained while strapping on the last addition. "They have to stay vigilant and do their rounds. Aside from that, they help us stable-hands out. Either carrying stuff or getting things. They are handy that way. And it alleviates their boredom."

"Got it," John said with a nod.

"Then let's hit the road," Ernest proclaimed while going for the door. "Time for your first official day on the ranch."

---

It's been two weeks since John had arrived on the ranch. Surprisingly, he had hit his groove fast. Despite this ranch being quite unusual in nature. The work itself wasn't very hard either.

It usually starts early in the morning. If he didn't help to get a pony-girl ready, it was his duty to help wake the herd and to get them ready for the day. A task not as easy as he thought and not unlike herding sheep. The real ones.

Sheep-girls slept in one of the large two barns. Most of the center was left free and communal beds hugged the walls. Resembling more large pillows that snaked their way along the edge of the barn. Sheep-girls slept in piles and often shared intimacy. Most often it was just skinship, but John had to get used to seeing orgies and other displays of erotic affection. A trend that penetrated all aspects of ranch life.

The first step is to get them cleaned up. Sheep-girls still had to clean their intimates and rinse off sweat. It was, after all, summer, and the sheep-girls ran around with a fleece on their body. Most compiled without problem when John and the other wranglers herded them through the bathroom area. But there was the fact that some sheep-girls proclaimed the herd had a certain musk to it and they liked smelling it. That washing reduced the musk too much to their liking. Hence the need for the ranch hands to get more proactive.

Once cleaned up, at least the dirtiest bits, it was time for breakfast. The sheep-girls could do without. Happy to munch on grass all day. It was Julia who insisted that the sheep-girls had at least one reminder in their diet of their human nature. Hence a small breakfast. By lunch or dinner, most sheep-girls had eaten enough grass to be full enough and refuse any more food. Of course, there were some picky eaters. Refusing human food outright and proclaiming grass was enough. The stable hands were told to not enforce a human breakfast but entice the sheep-girls. That often meant a wrangler bribing the sheep-girl in question with sex. A step John hadn't taken yet. It was a bit too much for his liking. Verbal encouragement had to be enough.

The next step needed more wrangling of the herd. Most sheep-girls refused to clean their teeth. Stating excuses like "Julia can make me new ones if these go bad" and "I'll be munching on grass in a minute anyway". Other sheep-girls were just lazy. Allowing gracefully to let ranch hands brush their teeth for them. An act that John still found crazy. He refused to do so and stuck to verbal encouragement.

Then the sheep-girls were let loose. They were free to roam the ranch at their own discretion. Though most stuck together in groups. A large part was spent outside, grazing. A task John imagined as quite boring, but they appeared to don't mind. Happily munching on a spot until it was reduced enough to force them to move to the next.

Those that needed more excitement, headed back into the barn. A lot of entertainment was provided. Even a large area that doubled as a cinema. The ranch had access to all the streaming services. Some even that John had never heard of before. There was a fixed schedule for the showings and a small part of his duty was to remind certain sheep-girls when one of their shows would begin soon.

There wasn't much else to do, but look out for his charges. Make sure they got enough shade and drank enough water. With their fleece, it was a real possibility they'll suffer a heat stroke. Aside from looking out for their health, this part of the day was mostly boring. So much that he didn't mind playing fetch if a sheep-girl needed something from inside or elsewhere.

What he didn't provide was entertainment. It was quite common for sheep-girls to get naughty with their assigned wranglers. Not even caring about doing it out in the open. Often drawing a small crowd. John got used to it. But not enough to participate. Or watch. It probably was his upbringing making him a little uptight. While not insistent, some sheep-girls tried. Openly flirting with him and being quite suggestive. So far, they had struck out with him. But every day it was harder to say no.

The evening was like the morning, just in reverse and with more protests. Brushing teeth first. Then making sure the herd washed off most of the grim they accumulated in a day. John thought the gym locker of a football team smelled bad. It was nothing compared to about a hundred sheep-girls that spent most of the day in the sun.

However, today promised to be different. Ernest cuffed him on the side. "Ready for your first shearing day?"

"I've sheared sheep before," John protested. He had grown up on a farm. Sure, they had mostly raised cattle, but a small flock of sheep had been part of it.

Ernest gave him a knowing grin. "Sheep ain't sheep-girl, boy."

Shaking his head, John turned back to his shearing station. The portable contraption and four others like it had found their way into the middle of the barn. Having finished setting it up to his liking, John grabbed for the nearby clipboard with a list on it. His part of the herd to shear. Be it magic or not, the sheep-girls grew their coat of wool faster than normal sheep. That meant they had to be sheared every two months. Half that time in summer. Less for the abundant nourishment for the sheep-girls and more for the fear of a heat stroke.

"Number-" John looked at the list. "Sixty-Three."

The sheep-girl practically jumped at the opportunity to be shorn by him. Rushing forward quite eager. John guessed she would be glad to get rid of the warm fleece and cool down for once this summer. Better than to shear normal sheep. Those were very docile in the whole process, but some acted out. But with sheep-girl - he reasoned - things might be different. They could actually help out.

"Where do you want me?" Sixty-Three asked a second before slipping onto his lap. "Here?" She scooted closer on his leg. Leaning against him. "You could start here. With my chest. Then you can see my perky tits." Before he could say anything, she turned her back to him and spread her legs wide. Trying to pull his arm holding the clipper towards her privates. "Or you could go for my intimates," she cooed. "The wool there is the softest."

John looked a little lost over to Ernest. Begging for help. But she had no problem shearing her assigned sheep-girl, who posed dutifully.

Letting out a sigh, John spoke up. "Please stand up, Sixty-Three."

"But that would be no fun," she pouted.

"Now," he insisted.

"Make me."

John put the clippers aside. Not in the mood for games, he grabbed the sheep-girl by the waist. Lifting her up without trouble. Manhandling the sheep-girl until she was down on the bench and pinned by him. Only then she stopped her struggle. Grabbing the clippers again, John hesitated. Maybe using that much force might land him in trouble. A quick glance behind him scattered his fear. Splits was making her rounds close by and she gave a nod of approval.

Shearing Sixty-Three proved to be a chore. As long as he pinned her down, she played possum. However, the moment John thought she had calmed down and lightened his pinning down of hers, Sixty-Three renewed her squirming and flirting. At last, John released Sixty-Three. Fully shorn and sexually frustrated. John was a professional and wouldn't be that easily swayed from doing his job.

"One hundred and nine!" John called out after he had to dismiss Sixty-Three by lightly slapping her butt with his clipboard to move her along.

The next sheep-girl revealed herself as equally spunky. But worse was Forty-Five who struggled the most. Even managed to grind her shapely butt against John's groin for a few seconds. By now he got the gist. Some sheep-girls liked the struggle. To put up a fight. Probably had a kink to be manhandled too. As the newbie among the wranglers, they probably placed all the trouble-makers in his lot. A fun little needling by the other staff. John would have laughed about it. Except the sheep-girls were getting to him. He was hard as steel in his trousers and had no way to relieve himself.

Finishing the third sheep-girl, John grabbed for the clipboard. "Number eighty-" John broke off with a groan. Of course, she was in his assigned lot too. And naturally, he couldn't see her in the waiting line. "Number eighty-two - Blackie - come here this instant."

His eyes roamed the herd and couldn't spot her. With a sigh, John put down the clipboard and walked into the herd. They parted like the red sea before Moses. Still, no sight of Blackie. "Number Eighty-Two!" he bellowed again. His voice was strict. Unyielding.

"You'll never get me or my fleece!"

The shout came from his left and John's head swiveled in the direction. There! A spot of black wool stood out from the herd. Blackie was hiding behind a few of her fellow sheep-girls, but now her fate was sealed. With a new direction, John directly marched towards Eighty-Two. Again, the herd parted. Suddenly robbing the stubborn sheep-girl of her cover. Before John could reach her, Blackie broke out in a sprint. Just a split second later, John did too.

For a few minutes, they played cat and mouse. Eighty-two was fast and nimble. But John was patient and conserved his stamina. Always keeping her in need of running while doing so himself only if absolutely needed. Eventually, his tactic bore fruit. Exhausted, Blackie hardly resisted as John scooped her up in a fireman's carry and walked back to the shearing station.

Of course, Blackie protested. Even with kicks and punches. John hardly felt them. Eighty-two was holding back. Her defiance and protests were mostly a show. She was the only black sheep in the herd and that came with expectations. Always being up to mischief and hijinks. It took John only a few days to see through it. If determined, Blackie could do a lot of damage, but she limited herself to juvenile pranks.

Trying to pin her to the bench, Eighty-Two nearly gave John the slip again. While she pulled her punches, Blackie did put up a better fight against being shorn. At least, while the clippers weren't near her. While close, her struggling ceased. Both of them didn't want her to get nicked by accident.

After doing the backside, John glanced back to get confirmation from Splits that their wrangling was still on the allowed side. To his surprise, the ponygirl was joined by Dancing Silk. Both looked amused and then, they grinned behind their gag. John found out why a split second later. Blackie had used him being distracted to wiggle free. However, instead of running away again, John stumbled back as the sheep-girl jumped him. Clamping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, Eighty-two used her leverage to plant a deep kiss on John's lips.

For a moment, John was stunned. So much that his tongue and lips returned the caress they got from Blackie's counterparts. It was actually the sheep-girl who broke contact. She leaned closer to whisper in his ears. "So, that's what you want. Seeing me naked? There are rooms we could go to. I wouldn't even mind if you'd take my fleece. I'd even reward you. You must be so frustrated by now. Let me help you relax."

Straining more with his force of will than his muscles, John pried the sheep-girl off him. Lifting her up with his hands on her waist. For a moment, he was tempted by her suggestion. To claim her like a trophy, put her back into a fireman's carry, and take her to one of the backrooms. Especially as she posed in his arms seductively.

When he placed her down on the bench again, he heard disappointed moans and groans around him. The herd had clearly hoped for a different outcome. Sometimes, John hated to be a professional. Grabbing the clippers, he got back to his work.

But Blackie wasn't done with him. Instead of resisting, she now became demanding. Ordering him where to shear and how close to her skin. And while she held still, it was always in a suggestive pose.

At last, with slightly labored breath, John stood up. Blackie was done and - while disappointed - she made it a point of sexily sauntering away. The impulse was there. To follow and take up her offer. Thanks to Blackie and the other three, John was plenty pent up. His gaze fell on the clipboard. Could he stomach another sheep-girl like those four? The answer was not encouraging.

"I'll need a break," he said loud enough that a few stable-hands heard him. He walked away under jibes and a few well-meant jokes.

His feet carried him towards the restroom reserved for the staff. Jerking off in a stall would be a new low point in his career. But what else was he to do?

"Oh, John."

The call came from one of the smaller rooms to the side. Blackie was leaning against the doorframe and motioning for him to join her. His first reaction was to look around. No one paid him or Eighty-Two any attention. As if his feet developed their own mind, they carried him closer. First one step. Then a second. The next one was voluntary by John. Why not? Why shouldn't he fuck a sheep-girl? All the other ranch hands did it too. What was really keeping him from going after her and doing something naughty together?

Faster and faster his feet carried him towards her. She slipped inside and he did too after making sure it would be unnoticed.

"Okay. You win," John relented. "Now you better do good on your promises."

"Now YOU better drop your pants," Blackie retorted.

---

Sometime later, John slipped back out. He couldn't shy away from his duties for too long. It was a walk of shame of sorts. Returning to his station. Maybe if he played it cool, he could still salvage some of his dignity.

"Number fifty-four!" he read aloud from the clipboard.

The sheep-girl in question was only too eager to get shorn. Or maybe just to be close to him. Just as he was about to put the clippers to her, an innocent little comment threw him off. "So, Blackie was your first, huh? Now, I am jealous."

"How did you-" John honestly was confused. He thought they had been discreet. "Did she-"

"I can smell that you had sex," Fifty-Four explained. "And with one of the herd. It isn't that hard to add two and two together. Relax." She cuffed him on the shoulder. "We've been waiting for you to loosen up. Quite a few of us wouldn't mind a tumble with you. Provided you don't retreat in your shell again."

John was a bit at a loss for words. How does one answer that? Maybe by taking the coward's way out. "I'll think about it."

"You do that," Fifty-Four relented. "Meanwhile, how about you get on with it? This sheep-girl won't shear herself. I mean, I could, but the backside is always a pain in the butt."

"Yes, mam."

Dutifully, John obliged. At least one sheep-girl wasn't putting up a fight and let him shear her without trouble. His lucky break didn't last. The rest of his lot was just as rebellious, provocative, and teasing as the first four. And to John's shame, he succumbed four more times to the advances.

It was late in the evening when John finished his last sheep-girl. Tired, he was the last ranch hand to pack up his shearing station.

"Need a hand?" Ernest asked and startled the unsuspecting John.

"I am half-minded to say yes," John admitted. "And the other part of me wants to strangle you for your prank."

"Prank? Me?" Ernest did her best to appear innocent. If John hadn't known better, he might have been convinced. But Ernest wasn't done with her acting yet. "Whatever you mean?"

"My lot of the herd. I got all the rebellious ones. Or those horny to the brim." John took Ernest's laughter as confirmation. "Yeah. Very funny. You know I will get back at you, right?"

"Oh, no. No. No." Ernest pressed out between laughter. It took a few more moments for her to calm down. "I am innocent. You, however, walked right into the herd's trap."

Ernest's confession made John stop tiding up and pay real attention. "What do you mean with trap?"

Ernest gave another chuckle before replying. "The herd. They have you in their sights. And once they made their minds up about recruiting someone, they'll follow a nice simple five-step plan. Refined after dozens of recruits. One might think you'll hardly stand a chance. I mean, their first step was a full success."

John couldn't really see how seducing him would lead to his demise and get him to embrace sheep-girlhood. Then again, if Ernest was to be trusted, there were four more steps waiting for him.

Maybe a bit defensive, John snapped at Ernest. "So, what could I have done to ruin their plan?" Of course, the answer was simple. To resist the herd's advances and not bed any of them. However, John had found out that the practical execution had been indeed difficult.

But Ernest didn't even step as low as pointing out the obvious. Instead, she shrugged. "Honestly. Beats me. But I am probably not the right person to ask. In case you haven't picked up on it yet, John, I am neck-deep in step four of the herd's plan."

Right. John had forgotten, but Ernest had previously admitted to being so close to joining the herd. But her confession now not just reminded him, but illustrated just how easy it was to fall for the herd. There weren't a lot of steps between one and four.

"So, what is step two and how do I avoid it?" John asked. At least, he could learn from the mistakes of his mentor.

Ernest let her hand rest on his shoulder. "Sorry, John. Can't tell you. Not risking the wrath of the herd. Especially so close to joining it. But for what it's worth, I doubt it would help. One can prepare for step two and still be caught off-guard. My advice? Enjoy the spoils of step one as long as you can."

In other words, don't be shy to have sex if offered by a sheep-girl. He might as well enjoy it. Still, futile or not, John vowed to be on the watch for that dreaded step two. He had no intention of joining the herd. But he guessed quite a few wranglers before him had thought the same.

---

John took a deep breath as he stepped out into the early Autumn air. If he had to name the top perks of working at this ranch, then the usual peace and quiet would be in the top five. Most of the days there wasn't much to do. Which gave John time to relax and enjoy.

His moment of peace took a break as someone raced past him. Today, he was partnered with Splits again. Apparently, the pony-girl was in high spirits too. But she showed it in a different way. Just a few seconds after the pony-girl barely missed him, John had trouble finding her silhouette against the horizon.

Not really needing Splits to do his job, John started to wave towards the herd. Urging some to come out. "Come on. It rained in the night. That means the grass is fresh and yummy."

"What would you know about that?" Eighty-Two asked while strolling past him. Of course, it was the raven-colored sheep-girl that gave him spunk. "Did you taste some? Already preparing to join the herd, John?"

"I think I hear a smartass in need of a spanking!" John said in a raised voice. It had the intended effect. Blackie took off in a run and John started to chase her.

For a few minutes, he gave her a good cardio workout. Until Blackie fell down in the grass while heavily breathing. "You win!" she admitted between deep gulps of air.

John came to a stop beside her. Winded, but not completely out of breath. "Did I exhaust your reserve of mischief or do you want me to relieve it in another way?"

The offer was clear. This wasn't the first chase and it usually left Blackie in a mood for something naughty. By now, John had not just gotten used to having sex with sheep-girls of the herd. He actively thought it out. Because why not? The sheep-girls liked it. And he got plenty of fun in return. In the space of his own mind, John might even admit that he was addicted to it. By now, he made love to one of the sheep-girls between ten to twenty times a day. He shouldn't be able to, but Julia had relented and used a bit of magic on him. For all she might act strict and suffering, Julia just couldn't deny a request by the herd. At least, as long as it was halfway reasonable.

He even bedded Splits or another pony-girl on occasions. While fun, it definitely was different. They insisted on being kept in bondage for it, but at the same time, they were demanding. Definitely being the top despite acting submissive.

Blackie meanwhile struck a seductive pose down in the grass. Theatrically, she placed a finger on her chin as if she had to think over his proposal. A sudden "nope" was all he got as she rolled to her feet and casually walked away. Leaving behind a totally confused John. For a minute his brain tried to make sense of it. What just happened? Eighty-two was always horny after their chases. She should have jumped his bones. Instead, she just walked away.

Eventually, John snapped out of it. If Blackie wasn't in the mood, it was her loss. Sure, it left John hanging. But knowing the herd, someone else would pick up the slack. He wouldn't even have to lift a finger.

An hour later, John was even more confused. Not just had he provided his normal duties as a ranch hand, but also provided two sheep-girls with very thorough messages. Each had taken a moment to contemplate his offer of a deeper more intimate message, before thanking him politely and dismissing him. Something was definitely up.

By lunch, John's nerves were a little frayed. No matter where he turned, his advances were shot down. Always politely, but it still hurt his ego. What was wrong with him that he was shunned by the herd? Did he do something? Except, the sheep-girls didn't act hostile towards him. It was the opposite. Most were quite friendly. A few were even teasingly seductive. Yet none slept with him. Every offer he made was repaid with a cold shoulder and some polite words.

"You look a little stressed out," Ernest commented as they herded the sheep-girls back into the barn for the evening.

"I- It's the herd," John complained to his co-worker. Finally having someone to unload was a relief. Maybe the senior wrangler could help him figure things out. "Something is up with them. I must have done something wrong."

"Awww, did someone get addicted to sheep-girl pussy?" Ernest teased. Earning her a deep blush from John.

"No," John immediately shot down the idea. "I am not some nymphomaniac."

"Are you sure?" Ernest stopped John from walking on by grabbing his arm. In a softer voice, she continued. "I mean, be honest. How often each day did you nail a sheep-girl?"

"A dozen times? Probably more on average." Admitting it was like a cold shower for John. "Shit! I turned nympho."

"Don't take it too hard," Ernest said and squeezed his shoulder. "You'll hardly be the first one. By now, the herd counts on it. It is the end of step one, after all."

"Which makes them withholding sex going over to step two," John concluded. "What's next? Offer me sex if I switch to being a sheep-girl?"

"Nah," Ernest dismissed his notion. "Right now, you're quite eager to get your dick wet. No, don't deny it. You have that look in your eyes. I remember it from seeing it in the mirror. Thing is, sheep-girls have no dick, partner. Can't get your dick wet if you ain't have one and the herd knows that."

"So, what then?" John asked. Hoping for an answer that finally made sense.

"Can't tell you," Ernest said with a shrug.

"Oh, come on," John practically begged. "You'll have to know how I can get out of this mess."

"Asks the step two of the step four," Ernest remarked before breaking out in chuckles. John had to be patient before she continued. "I know what is coming. And, in hindsight, I probably was doomed from the start. And before you ask, I can't tell you. Can't risk the wrath of the herd. Not when I am joining them sooner rather than later."

"Thanks." John kicked a pebble to even get rid of some of his frustration. "That helped a lot."

"Okay. Okay. Real talk," Ernest relented. "The next few days, the herd will put up some theatrics. You can either refuse to play your part, or you can dance to the music the herd is playing. Just remember to not give in at the end." She gave him another chuckle. "I certainly forgot. Not that I really mind."

"I will keep that in mind." John hoped it would be enough. Step two had blindsided him after all. He certainly was up against a large opposition. This game wasn't just played one on one. It was John against the herd. Which was slightly terrifying. Sheep-girls might largely be herbivores, but they definitely were hunters and John was their prey. And by now they were very practiced ones at that.

There was only one way out of this, John knew. "Got to stop playing their game."

"Good luck with that," Earnest remarked before heading into the barn. All the while breaking out in fits of giggles. John didn't take it as a good sign.

---

His iron will to not play by the rules of the herd lasted a whole three days. It wasn't exactly blue balls that made him relent. Despite having actual withdrawal symptoms from not getting any sex. No, it was his curiosity that led to his downfall.

"So, why exactly is the herd mad at me?" he asked one afternoon while sitting on a picnic blanket surrounded by sheep-girl. Of course, he knew the herd wasn't really mad at him. They just pretended to.

"We aren't mad at you," Thirty-Nine replied. However, she couldn't look him in the eyes. But John noticed that all the other sheep-girls paid attention. Despite acting like they didn't. "Whatever makes you say that?"

John nearly laughed out loud. It really was as Ernest had said. Like a dance. Each had a role to play. Well, curiosity made him play his part. At least, for now. "Well, first I get bugged to have sex with any number of you. And now that I relented and a few weeks passed, none of you want to bed me anymore. There's got to be a reason."

"Well-" John turned around to see that One Hundred and Seventy-Two had spoken up. "Some of us just think that maybe you take us for granted, you know? We aren't your sex dolls. Just here to satisfy your urges."

John's first instinct was to deny that out loud. But a small part of him cringed at the accusation. Because there was some truth to it he had to admit. He had gotten used to the many times of sex each day. Counted on it that each day someone of the herd would bed him. Of course, intellectually, John knew that the herd was partially to blame. They wanted him addicted to sex with them. All part one of their grand plan to make him want to be a sheep-girl too.

Before John could reply, another sheep-girl spoke up. Saving John from embarrassing himself. "It's also that it has gotten a bit boring. You know. In and out. A few of us think you could try to bring more variety to the table. Maybe try foreplay for once."

John nearly laughed out loud. His parents raised him right. He knew how to treat a lady. They probably didn't think he would take those lessons to his sexual encounters, but he did. John was no stranger to foreplay. In fact, some of the sheep-girls had remarked positively about it before. This newest accusation proved the herd played by a handbook. Slavishly sticking to their five-step plan. For John, it meant the herd had overplayed their hand and he now could see clearly through their bluff. He knew they wanted to fulcrum his new sex addiction. What he didn't know yet was to what end.

"Fair." The small little lie somehow hurt him more than expected. "What can I do about that?"

"Well-" The sheep-girls looked at each other as if in confusion. Or to coordinate their next strike. John guessed the latter.

"There is nothing you can do," Thirty-Nine suddenly burst.

"That isn't fair," Eighty-One immediately jumped to his defense. "At least, John was trying."

"John is a man," Thirty-Nine insisted. Even sitting up straight to underline her argument with dominance. "And men can only think with their dick. Sorry, John, but it's the truth. You can teach men some tricks, but in the end, they only care about dunking their dick. You men just don't know how much pleasure you could give a woman."

"I'll think you're a bit harsh there," Eighty-One decided and crossed her arms while giving Thirty-Nine the evil eye. "I used to be a man and I wasn't like that. And I bet John isn't too."

"I was too," Thirty-Nine admitted. "That's why I know what I am talking about. I thought I knew how to be a good lover. To be a good man. But it wasn't until I became a sheep-girl and experienced the other side, that I truly understood how short I fell. With my knowledge now, I could do so much better."

And there it was. Again, John had trouble not breaking his own poker face. This was the pitch. Become a woman for a while. Check out the other side of the fence. Maybe stay a while. And then, naturally, join the herd. If John was honest, he was a bit confused about how people could fall for it. Sure, some might, but not as many as Ernest made it out to be. So, either there was more to it, or Ernest hyped it up to cover up her shame to have fallen for it.

"Ladies. Ladies." John had to step in. This little argument - no matter how heated it appeared to be - was staged. John was sure of it. Now he needed to develop his own plan. But not while this act continued on. He needed some peace and quiet. "You both have excellent points. In fact, I think I have some pondering to do. If you'll excuse me-"

John stood up from the picnic blanket. Walking casually away while pretending not to have noticed that quite a few sheep-girls tried to hide mischievous grins.

Going for a walk, John had his mind full. Now he knew the herd's angle. The "become a woman to become a better lover" tactic was in his opinion a little bit out there. Not working on him in the least. Sure, he wasn't perfect in the sex department. That he could admit. But he was no slouch either. If the herd wanted him to join them, they had to do better.

"John! John!" Turning around, he saw a sheep-girl with pitch-black fleece sprint up to him. Number Eighty-Two - also known as Blackie - was winded, but fought through it to satisfy her own curiosity. "Did they do it? I bet they gave you the pitch and I missed it. Please tell me you rejected them."

"What pitch?" John wanted to know. Sure, they had implied a lot, but they haven't outright put him on the spot.

"Oh, thank god, I didn't miss it," Blackie exclaimed. She honestly looked relieved. "Don't you dare give in, John. I've got a lot riding on it."

"Well, in order to do that, I have to know what pitch," John reminded her.

"Oh, you know. The pitch. The next step in the plan." As John didn't answer - and portraying a good poker face - Blackie had to explain more. "You do know of the five-step plan, right? Yes, it's supposed to be secret, but we are talking about nearly two hundred sheep-girls. Someone must have slipped up. If not them, maybe a pony-girl or ranch hand."

John had to stifle a laugh. If Blackie wasn't up to shenanigans, she was a decent partner for conversations. Mostly after they had sex. Seeing her now so involved was kind of refreshing. Maybe he could give her a nugget or two of information. "Yes, I know of the five-step plan. And I am not telling who told me."

"Okay, so you know-" Blackie stopped and looked intensely at him. "It was Ernest, wasn't it? Right?" As John didn't budge, she returned to her previous topic. "Right. So, you are aware that the next step is for you to become a woman?"

"Well, I wasn't told what the individual steps include, but it wasn't hard to figure that out," John boasted. "I mean they did try to sell it a little ham-fisted."

"Yeah. That's why I told them it wouldn't work on you," Blackie agreed. "All the theatrics and then they do the pitch."

"Which is?" John reminded her yet again.

"Oh, you know," Blackie rolled her eyes to underline it. "Trying to get you to change for a limited time. Just a week. So, you see what it is like. Then no one would doubt your commitment anymore. Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. You get the gist of it, right?"

John gave it a quick thought. The pitch had something. It limited the time for potential recruits. Making it appear more harmless to them. A compromise that left the potential recruit with a sense of control, yet gave the herd a path to advance their five-step plan. In a way, it was smart and made him reevaluate just how bad the acting had been. Maybe it had been part of their dance too.

"I get it," he assured her. "And don't worry. I am not tempted."

"Good." Blackie gave him a nod. For a moment, it looked like she would depart but then continued in a more quiet somber voice. "There is another angle to the pitch they could try. They might call your masculinity into question. Play on your ego as a man. To challenge you to show them how much you can be a man, while physically not being a man anymore. That won't work on you, right? I bet as much. Don't disappoint me and resist whoever comes to make that pitch."

The "thank you" died on John's lips before he could speak it. The sudden concern of Eighty-Two suddenly made a lot more sense. No one needed to come to him to pitch him anything. All the potential recruit needed was the information about the said pitch. Blackie wasn't here out of concern or by happenstance. She was part of the whole production instigated by the herd.

The whole exchange between the herd had been bad on purpose. They counted on it being transparent. It would inflate the ego of whoever figured it out. Cue Blackie with part two. Exploiting the ego of their target further and then smuggling in the pitch without actually pitching it. He should have known Eighty-Two wouldn't just switch sides and suddenly hope he'd resist. The question was: where did he go from here?

"Oh, I will," John promised. None of the angles the herd tried to exploit worked on him. But he doubted they would give up that easily. "You have given me a few things to think about."

"Good." Blackie made for the herd again. Leaving John alone. But not before turning around one last time. "Don't disappoint me, John."

John did only reply with a wave. He had some thinking to do and only limited time. As a wrangler, he couldn't avoid the herd. They were, after all, his responsibility.

---

John knocked on the doorframe to Julia's office three days later. "Do you have a moment?"

Looking up, Julia let out a colorful string of obscenities that ended with: "Jeezus, John. I'd hope you'd last more than three days."

"I am not here to become a sheep-girl," John said as he was waved in and took a seat.

"No, you aren't on that step yet. You are here to ask to become a woman," Julia said with a tinge of bitterness. "Yes, I know of my herd's famous five-step plan. It is the worst kept secret on the ranch. Other ranch hands had at least the decency to resist for a week or two. I must admit you caving in so early is quite the disappointment."

"I am not caving in," John assured her. Seeing her skeptical raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "All the approaches they tried ring hollow. The promise of sex, the challenge of my masculinity, or ego." John gave a good-natured laugh. "No, what did me in was all in my head."

Julia leaned forward and steepled her hands. "Alright. I'll bite. Then why are you here to become a woman?"

"It is the whole setup," John revealed. "Their whole plan hinges on me becoming a woman, right? As if being a woman is inherently better than being a man."

"I doubt it," Julia said involuntarily. Seeing John look at her, she felt the need to elaborate. "I mean I never was a man, but I don't think being a woman is inherently better. It is probably a thing of preference."

"Right. But how can I say I like being a man more if I have never been a woman?" John now asked. "It is my inherent curiosity that led me here, Julia. Not the herd and their little scheme. Becoming a woman is a win-win situation for me. Either I find out I want to remain a man - it would leave me with new insight and empathy for the opposite sex - or I'll grow to love being a woman. In that case, I still win. Because my life would still be better for it, right?"

"Until you end up a sheep-girl," Julia added with a tinge of grumpiness.

"Oh, no. If the herd thinks I'll ever go for step five they just don't know me very well." John shrugged. "Yes, I could see myself caving in to step three or four, but not five. I just don't see the appeal for it. Or rather, I know what the appeal for others might be and that's exactly the opposite of what I am about."

"Fine, I'll hold you to that, John," Julia said while holding out her hand.

As John shook it, his world suddenly lurched. Only for a second, but it changed profoundly. Julia was still the same. Her office too. The same couldn't be said for John. The first thing his mind actively registered was his arm. Or rather, her arm, as it was equally slim and soft as Julia's. Slowly, more and more detail tickled in. Breasts, yes, John definitely had those. Slimmer waist. Wider hips. The whole nine yards. She didn't need to look into her pants to know that much.

"You certainly don't hesitate," John accused her boss.

"The way I see it, John, it is better to rip off that band-aid fast."

"Gotcha. But let's not do that whole male name for a woman thing," John suggested. "I had enough of that with Ernest. Still feels wrong every time I call her that."

"Glady," Julia agreed. "So, what do I call you?"

"Let's go with Jo for now," the gender-bend ranch hand suggested. "Temporary. Either I return to being John or-" Jo shrugged. "If I remain a woman I'd probably find a better name."

"Knowing my herd, you probably can start looking for a permanent name." Then Julia sobered up a bit. "As long as you don't exchange it for a number, you hear me, Jo?"

"Yes, mam," Jo said and gave a flippant salute.

"Go find Ernest or another ranch hand," Julia suggested and dismissed Jo at the same time. "We got a lot of discarded clothes from those who joined the herd. If you really want the whole female experience, you might as well dress right."

"Will do," Jo promised, before leaving the office.

---

Jo drew all the eyes as she entered the dining room used by the ranch's staff. It wasn't her beauty that warranted the attention. She was a looker - that much she had confirmed by peeking at a few mirrors - but she hardly was the only one. The whole ranch was a pile-up of supermodels. And, until now, John had been the odd duck out. As Jo, she blended right in.

It probably was the fact that she wore ill-fitting clothes. Or that she was a new face that no one had seen yet. Spotting her target, Jo marched right towards her.

Ernest, of course, didn't need long to put two and two together. Raising her glass of cola, she bellowed a toast. "John! Welcome to womanhood."

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah," Jo waved her off. "And it is Jo for now. I am not doing that whole male-name-while-being-a-woman-game just to annoy my co-workers."

"Arg!" Ernest exclaimed while slumping forwards as if someone had struck her from behind. "Et Tu, Brute?"

"Should I get a real knife?" Jo asked dryly.

"No, the metaphorical one was enough," Ernest waved her off. Then leaned forward. "I'll have you know, between my legs I am still plenty of male."

Jo couldn't stifle a groan. "You done? Julia mentioned something about a storage room with clothing."

"Oh, my little Josephine's first time dressing up." The senior stable hand practically jumped up. "And you came to Mama Ernest for advice."

"It's Jo. Not Josephine," Jo corrected her.

"Not Josephine?" Ernest asked while grabbing Jo by the shoulders and leading her out. "Well, Jolene, we can get you dressed, but please don't-"

"If you start singing, I'll get a real knife," Jo promised. "And it is just Jo. Not a short form of anything."

"Yeah. Yeah," Ernest dismissed the protest while leading the newly made woman through lesser-used hallways of the main building. While Ernest didn't sing Jolene by Dolly Parton, Jo was exposed to a pretty good hummed version.

Arriving at their destination, Ernest opened a door and flicked the light switch. Revealing a surprisingly large room that could have been the lost and found of an airport. High industrial shelves were filled to the brim with old baggage and hard cases.

"Welcome to Julia's Second-Hand Emporium," Ernest exclaimed. "Whenever someone joins the herd, they usually leave behind all the clothes they arrived with. We store them until we have enough to donate a truckload. Don't bother with the shelves marked blue," she explained while pointing at most of the shelving. "Over here we have the red shelves. These are the belongings of former ranch hands that joined the herd. And as most of them had been women by the design of Julia, their wardrobe fits us pretty well."

"So we all have the same measurements?" Jo asked. She had noticed that most female ranch hands sported very similar bodies.

"The way Julia explained to me, she just applies templates," Ernest explained while pulling out one of the larger pieces of baggage. "For us stable hands it is not as strict. Yes, our measurements are nearly identical. But we retain some facial features and things like hair and eye color. The template for sheep-girls is more strict. They all look the same. That's on purpose. The herd wanted it that way."

"So, where does one start?" Jo asked while pulling something out herself. Opening it up, she was greeted with a pile of unsorted, but clean female garments. It was a little intimidating. Not that she would admit as much. But she had no clue how to assemble a female wardrobe.

As an answer, a bra landed squarely in Jo's face. "With underwear, of course," she heard Ernest say between fits of giggles. Annoyed, Jo grabbed for the bra, but as soon as her view was free of lace, a matching pantie landed on her head.

"I figured that out already. The outer stuff might be more of a challenge."

As Jo looked around for a place to change, Ernest had some wise words for her. "Look. You got nothing I ain't seen before."

"Fine!" Jo exclaimed and proceeded to push down her pants. Or tried. It was apparent that Julia liked her girls with plenty of junk in the trunk. The moment Jo had left her office, she had popped all but one button of her pants. Still, it had been a tight affair. Now she had to practically peel off her old male jeans. Her boxer shorts might as well join the trash. Quite a few stitches had snapped under the newfound pressure of Jo's posterior.

The panties required a bit of wriggling but fit perfectly once in place. The bra took longer. Getting into it was the easy part. Getting the small hooks into their latches while behind her back was a challenge Jo hadn't expected. Of course, the silent judgment by Ernest didn't help. She tried to hide her amusement as Jo struggled. Not very successfully.

At last, Jo snapped the hooks in place. At least, they felt like they were placed right this time. Not that Jo had much experience with it. Bras were something John helped others get out of. Not getting in. Leaving now Jo with not much experience to go on with.

"I think you need more practice," Ernest commented unnecessarily. "Next, how about this."

"I think half of it is missing," Jo remarked as she took a small lump of jeans material. Unfolding it, she nearly groaned as it revealed itself as hotpants. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What? If you got it, flaunt it." As this logic didn't work on Jo, Ernest tried again. "And it is sort of a tradition around here. No way you could hide a dick in there. It shows the herd that step two was successful."

"It wasn't," Jo murmured, but didn't choose to elaborate as Ernest quirked an eyebrow. She wasn't ready yet to reveal her real reason. Curiosity might as well be her kryptonite. If the herd found out, surely they would use it against her. Instead, she grabbed the offending garment.

Getting into the hotpants up to her hips proved to be no challenge. But then Jo had to fight to get it over her butt. At last, it shifted into place. It was a tight affair. "Are you sure this is the right size, Ernest? Feels like one or two too small."

"Nonsense," Jo's co-worker replied while handing her a shirt. "Hotpants need that painted-on look."

Jo took the chequered button-up shirt and looked it over. Something struck her as wrong. Slipping into it revealed some flaws. "I think this one was washed too hot. It fits around the shoulders, but look, the back is way too short and the front part looks worn-out and stretched."

"Jo. Jo. Jo." Ernest rolled her eyes as if Jo had just said the most stupid thing. Definitely, she grabbed the two front pieces that offended Jo with their length and tied them together just below the breasts. Leaving Jo's midriff exposed and her breasts smushed together and lifted up. "Everything is as it is supposed to be."

"Are you sure? Ow!" Jo shook her hand that Ernest had slapped away. Apparently, she wasn't supposed to button up that shirt. Leaving her cleavage on full display.

Ernest just gave her a stern look, before shoving two cowboy boots into her hands. Both had a small heel, but Jo was used to them. John had grown up on a ranch. Of course, he had worn cowboy boots before. A lot. Jo should be fine as long as the heel wouldn't increase drastically.

As Jo stood up in her new boots. Ernest placed a matching cowboy hat on her head. "The finishing touch," she proclaimed, before rolling out a floor-length mirror, so that Jo could see herself.

Jo's jaw nearly hit the floor. "I look like-" Her mind needed a moment to process the image and come up with a fitting description. "Like a playboy bunny who has never set foot on a farm doing a photoshoot as a cowgirl."

"Well-"

"No, not quite," Jo corrected herself. "More like one of those popstars dressing up for a music video that features them doing country music for the first time and trying to mask their lack of talent with sexiness. I swear if you ask me to wash one of our pick-up trucks while dressed like that-"

"That wasn't the plan," Ernest assured her. "But now that you mention it, I bet-"

"Seriously, I look like a porn actress," Jo interrupted Ernest. "One ready to give a low-IQ monologue just to give an excuse to jump someone's bones."

"So?" Ernest waited if Jo had another remark up her sleeve. When none came for a few seconds, she tried again. "I take it you don't like the outfit?"

Jo nearly scoffed. Of course, she didn't like it. It made her look hot. Like a sexual beast of a woman. Just looking at the mirror gave her a blush. Made her feel a little warm all of sudden.

Jo's train of thought suddenly derailed. Starring back was not John who she might objectively rate a seven or eight. Her former male self certainly was attractive and popular with the ladies. But what starred back from the mirror was altogether another animal. Jo's new body was definitely a ten and the outfit boosted her to an eleven. On a scale of one to ten, that was quite the feat.

The longer she looked at her reflection, the more Jo had to revise her opinion. She was a knock-out now. A thought alien to Jo, but it grew on her. Maybe Ernest was right. Jo could flaunt it because she definitely had it.

"It's alright," Jo eventually said aloud. Trying to keep her voice steady and nonchalant. "I don't think this will do for casual wear." Yet, Jo couldn't bear to dismiss this outfit. A part of her needed to keep it. "Might be good to have it on hand though. As a reward. For the herd! You know, as a treat if they behave."

"Yes. For the herd," Ernest echoed her with a voice that expressed doubt. "Now then, shall we find six more outfits?"

"Why six?" Jo wanted to know.

"For the rest of the week?" As Jo didn't take the bait, Ernest got more explicit. "You know. The whole being a woman for a week deal? One outfit might not be enough."

"See, that's why the herd failed with their pitch," Jo pointed out. "I know the herd wants a week to have proper time to convince me. But I have my own plans. I gave Julia no fixed date for changing back."

"I see," Ernest said aloud. But couldn't help to mutter under her breath: "Sounds like step three is concluded before it even started."

"What was that?" Jo asked despite having heard Ernest just fine.

"I said, in this case, just fixed outfits won't do." Ernest rubbed her hands like a cheesy cartoon villain. "Let's start with basic color theory and we go from there."

At that moment, Jo knew two things. One, this might have not been a good day after all and two, this would be a long evening.

---

Stepping out of the breakfast room, Jo barely could stifle a yawn. Not so the slight shiver. It was early autumn and despite the early hour she already could feel the temperature rising for another promised hot day. But it wasn't there yet and she wasn't exactly dressed for the early temperatures.

Of course, she didn't wear the first outfit Ernest suggested. She was here to babysit a herd of sheep-girl. Not to film a porno. However, her chosen outfit wasn't much better to keep out the chill.

Jo had chosen a light blue chequered button-down shirt. One that actually covered her midriff, but left her arms exposed to the morning air. Her jeans were too long to be called hotpants but stopped above her knees. While her soft brown cowboy boots covered up some, much of her legs were still exposed to nature. And the looks of fellow ranch hands and the herd. Rounded off was the outfit by a straw hat. But not the typical one. It was a hand-made one in Panama. Complete with the black ribbon. Jo didn't care that Ernest doubted it would work with the outfit. Jo always wanted to wear one and today was the day.

She hurried over to the barn, but then stopped at the entrance. Gathering courage. It took her long enough for other wranglers to arrive.

"Nervous?" Ernest asked as she came up.

"I am not scared of the herd," Jo declared and hoped her false bravado masked her lie. Before Ernest could take a dig at her, Jo pushed inside.

"Good morning ladies!" Her voice boomed through the barn. As always only a few sheep-girls were already awake. Others reluctantly woke up. It could take some time until they all were awake. Usually, a half-hour with personal wake-up calls to a number of sheep-girls who refused to get up. Today, it went faster. Those first to get up prodded their brethren and pointed to Jo. Murmurs filled the barn.

When most of the sheep-girls were awake, Jo walked to the middle of the barn. It was time to address the elephant in the room. She wasn't sure how previous ranch hands had handled this, but Jo was used to tackling problems head-on.

"My name is Jo," she said loud enough that everyone could hear her. "I am not new. You previously knew me as John. For the next few weeks, I will be in this form. With that out of the way, time for your morning showers. Move. Move. Move."

Most of the sheep-girls complied. Their usual grumbling was replaced today by murmurs and glances towards Jo. Of course, quite a few steered against the current and made for Jo.

"I won't answer any questions right now!" Jo shouted to stifle any curiosity. "Maybe once you showered and brushed your teeth."

That deterred some, but a familiar black coated sheep-girl still came closer. "So, is it Jo now? Short for- ?"

"Not short for anything," Jo reaffirmed again. "Come on. To the baths you all go."

"Maybe Jocelyn?" One sheep-girl mused aloud. "She looks like a Jocelyn."

"More like a Josephine," a second pitched in.

"Nah. You are both wrong!" Blackie exclaimed. "It is clearly short for Jol-"

Jo clamped her and over number Eighty-Two's mouth, but it was too late. Ernest's voice rang out in song. "Jolene. Jolene. Joleeennneee! I am begging you-"

"Now look at what you've done," Jo said with a groan. "It's Jo. And whoever isn't under the shower by the count of ten, gets to hear an encore by Ernest."

Just a few seconds later, Jo was free of sheep-girls. But not of a certain wrangler. "I am not that bad," Ernest complained. "Right?"

"I think Guantanamo Bay called. They want to book a stop there for your next tour." Laughing, Jo was chased by Ernest to the showers too.

---

Jo stepped out of the barn and into the sun. It felt nice on her exposed skin and she closed her eyes. Just for a moment, she could pretend she wasn't the focus of the whole herd. Of course, it didn't last. There was work to be done. Yet today, Jo had to navigate a different hurdle all together.

"Step three, here we come," she murmured under her breath before joining the herd on the field.

Mentally, she prepared herself. While no one had mentioned details about step three, Jo could guess what it was. If step two was to get her to become a woman, then step three must be to convince her to stay one. However, how exactly was yet unknown to her.

Jo had decided to resist. Not too much, but she wouldn't roll over either. She had decided to give being a woman an honest shot. That meant, she couldn't let the herd sell her a cotton candy version of being one. But she couldn't close herself off completely either.

A sudden gust of wind blew her straw hat clean off. Picking it up, Jo found out that it hadn't been an accident. A long furrow in the grass and a ponygirl that now circled her, clued Jo in that Splits had spotted her and came here to get a better look. And as Splits usually did she ran. Walking like a normal person was beneath her.

"And? What is the verdict?" Jo asked while putting her straw hat back on. "You like?"

In response, Splits came closer and rubbed her flank against Jo's hip.

"I take that as a yes."

Splits took off again. Just a few feet to get some distance. She then eyed Jo again. Not for long as she displayed a devious smile around her bite-gag.

The top-most button of Jo's shirt suddenly popped off. Flying in a high arc and landing before Splits hooves. A second later the next button popped off. Someone played dirty with their telekinesis.

"Splits!" Jo started to chase the mischievous pony-girl. Successfully driving her off, but the damage was done. She now displayed much cleavage as Splits had managed to tear off six buttons in total. There was no way for Jo to cover up again. Unless she went to change shirts.

"Looks good." "Very sexy." "Julia has outdone herself."

A shower of compliments rained down on Jo. The nearby sheep-girls used the opportunity to flatter Jo's ego. She had expected as much. And as much as she tried to keep humble, a part of her loved it. Who didn't like compliments? It was nice when someone paid attention to you. Hence Jo's need to drink up the attention. That couldn't hurt, right?

As sheep-girl one hundred and forty-two trotted up, Jo mentally prepared herself for the next move by the herd. "Hey, Jo. It is Jo, right? Good. Uhm. Looks like it will be a sunny day and I forgot to get sunscreen."

Jo relaxed. It was an ordinary request. With the sheep-girls spending so much time outside, protection against the sun was a must. Most of their bodies were covered by wool, but places like their face, neck, and hands were prime spots to get sunburned. Normally they applied sunscreen before heading outside, but now and then a sheep-girl eager to get out slips through the cracks.

"No worries. I can fix that," Jo promised. However, fulfilling it was a little harder than expected. Normally, pony-girls carried sunscreen among other things. It was as easy as walking to the next pony-girl and getting a bottle. However, the pony-girl for Jo's part of the herd was nowhere to be seen. "Damn it, Splits," she muttered under her breath.

"Be right back," Jo told number one hundred and forty-two. Now she had to walk all the way back to the barn. Yet an opportunity presented itself halfway there. Dancing Silk - another pony-girl - cut through the field close by. And contrary to Splits. Silk wasn't always running.

"Silk!" Jo shouted out. The pony-girl stopped and looked around. Spotting Jo walking towards her, she turned to meet Jo.

"I only need a bottle of sunscreen," Jo said and Silk dutifully turned around so that Jo could get it. "Thanks. You are fine, right? Already got sunscreen on you?"

The pony-girl stomped once as an affirmative and then walked away. Jo couldn't help but stare after her for a few seconds. Dancing Silk was a sight to behold. Her dark brown skin stood out in the field. But what made her special was her white hair styled in many small braids. From up close, her hair looked nearly translucent.

Shaking off her mesmerized state, Jo returned to her assigned post. Holding up the bottle of sunscreen triumphantly. "Let's get you protected, one forty-two."

"Me too!" another sheep-girl exclaimed when Jo was halfway done. A half dozen other sheep-girls followed.

Jo gave a small sigh. It looked like quite a few slipped through the cracks today. Not that Jo minded. Applying sunscreen to beautiful women was hardly any work in her eyes.

"Thanks!" the last sheep-girl exclaimed when Jo finished her off. "Now we do you."

Jo laughed. "That won't be necessary. I already have some on me?"

The small group of sheep-girls giggled. "Really? Everywhere?" Pointing right at Jo's exposed cleavage.

"Urg, Splits," Jo cursed under her breath again. However, before she could address the issue, she was tackled not just by one sheep-girl, but a half dozen.

Lips locked onto Jo's own and someone started to fondle her breasts expertly. Getting her worked up in no time. Maybe it was the fact that everything felt new, that made Jo hardly resist. Even welcome the attention. Or the fact that she was a nympho who hadn't been laid in days.

Hands caressed her. How many she could tell or cared to find out. More than one sheep-girl. That was for sure. It devolved into a gang bang.

As another pair of hands gently pushed at her tights, Jo eagerly opened her legs. She wanted to be fucked. It didn't matter who. Even Ernest would be okay. However, instead of something stiff pushing into her, it was something dexterous and wet that wormed its way in. Jo squealed in delight. Then lips closed around her most intimate spot and all thoughts started to elude Jo.

---

Jo groaned and put a hand over her eyes. Waking up while being bathed by the sun was nice. Less so if one was blinded by it. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts and memories.

She remembered how she started her day. Then the errant for sunscreen, followed by- Memories of a marathon of orgasms flashed behind her eyes. How many did she have? How many had she given? It all blurred together. But she remembered one little fact: it had been awesome.

When Jo heard steps in the grass beside her, she peeked between her fingers. It was Ernest who walked over and sat down beside her. Jo already braced for a stupid joke, but none came. Her mentor patiently waited for Jo to speak up first.

But what was there to say? That sex had been awesome? The fact that she got addicted all over again? No, it was more than that. Jo felt glad that she was a woman. That she, as John, had taken the step to explore the other side. Right this moment, Jo didn't regret it in the least. Would she one day? Somehow, she doubted it. Then again, it might be the last traces of orgasmic bliss speaking that muddled her mind.

"I concede," Jo finally spoke up. "Tell the herd that step three was a success."

"I am doing no such thing." Utterly surprised, Jo rolled onto her side to get a better view of her mentor. Ernest continued a moment later. "Don't look at me like that. Yes, they fucked your brains out. Whoop-di-doo. The herd is known for that. Right now you are floating on cloud nine. Or the equivalent of- Never mind that. Being a woman is more than sex, you know? You had the right idea all along. It takes time to see if it is right for you. No matter how good sex is you can't have it all the time. No one can."

"Yeah," Jo said while laying back down in the grass. Honestly, she was a bit surprised to hear such wise words from her. Normally Ernest was a goofball and every piece of advice was laced with humor. Jo would think later about it. Right now, she was still tired. Would anyone protest if she took another nap? Well, she could at least close her eyes for a few more minutes.

"The way you lay there-" Jo nearly groaned as Ernest spoke up again. Internally bracing for some joke. "Perfect for a money shot."

Something wet splattered all over Jo from head to belly. Opening her eyes she found splotches of something white and sticky scattered on her skin. "Eww, Ernest!"

"What?" the stable hand asked in innocence. "Sunscreen is important, remember? And you're more exposed than ever."

Ernest walked away laughing. Not seeing that Jo shook her fist at him. Well, at least this practical joke had woken her up completely. And Ernest was right. She was more exposed than before. Being completely naked was the definition of it.

With a sigh, Jo started to spread the spilled sunscreen over her skin. It evoked memories of other hands roaming and massaging her body. She could feel a blush coming on. One that might make people think she already was sunburned.

Once finished, Jo tried to reach for her clothes. Only to find a whole load of nothing. The culprits were easy to spot. Eighty-two didn't even try to hide that she had Jo's left boot. The rest of her clothes were not much better hidden by various members of the herd. It looked like to get decent again, Jo had to either walk back to her room and get a new outfit, or she had to track down each part of her last outfit.

"Scavenger hunt it is," Jo murmured before getting up on her feet.

---

"Down with the government! Don't be part of the masses."

"Not so loud," Jo winced and gave Eighty-Two a playful slap on the butt. A feat rather easy as the sheep-girl was propped on Jo's shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Eighty-two actually gave a "Sorry." before continuing, but at half the volume. "Fight the authority. Don't be sheeple."

"Jolene!"

"It is Jo," she corrected as she twirled around. Giving Eighty-Two a good spin at the same time. "And you know it is, Ernest."

Instead of giving a retort, Ernest appeared to be rather somber while walking up. Even her tone of voice was all business. "Put down Eighty-Two, Jo."

"What?" Despite her confusion, Jo complied. Gently setting the sheep-girl down. "Did I do something?"

Ernest ignored Jo for a moment. "Blackie, scram."

"But we were in the middle of-"

"Go pester Rodrigo. He can use the workout."

Pouting, the sheep-girl walked away. Leaving Jo even more confused. "Seriously. What's up?"

"Today, it is the last Wednesday of the month," Ernest proclaimed. "And you know what that means, don't you."

"Yeah. More work," Jo sighed. "You, Julia, and a few others go out for-"

"Ladies' night!" Ernest shouted out while breaking into a wide grin. "And since you've been a woman for two and a half weeks- Well, hardly a lady, but we need sheriff bait."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it," Ernest waved her off before hooking her arm around Jo's and leading her to the main building. "It's still a bit early, but we need the time to get you ready."

Honestly, Jo was intrigued. And now that she thought about it, this was a good opportunity. But she couldn't let Ernest off easily. "And who says I even want to come?"

"Someone proclaimed she wants to experience what it means to be a woman," Ernest said without missing a beat. "Now is your chance."

"Alright. Alright." Jo relented. But as they took a corner away from her room, she grew confused again. "Where are we going?"

"To the baggage claim, of course," Ernest said before dropping the next revelation. "We need to find you a dress. Something skimpy and fun."

"But-"

"And heels!"

"Oh, no!" Jo actually grew a bit pale on her face. "I don't think I can handle them."

"Today you will learn, girl." Ernest gave her a malicious chuckle. "Today you will learn."

---

Two hours later, Jo exited the main building. Walking at a snail's pace and clinging to Ernest. Most of her was exposed as she only wore panties and a glittery dress that left her backside so much exposed, Jo feared a stiff gust of wind might tear it off her body. Worse were the strappy heels she wore. Not the highest Jo had ever seen in her life, but definitely the highest she had ever worn.

"I will so get back at you for this," Jo whispered to Ernest.

"Promises. Promises," Ernest muttered before speaking up. "And I am only following orders."

"Nice," Splits commented as she joined the pair heading for one of the SUV's the ranch owned. It was a strange look seeing her not in her usual pony-girl garb, but in normal human clothing. Especially since she still had her equine features.

"It will do," Julia commented, who leaned against one of the SUVs. However, she soon was a little annoyed with Jo's slow progress. "Let me help you with that."

All of the sudden, Jo knew how to walk in high heels. Gone were the clumsy little steps. She could walk without help. "How- ?"

"Skill transference spell," Julia said. "Or knowledge. Both if need be. However, it only works for half a day. So, you might want to get a little practice in after your working hours."

Jo gave a non-committal shrug in reply. She pretty much had already decided to stay a woman, but that didn't mean she had to be a girly-girl. Tomboy was fine. Better yet, it was fitting for her job.

The four of them filed into one SUV while three more ranch hands and another pony-girl took the other. Jo thought the pony-girl was Gentle Sway, but she wasn't certain. To Jo's dismay, it was Splits who drove. That she steered with telekinesis instead of hooves on the wheel was unusual, but not what scared the crap out of Jo. Splits drove as she ran. Full tilt.

"So-" Jo clamored for words to distract herself while being driven by a lunatic. "You are leaving the ranch, Julia. I thought that was a no-go for a lair-witch."

"Normally, yes," the witch agreed. "Ladies' night takes a lot of prep. Two days to set up an emergency teleport. If a dryad spots anything they can activate the prepared spell and poof, I am back at the ranch. Splits and Sway have set up a warding spell around the bar. The wrong kind of witch enters and poof, I am gone again."

"And most important of all," Ernest interrupted. "They get magically sober. Because Splits and Julia usually drink like the world is ending tomorrow."

"Snitch," Julia hissed, but the smile on her face told Jo she wasn't serious.

"We are here," Splits announced and a second later Jo had to fight not to hit the headrest before her with her face.

"Darn it, Splits," Ernest cried out. "Can't you - for once - drive normally?"

"What?" the pony-girl asked innocently. "I held back today. Can't have Jo pass out before the fun starts."

Instead of getting between the two, Jo rushed to get out of the car. Fresh air greeted her and Jo was grateful for it. Less so the view that unfolded before her. The landscape hadn't changed much from that of the ranch. It was the roadside tavern that gave Jo pause. It didn't look as run down as some others that she had frequented as John. It was the sign that was curious. Whatever the original name of the bar was, a neon sign was jury-rigged and dangled over the entrance that proclaimed the name "Lez'Drink".

Jo's mind needed a moment to catch up. "Is this a lesbian bar?"

"Today it is," Splits proclaimed while pushing open the door with her mind and stomping in.

"This is 'Chuck's Bar'," Ernest explained while slowly herding Jo inside too. "Owned by Jeff. No, don't ask. We don't know either. Anyway. Once a month Jeff hands over the keys to his sister Ann. And the result is 'Lez'Drink'."

Only now, as they entered the bar, the second SUV arrived at the parking lot. Jo shook her head in amusement. Splits was really a hell of a driver. And not in a good way.

The inside had the typical roadside tavern look. One might describe it as a rustic charm. Others might say a mess of things cobbled together. Various pictures and trophies lined the wall. Most of them Jo couldn't see as someone had drabbed large posters of scantily clad women over them. Jo never had visited a lesbian bar before, but she doubted this was the usual. It looked a bit tacky.

Splits was already floating two large pitchers of beer over to one of the larger tables. Behind her, a conga line of mugs floated after her. So much for keeping their magic a secret. The normal reaction to seeing magic in action was to run away as fast as one could. For usually, the magic user was a fashion witch, and who wanted to end up as a sentient garment? But the few patrons of the bar didn't even look up. They were probably used to seeing Julia and her pony-girls around and rated them as harmless.

As Jo took a seat, she looked around. Her curiosity once again got the better of her. Surrounding a billiards table were a group of college-age kids. Jo didn't know which ruleset required beer mugs to be placed on the playing field, but a few spills wouldn't really hurt the table. It already looked like it had seen a few.

The woman sitting at the bar was more up to Jo's taste. She looked buff. Not like those bodybuilders who overdid it, but definitely a regular gym-goer. She didn't look butch either. Long hair trailed down to her waist. Sadly, Jo couldn't see her face as the lady was deep in a conversation with the barkeeper and her back was towards Jo. She, at least, had dressed up. As in actually wearing a dress.

Jo did a double-take. College kids, nope. Her companions, also a bust. "Am I the only one wearing a skimpy dress?" Jo burst out and elicited a bunch of laughs and giggles. "I look like a needy tart who desperately wants to get laid."

The reply came quick and in unison. "Sheriff's bait!"

The group's shout drew all eyes. Even from the person sitting at the bar. It was more attention than Jo liked, who turned to the side while blushing. Hastily hiding her face behind a mug while shugging the contents.

"Easy there," Ernest said while gently pulling Jo's arm down. "Have you eaten yet? Bad idea to drink on an empty stomach. And before you say anything, keep in mind that you have a new body now. Whatever alcohol tolerance you had is gone. You need to build up a new one."

"Oh, don't be a party pooper," Splits spoke up. "Let Jo drink. She could use some loosening up."

"Actually-" All eyes turned to Jo again. "Food sounds amazing."

"Then let's order," Julia decided. "As long as you don't mind if it is deep-fried."

By the time their food arrived, Jo was on her third beer. Others were a little further. She could swear Splits had alone emptied one pitcher. The food was greasy but good. Exactly what she needed right now. Thankfully ladies' night was only once a month. Else, Jo doubted she could keep her new sexy figure. Then again, she could probably pester Julia for some magic help if she ever filled out too much.

Washing down the last bits of onion rings, Jo reach for the pitcher to fill up, but was disappointed that it was empty. She doubted this would mean the end of the evening. "Next one's on me," Jo said before grabbing the two empty pitchers and walking towards the bar.

It wasn't far away, but it was enough time for a bunch of thoughts to race through her mind. She was so glad for Julia's spell. She could barely walk in high heels before. Now she had three beers down and was a bit tipsy, to say the least. Jo doubted she could have made a step now without that spell and staying on her feet for more than a second.

Each step also brought her closer to the mystery woman who still talked to Ann, the barkeeper. As Jo got closer, both women looked at her, and she got her first glimpse of the buff lady. She was gorgeous, Jo decided in a split second. Or rather her heart did. She wasn't the classical beauty, but somehow her minor flaws only made her more attractive to Jo.

Fighting off a blush, she put both empty pitchers on the counter. "Two more?" Ann asked before Jo could say a word.

"One for now."

Ann gave a laugh. "Dear, that means you have to walk twice rather sooner than later."

"Give her some slack," the woman beside Jo said generously. "Missy here hasn't been a woman for less than three weeks. I am surprised she hasn't stumbled once with those shoes. Someone skipped the training wheels and went for the challenge."

"I had help," Jo admitted, a bit subdued.

"I am Bernadette." The lady extended her hand in greeting.

"Jo," Jo said. Hoping - praying - her hand wasn't too sweaty as she shook Bernadette's hand. "So - uhm - you know about that-"

"You were a man?" Bernadette leaned over and continued in a hushed tone. "Here is a secret. I do have a few spies at the ranch."

And then she winked at Jo. Such a small little gesture, but it was what did do Jo in. Right then, she knew she was falling for Bernadette. Hard. And she wasn't sure she minded. She rather liked it.

"You don't mind?" Jo asked while nervously brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Depends," Bernadette said, before leaning back to give Jo a critical once over. "You know the ultimate test to find out if you have what it takes to be a woman?" When Jo gave a shy shake of her head, Bernadette turned to the barkeeper. "Ann, if you don't mind, music please."

Music? Jo's eyes went wide. She had many talents, but dancing definitely wasn't one of them. Too late, she noticed that Bernadette had taken her hand and gently pulled her towards an open space someone drunk enough might call a dance floor.

On cue, music started to play as they reached the middle of the open space. Bernadette had no problem cutting loose. Showing plenty of moves. Jo tried her best, but her dancing skills had never progressed that most men knew as awkward shuffles.

"No. No. No." Bernadette came closer. Only inches separated them now. "You have to move your hips." Deftly, Bernadette placed her hands on Jo's hips. Pushing and pulling until Jo learned to gyrate her buttocks to the beat.

"Better," she whispered just a stretch away from Jo. In fact, Bernadette was so close that Jo was tempted to kiss her. There was no time like now, Jo decided and leaned in. Their lips met and Jo's stomach did a somersault of happiness. Bernadette was eager too. Coming closer and letting go of the notion of dancing. They still moved. Grinding against each other.

Eventually, the need for air broke them apart. Breathing heavily their bodies clung together as if glued together. Bernadette was the first to recover. She leaned in again and Jo braced herself for the next kiss. Instead, Bernadette let her lips hover close to Jo's ear.

"Want to get out of here?"

The whispered words vibrated through Jo. Even more their meaning. Of course, she would. She already had to restrain herself to not tearing the dress of Bernadette. Or her own.

"Let's."

Together, arm in arm, they steered for the exit. Somewhere, deep in the back of Jo's mind, there was a tiny voice reminding her that she was forgetting something. Several things even. But Jo didn't care.

Pushing out exposed them to the chilly evening air. It made Jo cling more to Bernadette. Her only source of warmth. Her dress definitely didn't count as such.

Bernadette raised her arm and a moment later a cab pulled into the parking lot. How or why that was possible might bother Jo the next morning. For now, she was just happy about the coincidence.

Just as they took a seat in the cab, the driver spoke up. "You are early today. Didn't even finish my crossword puzzle."

"Just drive, Frank," Bernadette cut him off then. Then her lips were reserved for Jo. As was her body. Not that Jo minded. She relished it. So much that she didn't even care where they were going. Jo just hoped they would arrive soon.

---

Jo awoke to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. For John that hadn't been unusual, for he had worked more seasonal jobs than not. However, it was the first time for Jo.

Her memory needed a moment to wake up too, but when it did, it was a flood. Jo remembered arriving at a house in the nearby town. Deeply entwined, Bernadette and her made for the inside and for the bedroom. There was this moment. A slight hesitation. Jo remembered thinking this was the moment they would go at each other like rabbits. But it didn't turn out this way.

They went slow. Sensual. Like unpacking a present for each other and cherishing doing so. Not that there was much to unpack. Both dresses were easily shrugged off. And then Jo learned a new way to make love. Not the frantic group sex she had with the herd. Neither the sex she had enjoyed as John. It was loving. Needing. Appreciative. And most of all, balanced. A give and take. One born of instinct and love. No words were needed.

With a smile on her face, Jo turned around. Expecting Bernadette to share the bed beside her. But the other half was empty. There was a short pang of disappointment until her nose caught the distinct smell of bacon and eggs frying. Jo was hungry and if she could score a yummy breakfast, then this evening out that had turned into a morning after would be even more perfect.

But first, Jo had to pee. Thankfully she could spy the bathroom was close by. Jo hurried to do her business. Yes, the breakfast was waiting, but it was her curiosity beckoning her to just snoop a little. Her resistance might falter if she didn't hurry up. While washing her hands, her reflection caught Jo's eyes. It looked like she had a wild night out and a tussle between the bedsheets. In other words, like a mess. Combing it with her fingers didn't improve it much.

Once done, she exited the bathroom with one more task to fulfill: hunting for her hastily discarded clothing. Another first for Jo, but nothing new for John. To her surprise, Jo didn't find her dress and panties laying on the floor. Only her heels aside a desk. On it, the rest of her garments waited. Neatly folded and ready to be worn once again. Not clean anymore - Jo could smell the echo of beers spilled - they would have to do for one more hour or two.

Panties. Dress. Both not a problem. The high heels not so much. Jo only had to slip into them to know Julia's spell had worn off. Instead, she grabbed them by the straps and followed the delicious smell barefooted.

"Morning," Jo said, a bit shy, once she found and entered the kitchen.

Bernadette was at the stove. Lightly humming a tune Jo couldn't place. She was dressed too. Some uniform with beige trousers and dark brown shirt. They appeared to be crisp and freshly ironed.

Turning around, Bernadette gave her a brilliant smile. "Mornin' to you too."

Jo felt like sighing. That smile. She could drown in it. At the same time, she wanted to touch those lips with her own again. Yet the moment didn't last. Another detail was now available to Jo's eyes. One she couldn't ignore. A six-sided golden star. Writing on it. Jo couldn't read it from this distance, but she had a pretty good guess of what it would say.

A bubbling giggle escaped her. Embarrassed, she covered up her mouth. "Sorry," she mumbled embarrassed. "It's not you. I just realized that I was Sheriff's bait after all."

"And what fine bait you are," Bernadette agreed. She lifted the pan off the stove and split up scrambled eggs between two plates that already had crisp bacon on them. "I tried to resist. I always do. She thinks it pacifies me to toss a newly minted woman my way. I know what she is up to. But resisting gets harder and harder. I mean, look at you. How could I say no?"

Jo blushed at the compliment. Though she didn't know for whom it was. Her, for sporting the body, or Julia for designing it. Jo heard a hint of animosity that worried her. "You aren't on good terms with Julia?"

Bernadette gave her a sudden mischievous smile. One that hinted at hidden knowledge. "Which one?" Before Jo could answer - or even dissect the question - Bernadette grabbed the plates and motioned for a nearby dining table. "Shall we eat?"

"Yes!" For once, Jo's curiosity could wait. Digging into her bacon and eggs, it was hard for Jo to pace herself and properly chew. For one, she was hungry, and on the other hand, the food was really delicious. Not just homemade. Bernadette must have used secret ingredients.

"So, you know the original Julia then?" Jo ventured once the worst hunger pangs were satisfied.

Instead of answering, Bernadette pointed at a wall with picture frames. Having cleared her plate, Jo got up to take a look. After all, it was not snooping if prompted to do so.

A few of the pictures showed Bernadette doing her duty. Capturing her and various residents of the town. But most of them were of Julia and Bernadette. Some appeared to be older as both women looked younger. Soon, Jo spotted them as teenagers. Even as young girls posing with their parents for a family picture.

"She is your sister!" Jo concluded and earned a nod from Bernadette. Jo returned to the table and sat down. This reveal had a few implications and consequences. "I think I now know who your spy is."

"Do you?" Bernadette smiled. "Let's drive to the ranch. You can show me which one is my sister."

"Touché," Jo conceded. But now that she thought about it, the situation became even weirder. "Must be strange. To now have someone else pretend to be your sister."

"Yeah," Bernadette agreed in a long drawn-out snarl. "Tell me about it. Wouldn't be half as bad if our new Julia wasn't so stubborn about it." Seeing the confusion on Jo's face, Bernadette elaborated. "She keeps me at an arm's length. Always avoiding me instead of resolving the issue like adults. Even the bait - no offense intended - is to keep me away."

"I see. So, you aren't really angry?" Jo dug deeper. "You know, for taking your sister's place."

"It's weird, yeah," Bernadette admitted. "But I knew my Julia's kink for a long time. Teased her about it too. Entirely unrealistic, I said. And now, I eat my words. In fact, she reminds me every time we speak. No, in a way I feel grateful. She made my sister really happy. How many can say they live their dream, right? Now, if new Julia wouldn't be so strange about it."

Jo gave a laugh. "Maybe I can give her a push in the right direction. I have one more question to ask." As Bernadette nodded, Jo took a deep breath and gathered her courage. Gave a shy and hopeful smile before the words slipped out. "Was I successful? As bait?

"Well, I think last night was a good indicator."

"That was nibbling at the bait. Well, me," Jo said. "But did I hook you?"

"You want to see me again?" Bernadette honestly sounded a bit surprised.

"Yeah, I'd love to." There. Jo had said it. Now she had to hope and wait.

Both, she didn't have to do for long. "Gladly," Bernadette burst out. "I mean, I like you. There is a connection between us, right? It is just-"

"What?"

"Well, as you probably can guess, you aren't the first woman of the ranch I took home," Bernadette admitted. "I've yet to take anyone home twice. Julia's herd-"

"Don't worry about the herd," Jo insisted. Not even caring which Julia Bernadette meant. She reached out with her hands over the table and was glad when Bernadette did the same. It made Jo's heart skip a beat. "I ain't joining. Am not the type. No, don't listen to what your spy says about me. So far, they had been dead wrong about my character from day one. Yes, I became a woman. Not because of the herd. I am curious. Always have been. That's why I had to know how it felt to switch genders. Curiosity. And I ain't curious about what it feels like to be part of the herd. I am curious how it would be to walk by your side."

"I-" Bernadette gave Jo an encouraging squeeze of her hands. "I'd like to find that out too."

"So-" Jo stood up. Walking around to Bernadette, but never let go of her hands. "What would be the next step, you reckon?"

Bernadette sighed. "I am afraid my next step would be to get to work. Not very romantic."

"Yeah, I probably should get back to the ranch too." And face Julia, Splits, and the others, Jo suddenly realized. She had completely forgotten about them in the spur of the moment.

"I can give you a lift," Bernadette offered. But before Jo could thank her, Bernadette gave her a deep passionate kiss. "That's my raincheck promise. Now, grab your heels, and let's get going."

"Uhm-" Jo glanced at the strappy high heels she had discarded next to her chair. "I think I have a confession to make. You see, I am horrible in heels." Seeing Bernadette's confused look, Jo elaborated. "Julia used a spell and- It wore off."

Bernadette gave her a good-natured chuckle. "I think I have some shoes I can lend you without a heel that should fit. But here is a little hint. If you really want to date me, we will go dancing again."

"I'll train. I promise," Jo spurted out. Her excitement was evident.

"Good girl. I'll take your word for it," Bernadette purred. Her words vibrated through Jo and made her excited all over again.

The promised pair of shoes was a well-worn, but still serviceable pair of work boots. They proved to be quite comfortable. With her heels in hand, Jo waited at the door. Bernadette needed a moment longer. Strapping a few pieces of equipment to her uniform.

"What?" Bernadette asked as she noticed Jo intensely staring at her.

"Oh. It is just-" Jo bit her lip playfully. "Would it be a shock to you if I said I like a woman in uniform?"

"Oh, you." The blush on Bernadette was cute. "Don't tempt me. The thought was there to cuff you and drag you back to my bedroom. For your own good, of course."

"Of course," Jo agreed. Still, she had a job to do. One she was definitely late for.

Opening the door and stepping outside, the first thing Jo noticed was the large SUV with the sheriff's insignia painted on the side. How had she missed this beast last night? The answer was obvious. The world aside from Bernadette had ceased to exist.

"We do you want to sit?" Bernadette asked. "Shotgun or in the backseat like a naughty girl?"

"Now who is teasing who?"

On the ride back to the ranch Jo and Bernadette talked. Like a mini speed date. Last night they hadn't exactly gotten to know each other, except in a carnal way. Jo talked about growing up on a ranch with six brothers while Bernadette regaled her with anecdotes from her law enforcement life and the hijinx she pulled off with her sister when young.

Like all good things, the ride was way too short. They said goodbye with a passionate kiss. With reluctance, Jo got out and watched Bernadette drive away. She didn't stand there alone for long as footsteps neared.

"Well. Well. Well. Look what the cat dragged in." The voice belonged to Ernest. Because of course, it did. "Ready for your walk of shame?"

"Walk of shame?" Jo asked innocently enough that Ernest bought it.

"You know. The morning after a hookup. Still wearing the dress of the night before."

"I know what a walk of shame is," Jo remarked as she turned around with a wild grin. "But that's just not me. There is no shame in being driven home by your girlfriend."

Jo left a stunned Ernest behind as she walked towards the main building and her room to change. It took her mentor a few seconds to shake off that revelation. She then sprinted after Jo to catch up. "You two are dating?"

"Well- You all hyped me up as sheriff's bait. Yet no one tried to warn me she'll be Jo-bait." Jo suddenly stopped. "Come to think of it, we've yet to have a date. An official one. Still, I count us as a couple."

"I did not see that coming," Ernest admitted. "Good for you."

"Thanks." Jo honestly felt good about it. "There is just one problem."

"Which is?"

"How will the herd take the news?" Jo asked. "This is a mighty big monkey wrench for their plans."

Not that Jo really minded. She was happy and if the herd tried anything to spoil her relationship with Bernadette then they better watch out.

---

Jo grimaced as she stepped out into the morning sun. Except it chose to hide between lots of dark clouds. Autumn was in full swing and it looked like it was one of those days that brought showers that couldn't make their mind up between being snow or rain. Jo gave a little curse as she had to step into the mud that separated the main building from the barn she needed to reach.

To her surprise, Ernest overtook her. Humming a cheery melody. Yesterday she had cursed even more at the weather than Jo had.

"You are in a good mood," Jo remarked. Hurrying up to stay close to her mentor. It made her boots squelch with each step in the mud. "What brought that one on?"

"Oh, nothing." Ernest sounded like she tried to be nonchalant, but failed. "Just the day of the mixer."

"So, today is the day. Will you now tell me what the mixer actually is?" Jo had heard the term quite a few times already. Lately even more often. However, no one was willing to spill the beans about what was actually going on.

"All you need to know is that all the sheep-girls have to be in the barn number one by four in the afternoon," Ernest waved her off. Then suddenly stopped as if she remembered something important. "Oh, right. Later, some people will arrive. They are free to roam around. If they ask you questions, they probably will do that a lot, answer them honestly and as best as you can."

"This makes no sense," Jo complained. Maybe she should have asked Bernadette on their last date what was up with the mixer. Yet her mind had been on other things. For one, they had celebrated their first month together as a couple.

"It will. At four in the afternoon," Ernest promised. "Just don't be late."

The rest of the morning went the usual way, but a certain giddiness was all around Jo. The herd was hyped for the mixer too. And even more close-lipped than usual.

It was about ten when they arrived. Two small buses unloaded a handful of people. They looked like none shared a demographic with each other. From all walks of life. Not what Jo had expected. This was ironic as she hadn't expected anything, because no one had told her what to expect.

It didn't take long for a few curious people to make it out to Jo's part of the herd. She had to answer a bunch of questions over and over again. Yes, the herd was even out in the colder months. The large areas of grass were dried and grown by Julia with magic. No, the sheep-girls weren't cold, but they could ask them themselves to make sure. Shearing was about every one and half months, but more frequent in the summer and less often in winter.

By afternoon, Jo felt like she had been audited by some oversight committee. Though she doubted anything like it existed. What was surprising - and quite unusual for the herd - was the fact that each and every sheep-girl had left the grazing ground around three. Even the usual stragglers and rebels were inside without complaint. It left Jo quite at odds.

Around four, Jo joined everyone inside barn number one. It was a strange sight and intimidating. One could get used to the herd. Forget how large it was when dealing only with a fraction on a daily basis. But now the whole herd had gathered. Crowding inside and in the middle of the barn. It reminded Jo that they were outnumbered. With that she meant the people gathering at the front of the barn. Julia was there. Every pony-girl and wrangler. Even the few other helpers the ranch had. And, of course, the guests were there too. Close, but apart from the ranch workers. Quietly whispering among themselves.

A minute to four, Julia walked into the space between the herd and the rest. "Everyone here? Good. Then, let's begin. Form lines."

To Jo's utter amazement, the herd complied. Forming neat waiting lines in front of the stable hands. None acted out, rebelled, or tried to stall. It took a nudge from Ernest for Jo to realize she was supposed to grab a large basket and take a position in front of one waiting line. Not even sure what she was supposed to do.

"Commence!" Julia's shout echoed through the barn.

Aside from Jo, all ranch hands got busy. She needed a moment to look and digest what the others did. With a special tool, they took out the numbered tags of the sheep-girls and dropped them in the basket. Those sheep-girls now without tag ran back to the middle of the barn. It was madness to Jo, but then again, what wasn't on this ranch. She picked up her own tool and did her part.

She was the last to finish and dragged her basket back to Julia as the other ranch hands had done before. Jo then took her place beside Ernest and leaned over. "How do we tell them apart without tags?"

"That's the point," Ernest replied. Her voice was giddy with excitement. "We don't."

Once again, Julia spoke up. "Pony-girls, take your places."

Splits and her companions trotted forward. For once the energetic pony-girl wasn't running. They strutted towards the herd as if this was a parade. Circling the sheep-girls until they were evenly spaced out and stopped in place when they formed an oval around them. Faint green light started to appear between the pony-girls and made the oval visible to the spectators. Forming a line of light and sparkles.

"The circle is drawn," Julia intoned. Ignoring the fact that it wasn't quite a circle. Probably because the barn wasn't wide enough for a perfect one. "In five minutes, only sheep-girls will remain within the circle. Make your choice."

Jo caught an elbow in the rips. "Hey, Jo," Ernest bubbled forth. "Wanna see what step five looks like?" Not waiting for an answer, Ernest stepped through the boundary. Heading for the herd and shedding clothes as if going for skinny dipping under the moonlight.

"I knew it. Darn."

The curse came from Julia. The lair witch looked conflicted.

Ernest wasn't the only one eager to get to the herd. All the visitors undressed and gleefully ran to the sheep-girls. As did two stable hands. Bernard and Rodrigo.

"They got Rodrigo too?" Julia sounded baffled. "I thought he had resisted when he asked to be turned back into a man."

Jo looked if anyone else would head in. No one did. But she caught herself more than once subconsciously taking a step back from the glowing border and the herd.

True to her words, Julia waited for five minutes. Maybe she hoped someone would change their mind. None did. But movement came into the herd. The sheep-girls were moving in and out of the herd. Confusing the eye and making it hard to track individual sheep-girls. Even those still humans were hard to follow.

Then, at the five-minute mark, the light of the boundary grew in intensity. Jo wasn't totally blinded, but she certainly couldn't see inside the oval anymore. Just when she wondered how long it would last, the lights suddenly vanished. Jo had to blink a few times and wait for the afterimage of the light to fade away.

When she could see again, Jo noticed the pony-girls returning to Julia's side. And in the middle of the barn were just sheep-girls. No normal human. As it turned out, the visitors had come to stay. And somewhere among the herd was her mentor.

"Which one is Ernest?" she wondered out loud.

Julia snorted in amusement. "By the end of the week, I bet at least three of them will come forward to you and claim to have been Ernest. Equally as many might pretend to act like Ernest just you think you figure out who Ernest had become. Chances are none of them will be. That is what the herd is. Anonymity. And each mixer, the cards are shuffled again. A new start. That's how the herd likes it."

Jo shook her head. It sounded crazy. It might be what others wanted, but she was even more sure than before that joining the herd wasn't for her.

"I think I see two black-coated sheep-girls," a stable hand remarked.

"That means we have over two hundred sheep-girl now." Julia sounded tired. "What is the total now?"

"With the visitors and three stable hands joining the herd, we are at two hundred and one."

More sheep-girls and less stable hands. Jo started to get a feeling why Julia clung to every helper she got. It also meant more work for Jo and the other stable hands in the coming days. This gave her an idea. It was time to make some inquiries.

Jo was pulled out of her musings as she heard the tossing of additional tags into the baskets.

"One ninety-nine. Two hundred. Two hundred and one." Julia clapped imaginary dust from her hands. "You may proceed."

What came next was obvious to Jo. And not just because the herd was filing into waiting lines again. It was time to place those tags into sheep-girl ears again. Grabbing her basket, Jo decided on a line at random and got to work.

It only took thirteen sheep-girl before one spoke up. "Hey, Jo. How do you like me as a sheep-girl? It's me, Ernest, if you couldn't tell."

Jo looked nonplussed at the sheep-girl. Grabbing a tag at random she fixed it to the ear. "Nope. You are number forty-nine. Next!"

---

It was late when Jo knocked on Julia's door two weeks later.

"Come in." Julia stood at the window. Seeing Jo over her shoulder. she waved Jo closer. "Have you seen this before?"

Jo was startled. She had come here for a serious talk, but this she hadn't expected. Julia definitely was distracted. Now curious, Jo walked over. What could Julia possibly see outside in the dark?

Stepping up beside Julia, Jo didn't take long to spot what had caught Julia's attention. Something moved out there among the snow. While white against white, it reflected the moonlight more. Maybe even glowed from within. It looked like smoke that came alive to dance or a silken scarf caught by a mischievous wind.

"What is that?"

"That's Dancing Silk." Now that Julia had said it aloud, Jo thought she could make out the dark-skinned silhouette of the pony-girl. "I changed her quite a few times. But whenever she has a humanoid form, Silk has that white translucent hair. Probably some latent magical talent. Even now, I don't understand it."

For a while, both women stood still. Content to watch the pony-girl dance in the pale moonlight.

It was Julia who broke the silence. "Let me guess. You are here to ask for your penis back but to remain a woman. Because some sheep-girls asked you nicely."

"So, that's step four then?" Jo asked and gave a chuckle. "No, I am skipping that step."

Jo turned shocked to Julia as she heard the ranch owner's head hit the glass of the window. Leaning against it, Julia gave a deep sigh. "You too. Can I at least ask you to remain a ranch hand until the next mixer? Like Ernest. I know it is a year away, but-"

"Oh, ye, have a little faith," Jo intoned and gave a good-natured laugh. "I told you, I am not joining the herd. Not my style. And if I did Bernadette would come by to kick my butt. Even if it meant to kick every sheep-girls butt just to get mine. No, the herd is not for me."

"I am glad to hear that," Julia admitted. Now perking up a bit. "Not about the butt-kicking. That you remain a ranch hand. So, what brings you here?"

"A few things. I said if I stay a woman for good, I will come up with a better name than Jo. Well, Bernadette and I talked and we settled on Rosabella."

"That's an unusual name," Julia admitted. "Never heard it before."

"Yeah. It was my mother's idea. Not for me. When I grew up, Mom got my brothers and me a dog. German shepherd. For helping us on the ranch. She named her Rosabella because it means 'noble protector' or something like that. Watched that little pup grow up from so little up until a ripe age." Jo sighed. "In a way, I want to pay tribute to her. Well, I also find myself in the role of a protector these days. Kinda. Makes a lot of sense in a way."

"Then let me welcome you to the ranch, Rosabella." Julia offered her hand and the newly renamed Rosabella shook it. Glancing back outside, both noticed that Dancing Silk wasn't to be seen anymore. Julia pointed to the small couch and chair area in her office. "So, what else can I do for you? You said you have a few things to discuss."

"Actually," Rosabella started while taking her seat. "My second point is about how I can help you. I did mention that I have brothers, right?"

"Occasionally," Julia said.

"Six of them, in fact. Grew all up together. Born and raised to be ranch workers. Up to-" Rosabella stopped and took a deep breath. "Until our parents died, we were inseparable. We couldn't hold the ranch they left us. Too much debt. Since then, we have scattered in all directions."

"You want to get the band back together?" Julia guessed.

Rosabella nodded. "Up until now, they had been caught up in fixed timed contracts. Soon, my youngest brother Kenneth is freed up. Shortly followed by the rest. Julia, they are all raised right. They know their way around a ranch and behave like gentlemen."

Julia chuckled. "You don't have to sell me on this idea. I am starved for ranch workers. By now I would hire a seventy-year-old grandma if she applied."

"Well, if I throw my brothers under the bus - or in this case, herd - I need something in return," Rosabella admitted, while slightly blushing. "I need a way out of step five."

Julia sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I wish I could help you out there. But the herd- You either resist until they give up or you give in."

"The way I see it is that step five is not necessarily about joining the herd, but finding a place here." Rosabella leaned forward. "Something that tells the herd that I've made a decision for an alternative. A different transformation might do the trick. But which one? No matter how tempting Elise made it sound, being a Dryad isn't for me. Neither is being a pony-girl. Not that I have earned the trust or privilege that comes with it anyway."

"That rules out pretty much anything, "Julia pointed out.

"Unless you spend a little time and effort and create a new option," Rosabella. "Which would be the payment for recruiting my brothers."

Julia leaned back and gave an appreciative nod. "You know how to sell a deal, Rosabella. I am leaning towards saying yes, but it depends on the complexity of said option. What do you have in mind?".

"Well, Bernadette had the idea to honor my late dog with more than just being my namesake. As long as you don't go overboard."

"Truth be told, I was looking for a challenge," Julia admitted. Then, for the second time this evening, she offered her hand. "Deal."

"Deal," Rosabella agreed and shook on it.

---

Epilogue

---

"We are here!"

The shout woke Kenneth up fully. Just now, he had been about to nod off. A glance out of the window didn't reveal a change in landscape. It only had stopped moving.

"In what god-forsaken place have you brought me, John?" Kenneth muttered under his breath. He stood up from his seat and walked forward to the bus driver. "Are you sure this is it? I only see snow out there."

"Yes, it is." The bus driver tapped on a mobile phone that was fixed to the dashboard. "Easy to miss in winter. Without GPS I wouldn't know where to stop."

"Alright," Kenneth said and didn't mean it one bit. He just hoped John was punctual and picked him up soon. Grabbing his luggage, he stepped out of the bus. Only to immediately wince as icy winds crashed into his face.

As the bus pulled away, Kenneth again wondered if this had been another of John's pranks. There was nothing around for miles but snow. The road was barely visible. A snowplow had made its way along, but Kenneth could tell it had been a few hours since then.

Headlights told Kenneth someone was coming. He hoped it was John. Despite the thick winter coat, he could feel the cold creep in. To his relief, the pickup truck slowed down. Yet the sight of the driver squashed his hopes. Not John, but an attractive woman was behind the wheel.

She stopped right beside Kenneth and opened the door. "Get in. Quick. It is cold enough outside."

This was his one chance to escape assured death by freezing if John didn't show up, but Kenneth was a little too proud to admit that. Or it was stupidity. He had been accused of both in the past. "Thanks for the offer miss, but I am waiting for my-"

"John ain't coming," she interrupted him. "Now get in or I swear to god Kenneth Jeremiah Hendricks, I'll get out and kick your butt until you do. And then some more for making me get out into the cold."

"Yes, Mam," Kenneth replied. Putting his luggage in and climbing onto the front passenger seat. What else was he to do? Kenneth vowed to have a word with John. He could have told him that someone else was picking him up.

Pulling his seatbelt in place, Kenneth stole a glance at her. She was tall for a woman. Her outfit was a bit mismatched. The ugly Christmas sweater was explainable. Less so the straw hat she wore even inside the truck. The jeans with sprinkles of mud all over told him she was no stranger to work either. And just to drive home the point it was cold - despite the heater running - she had a blanket on her lap.

"I am Kenneth, by the way," he introduced himself and immediately felt the urge to slap his forehead. She just had rattled off his full name. Even his hated middle name. Time to save this and Kenneth had an idea. "But most call me Ken. Or Jay for my middle name."

"I know," she said before getting the truck into gear and pulling onto the road. "We know each other. But I guess a reintroduction is in order. I'm Rosabella."

Did they know each other? Kenneth doubted it. Maybe in their early childhood? She looked familiar. Just a bit. Something in the cut of her face. Then another tidbit wormed its way into his brain. It made him laugh out loud, but he cut himself short. "Sorry. Nothing against you. It is just that I had a dog by that name when I grew up."

Rosabella gave him a wild mischievous grin. "Me too, Ben. Me too."

Well, that was a strange coincidence. Kenneth reckoned not many named their dogs Rosabella. And why would anyone name their dog and their daughter the same? "Your parents really must have liked that name if they named you and- Wait a moment. Did you just Ben? Only my brother John calls me that. Ever since he found out about that silly old-timey tradition to shorten a name and then chose one that rhymes with it."

"Oh that," Rosabella shrugged it off. "Well, my parents didn't. I named myself after my late dog. Ben."

Of course, she had to add 'Ben' again. Even did so with a shit-eating grin that reminded Kenneth of- "J-John?"

"Took you long enough," Rosabella exclaimed. "I wondered how to make it even more obvious."

"By simply telling me?" Kenneth didn't wait for a reply. He had more pressing questions. "What? How? Why?"

"Oh. you know me. Curiosity," Rosabella admitted with a nonchalant shrug. "Does me in every time, right? And how? I know a witch."

"Witches are dangerous," Kenneth pointed out.

"Oh, she definitely is," Rosabella agreed in a heartbeat. "But she is also one of the good guys. Else I would never have invited you or our brothers over."

"So, I will meet her?" Kenneth's blood started to pump faster. What exactly had John - or now Rosabella - gotten him into.

"Don't worry. You'll be fine," Rosabella stated in the calmest voice one could manage while still having a shit-eating grin on her face. "Provided you treat her with respect and don't harm those under her protection."

"I'll take your word for it," Kenneth said, but still had his doubts in the back of his mind. This was all so strange to him. One of his first thoughts he had bubbled forth. "So, a woman, eh? Never took you for the type."

"Well, you know me," Rosabella said with another shrug. "I was doomed from the start. My curiosity paired with an opportunity I hadn't expected and just enough time to marinate in my own thoughts. I just simply couldn't resist. Glad I didn't."

"Wow." What else was there to say? Kenneth never thought one of his brothers might become his sister. But if anyone would just try it out, for the sake of curiosity, it definitely was John. It would take a time to see him now as a woman. Definitely weird. "So, one hundred percent a girl, huh?"

"Well, in the beginning, yes. But then-" Rosabella took a pause. "My girlfriend suggested something and-"

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Stop interrupting me, Ben. Yes, I am dating someone. And, you see, she suggested- This!" Rosabella swiped the straw hat off her head and tossed it into the back of the cabin. Revealing a pair of canine ears on top and no human equivalent.

Kenneth needed a moment to process what he saw. This was definitely something one didn't see every day. To his surprise, he even recognized the breed of dog these ears came from. "German shepherd?"

"You see, I borrowed more than just her name from our old Rosabella. There is also this!" Throwing off the blanket from her lap and revealed a matching tail.

Kenneth shook his head but laughed at the same time. "Only, you John. Only you. Sorry. Rosabella." Then it dawned on Kenneth. The golden opportunity to, for once. tell a joke instead of being the butt of one. "So, Miss Doggy, what do you do all day on the ranch? Play fetch?"

There was that stupid grin again. This time underlined by the happy wagging of a tail. "But, Ben. What do you think I am doing right now?"

---

Teaser Epilogue

---

A knock on the door made Julia look up from her papers. "Come in."

Rosabella opened the door. "Just wanted to let you know that my brother is here. Waiting downstairs. You might want to greet him before the herd gets their hands on him."

"I'll be down in a minute." Then she narrowed her eyes. "You didn't tell him I am a witch, right?"

"And ruin your tour? Never!" Rosabella exclaimed. "But I did tell him I know a witch. Just not that it is you."

"Alright. Alright." As Rosabella still waited in her office, Julia was forced to ask. "Anything else?"

"While at it, I fetched the mail," Rosabella said and withdrew a stack of letters from behind her back.

"Good girl." The words slipped over Julia's lips without thought and by habit. She was rewarded by a happy wagging of a tail. It was too cute and Julia had to school her face to not show how much the view amused her. "I'll be right down."

As Rosabella turned and closed the door on her way out, Julia's gaze fell on the stack of letters. Those could wait after the tour, she decided. However, one envelope stood out. It was larger than the rest. Pulling it out of the stack, a cold shudder went through Julia. It was addressed to her twice. Once as Julia Brentess and once as Cassandra Beckstein. Her old name. One she had left behind. The name of the sender was even more curious: Maritime Tours - New Orleans.

On guard, Julia slowly opened the letter. Prepared for anything. What she didn't expect was a postcard. One quite extraordinary. The picture it showed was animated in a small time loop, yet Julia could barely make out the magical aura. It spoke of a powerful witch who created this.

The picture itself was curious too. It was captured underwater in a flooded ballroom. Two dozen mermaids - creatures of legends up until now - crowded the room. But they only framed the center. For there she sat. On a pile of silvery coins as if it was a throne. Evelyn. The very witch that had saved Julia's life, but also uprooted it permanently.

They had shared a room only for a brief interview, but Julia would never forget this face. In a way, she still thought of Evelyn as her mentor. It was her who told Julia to become a lair witch. That only this way she could be safe. Clearly, Evelyn had created her own lair. Though it looked more like a kingdom. For she was the most radiant mermaid of them all and on her head rested a fine crown.

Now intrigued, Julia turned the postcard around and found flowing handwriting.

Dear Cassandra,

congratulations on becoming Julia.
I know the first identity change can be the hardest.
So many attachments to let go of.
I have followed your progress from afar.
Nicely done building a lair with over two hundred subjects.
I knew it was the right decision to let you go.
There was potential you are now starting to realize.

Of course, two hundred is just the start.
I would come by and give you a few pointers, but I am rather occupied myself.
As you can see I have founded the queendom of New Atlantis.
Recently it celebrated its thousands of citizens joining.

Keep up the good work and don't be a stranger.

Love,
Evelyn.

A mermaid kingdom - or queendom as Evelyn called it - was certainly something new. Part of her wished she could visit. Yet she feared she might end up as another new citizen. Maybe it was for the best that they both were lair witches and didn't travel much.

Julia turned the postcard around again and watched mesmerized the small loop of mermaids gently swaying back and forth in the water. Maybe she should stay in contact. Make her own postcard with the whole herd. But not before she analyzed this postcard and learned to copy the enchantment that gave it animation.

Julia's musing abruptly paused as a new thought occurred to her. Her first instinct was to brag about the size of her lair. Evelyn had too, but it was so understated. Julia would have guessed Evelyn would have included every occupant of her lair in the picture. Yet only Evelyn and two dozen other mermaids were pictured.

And a pile of large silver coins. A shudder went through Julia. Dropping the postcard in shock. She had included them all after all. Julia was sure. Every one of those coins had been a person once. Evelyn throned on a pile of sentient coins. Suddenly, Julia was very happy to be on land instead of on the ocean. This postcard reminded her. Evelyn might have been sort of a mentor to her, but she was also a cold ruthless bitch.

Still pale, Julia stood up. She wouldn't end up like Evelyn. Her lair is different and would remain so. And it would start with giving a tour.

The end.

---

A small word from the author.

---

Hey there.

Thanks for reading.

This story very nearly would have never existed. It certainly wasn't planned. When I wrote "Confessions Of A Fashion Witch" three years ago, I always had plans for a trilogy. Of the two people starring in it, it was supposed to be Evelyn who returned in a later story.

Why not Cassandra Beckstein? Because she was a blatant self-insert. There, I admitted it. I didn't have plans for this character to continue. But two months back, I got to wondering. In my story, my self-insert was advised to build a lair. Stay hidden and grow powerful. But the means had been left open. And I wondered what I would do if I had been in the shoes of my self-insert.

The history that Julia told in this story mirrors my own thought process. And I was left with a story premise begging to be told. But I couldn't write from my self-inserts point of view anymore. An outside perspective was needed. Cue John and his curiosity.

I hope you had as much fun reading this story as I had writing it.

Until next time,
Cassy

Ivan stared at the wooden ceiling as slowly his body flushed out the last remnants of adrenaline and excitement. It was his last free day, before he would have to report for duty. The draft had come and now, Ivan's future was in jeopardy. There would be a quick intense training before he'd be shipped off to Europe. Fighting in a war so big, some say it might end the world as they knew it. Ivan knew there was a slim chance he'll return. It wasn't just enemy bullets that would try to kill him. Artillery, mustard gas, and worst of all, magic. The great war had come and it would be Ivan's undoing.

In the twilight of the small traveling wagon, Ivan turned around to admire the shape of the girl beside him. Norene had found him early this evening. At once, Ivan had known she was a Fae Touched. She was a redhead. Not a ginger like so many Irish folks he saw. Fae Touched had a deep vibrant red mane. It was just one clue that they were magic, but the most obvious one.

The Fae Touched girl was sleeping beside him peacefully. Gently, Ivan pushed a strand of hair away to admire her beauty. No wonder so many myths and rumors surrounded the Fae Touched. One could fall in love with her at first sight. Giving credit to the many stories of men and women alike to leave their spouses and lovers to be with a Fae Touched.

Fae Touched loved to party and have a good time. And Norene had found Ivan just as he started to chuck down beer after beer. He had meant to celebrate his last night before the army would get their hands on him. But Norene had derailed all those plans. It only took a few words and Ivan followed her out like a puppy. Her delicate hand in his own pulled him through streets and boroughs until they arrived at the city's limits. Here, they had arrived at Norene's folk.

Fae Touched were traveling people. Never staying long in one place. Their homes were their wagons expertly crafted and covered in rich and artistic carving. As Norene pulled him towards her bed, Ivan had been shy. Reluctant. Ivan had then confessed that he had never been with a woman before. Norene's smile had only grown. Promising that she would make it special.

And it had been, Ivan decided as he lightly caressed the sleeping beauty beside him. But now, the day was nearly over. The moon was high. Nearly midnight. Tomorrow, the army will have him. Today, there was one last experience he wanted to have and time was running out.

In the pale light of a small lantern, Ivan slipped out of the bed. He took a moment to make sure the blanket covered Norene. And to make sure she was fast asleep. Her wagon wasn't big and Ivan had no trouble finding her wardrobe. With a pounding heart, Ivan opened it. The assortment he found was small. but breathtaking. Dresses, tops, and skirts in thin materials like silk, gauze, and linen. Fae Touched didn't need protection from temperature or weather in any season. They weren't like normal humans. Magic ran through their veins.

He let his fingers glide over the different materials. It was intoxicating. Dangerous too. It was one of those rumors about them. They are very protective of their garments. But what did Ivan have to lose? His fingers trembled when he pulled out a pale blue dress. It was wispy and soft. A sigh escaped Ivan's lips. This was it. Carefully, he opened up the dress and then stepped in. The smooth material glided over his skin as he pulled it up. His heart beat loudly in Ivan's ears as he pushed his arms through the sleeves.

It was done. He finally wore a dress. Ever since being small, he had wondered. Now, he was doing it. Save for closing it up in the back. He didn't dare. Time was short. Appreciative, Ivan smoothed out the front. Of course, he didn't have the figure that such a fine dress demanded. The feeling still felt heavenly.

"Do it again."

The sudden voice made Ivan twirl around. Norene was awake and had propped herself up on one arm. To his surprise, she didn't look angry. If anything, she looked amused.

"I said," she calmly started again. "Do it again. Elise loves it if someone smoothes her out like that."

A million thoughts ran through Ivan's mind. Most useful ones bumped into each other and made way for a rather obvious question. "You named your dress?"

"Ah, no." Norene grinned. "I met Elise sixty - maybe sixty-five - years ago in Austria. Such a sweet girl. So honest and forthcoming with her love. She begged me to turn her into a dress. Just so she could be always by my side."

Ivan was baffled. "I am wearing a human?"

Norene snickered while getting out of bed. "You are wearing a person who is most often a dress and sometimes a human if I am in the mood. And-" Norene stepped behind Ivan and let her hands roam over him and the dress he wore. "She loves this."

It felt nice. Wearing the dress. Having Norene caress him. But it didn't change the fact that she caught Ivan while he wore her dress without permission. "I am sorry. I should have asked first." Asking who exactly was the real mind-bender. Norene or the dress called Elise.

"Shh. It is okay," Norene hushed him from behind. "If anyone understands the allure and satisfaction of wearing fine clothing, then it would be the Fae Touched. Here. Try these." Norene reached past him, opened a side cupboard, and withdrew a pair of elegant and feminine sandals.

Ivan took them but had his doubts. "These will never fit me." But just to underline how wrong he was, they grew noticeably in his grasp.

"Elina and Airi. Twins," Norene purred into his ear. "Now, that was a summer to remember in Estonia. A whirlwind romance. Never had twins as lovers before. When they gifted themselves to me, I could have made them each their own, but they asked me to remain a pair. Now. Now. Don't let them wait. Try them on."

Ivan did and they fit perfectly. But before he could enjoy it fully, Norene maneuvered him to a stool in front of a small vanity. He wasn't allowed to look in the mirror, while she started working on him. Tinctures and powders found a new home on his face. A few plucked hairs, applied coal, and dappled on rouge rounded up the next stage. At last, Norene expertly painted his lips.

Ivan's breath stocked for a few seconds as Norene turned him around. It wasn't him that stared back wide-eyed. A young woman peeked out of the mirror. Made up as if she was ready to hit the town for a night out. It was perfect. For a moment. Then his mind registered details. His face wasn't soft enough for a woman. Despite shaving in the morning, the hint of stubble pushing out could be seen. Despite trying to only see a woman in his reflection, he could still see himself beneath.

"There. There," Norene cooed as tears started to dwell in Ivan's eyes. They broke free and left streaks of smeared and washed-away coal and powder. "What's wrong? Don't you like it?"

"I love it," Ivan confessed between sobs. "But it is only an illusion. Not real. I'll never be her."

Norene took his hands in hers. "What if you could?"

"But that is impossible."

"Not for the Fae Touched," Norene insisted. "Do you know our origin?" She continued when Ivan shook his head. "A long time ago, there was a knight. So handsome, everyone said. His renown spread far and wide. Even to the court of the Fae. They summoned him and he obliged. The Fae were smitten and the queen exclaimed: you carry a beauty normally reserved for fair maidens. If only so, the knight replied wistfully. If only so. The queen heard the longing in his heart and granted his deepest wish. With a single touch, he turned into a maiden so fair that kings and princes offered their kingdoms if only she married them."

"What happened then?" Ivan whispered. Caught in the spell of the tale.

"She may have been the first one to ask, but others followed in her steps. Quite a few actually," Norene admitted. "Each a great beauty with deep red hair. The first Fae Touched. They had become a bridge between the Fae and the humans. Between the mundane world and that of magic. With it came responsibility, but also opportunity."

"Do you know how Fae Touched increase their number?" Ivan again shook his head to answer Norene's question. "We find those that do not fit in with normal humans. Those who desire beauty within and without. Longing for a gender fate had withheld."

Norene stood up without letting go of Ivan's hand. "I've been looking for someone like you for a while. For, you see, I long to have a daughter. Will you be mine?"

"Yes!" Ivan said immediately. "A thousand times yes."

"I am glad to hear it." Norene gave him a warm smile. "But know this. We Fae Touched are long living. You might count yourself as an adult, but to us, you will be just a child. You will grow up in time. Slower than a human. Which will give you time to learn our history, our traditions, and our magic. But you will also learn the burdens of our existence and the responsibilities we bear."

"I understand. And I accept. All of it."

"Then, welcome, my daughter."

Warmth flooded Ivan and spread to every part of his body. Slowly, he shrank. His body turned softer. Younger. Hair started to tickle his shoulder and then fell past. And, at last, Ivan was no more. Not a man, but not a woman either. A girl, barely able to reach up to her mother's waist.

Then, Norene crouched down. "I'll name you Riona, oh daughter of mine."

They hugged. An intimate moment, the reborn Riona never thought she would share. That between a mother and her daughter.

---

Riona awoke as her mother stumbled into the wagon. Arm in arm with a man Riona knew as Luc. The man whispered sweet nothings into her mother's ear. Ah, French. If only Riona understood it better. She was learning, but it was just one of many languages her mother was teaching her.

They undressed on their way to Norene's bed and Riona witnessed it all. Once, she would have felt like a voyeur. A peeping tom. Would have been aroused too. But she had been Riona for ten years now, and she had not aged a day. To all who didn't know, she was just a six-year-old girl.

As Luc and Norene pushed onto the bed, her mother caught eyes with Riona. Giving her the sign to remain quiet. Riona was hard to make out. Her bed was close to the roof and well hidden. Her mother wasn't angry that Riona was spying on them. It was the way of the Fae Touched.

"Now is the time you learn the most," Riona remembered her mother saying. "When you are too young to have her body meddle with your mind. A woman's body has needs. A girl's body has clarity."

And so, Riona watched. The first few times, she had felt shame doing so. That had been her old upbringing. Those chosen to be the children of Fae Touched had a duty. To learn. Not just magic or their traditions. Once she grew up - again - Riona would know more about sex than anyone else of her apparent age.

At last, their romp ended and Luc dressed and left the wagon. Sweet poetry on his lips all the way past the door and into his way of the night. After making sure he wasn't coming back, Riona scooted a little forward in her bed. Enough that her head peeked out.

"That's the fifth time you have bedded him," Riona pointed out.

Norene stretched lazily beneath her silken bedsheets. "Has it, my daughter?"

Riona nodded. "He appears very much to be in love with you."

Norene gave an amused snicker. "Of course, he is. Aren't they all?"

Riona grew more excited. "Do you think he will gift himself to you?"

Her mother stopped to study her. At last, she answered. "No, he will not. Luc is a romantic. He is as much in love with being in love as he is in love with me. I am his current muse, but not his only one. But tell me, why does my daughter appear so eager?"

Riona blushed as she had been caught out. "It is just- It's been some time since someone gifted themselves to you." Only one to be precise.

"My daughter, look at me." Riona complied. Knowing a lecture was imminent. "We are the Fae Touched, my child. Ours is beauty beyond compare. We wield magic above what normal humans can do. We do not gather for the sake of gathering. The Fae Touched have a responsibility to care for those that cannot live without us anymore. That is our duty. Not our reward."

"Yes, mother," Riona dutifully said when the lecture ended.

"You have met my garments."

It was not a question. By now, Riona had spoken to them all. Whenever their caravan moved on the Fae Touched preferred the company of their garments instead of the random lovers they picked up. It was easy for them to give those garments human form again. A harem in all but name. Always dedicated to her mother. Be it as clothing to dress in or as a lover for a night or two.

Riona didn't admit it aloud, but she was jealous. A part of her couldn't wait to grow up and have her own admirers. But she had to be patient. Children of Fae Touched grow up slowly. She had at least another decade before her.

"Some I had for decades," her mother continued. "Others for over a century. That, my daughter, is the love that endures. You have to be sure that they are willing. That their love is strong enough. Only then it will stand the test of time. Nothing hurts more than to let go of a lover, whose love has grown cold after a decade or two."

"Yes, Mother," Riona dutifully intoned again.

"Go to bed," Norene added more softly. "Chances are we'll move on soon."

That was news. After the USA, their caravan toured Canada, and then Mexico. Years after the great war, they returned to Europe. Landing in Portugal and then made their way through Spain and then France. Coming here left Riona bemused sometimes. Here, in France, she would most likely have died in some godforsaken trench if her mother hadn't picked her up.

"Where will we go next?" Riona asked as she scooted back onto her bed.

"Britain, maybe." Norene sounded tired. After seeing Luc, Riona couldn't fault her. "Or the Benelux lands. I threw in my vote for Italy, but not many were in favor."

"Good night, mom."

"Good night, my darling."

Her mother might be a strict teacher, but there was still love between them. Riona wouldn't wish for anyone else to raise her anew.

---

"That's it," Norene whispered. "You are doing fine."

Riona wished her mother would shut up. This was hard enough on its own. All her training culminated at this moment. She had access to magic for a while now. Since the early nineteen-thirties. She could summon globes of light, warm herself up, and even fling would-be attackers through the air. But that was child's-play. And she was sick of being a child. Two decades were enough. Not that she voiced the sentiment out loud. Complaining wouldn't help. Only completing this test would.

Intently, she stared at the frock on the floor. Not just at it, but into it. The frock used to be a human. Elise. One of her mother's permanent lovers, who had volunteered. Transforming her into a frock had been the first part of the test. The easy part. What Riona was about to do few magic users could.

She reached out. Twisting the strings of magic. In her magic-enhanced view, she formed them into old runes. Passed down from generation to generation of Fae Touched. Weaving them into the being that might look like an ordinary frock, but possessed a soul and mind.

Then, everything was ready. Riona took one last deep breath and then willed the magic to do her bidding.

One moment there was a frock. The next, a young woman sat on the floor. Grinning from ear to ear. "Well done, Riona. I knew you could do it."

Riona tried to curb her enthusiasm. Not everything has been said and done. She could still fail her test. Nervous, she looked at her mother.

Norene leaned forward from her seat beside Riona. Taking Elise's chin and moving it from side to side. Taking in every detail. "Her hair color is off. Too dark. Nose is slightly too big. Eyes a different shades of brown. Her bosom is slightly too big too. Hips a tad too narrow."

Just as Riona gave up all hope, her mother beamed at her. "For a first try, not bad. Congratulations, Riona. You passed."

"I did? But I didn't get her completely right." Why was Riona arguing against her own passing the test? She could kick her own ass about the stupidity.

"The goal was to get her human again," Norene said gently. "No one gets it right from the start. It takes time and practice to follow the weave of magic and return someone to their original form. At least you didn't deliver someone with three arms."

Riona breathed a sigh of relief. Then perked up again. "Does that mean-"

"Yes, it does."

Norene reached out to her daughter and Riona could feel the magic flow through her. It was a strange feeling to grow years worth in a span of moments. She had experienced it twice before. Once to get to the apparent age of eight and then to ten. This time, it was a lot more.

When it stopped, Riona rushed to the mirror. It was her, just older. And it meant the world to her. She wasn't an adult yet. But it was clear that her new body was amidst puberty. Maybe fifteen summers old. Her first womanly curves started to develop. It was strange. So long she had waited for it and now, she finally had breasts of her own. A little underdeveloped, but they were there. It also meant she was now of an age that could experience sexual activities. She wondered how it would feel to get aroused as a woman. To have her first orgasm. She had to find out. Later. When she was alone.

"A young woman in her own right." Norene looked just as happy as Riona felt. But she wasn't done yet. "There is one more surprise I have in store for you. Come."

Confused, but eager Riona jumped up. Following her mother out of their wagon. She wondered what it could be. She had known that aging up would be her reward for passing the test. What else could there be?

They didn't walk far. Not even leaving the caravan. On the outskirts stood four wagons that were used to store goods like food and other items that could spoil. Norene steered directly to one of them. Riona mused there might be a cake in her immediate future. Fae Touched didn't really celebrate birthdays. Most found them tedious after the first fifty or so. Still, Riona aged about five years. That might be worth a cake.

"Behold," Norene said as she stopped before the biggest wagon. The newest addition too. With a wave of her hand, the wagon changed. Windows appeared. A full-sized door. Peeking in, Riona could spot a large bed too. "Now that you are of age, my darling, it is time for you to experiment. To put to praxis what I taught you in theory."

Riona was stunned. "This is mine?"

"Of course." Norene sounded as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. "I'd say you've just outgrown your bed and I am not sharing my bed for the conquests you'll drag home. Besides, a young woman needs her privacy."

"Thank you!" Riona nearly toppled her mother with her flying hug. Being this tall again would need some adjusting on her part. She wasn't as tall as she had been as Ivan, but the sudden growth spurt still was a far cry from her recent juvenile form.

"All right. All right," Norene said after thirty seconds of a solid hug. "Why don't you go inside and-"

When her mother stopped mid-sentence, Riona looked at what caught her attention. Alsandair made his round. One of the few males in the camp. He was about half a decade older than Riona, which meant jack-shit now as they both appeared about fifteen years old. He had passed his test four years ago and had teased Riona since then mercilessly. Now, they were equal again.

However, Alsandair's behavior was strange. Stopping at other Fae Touched. Exchanging a few words and then hurrying on. Even knocking on wagons. Those he had spoken to headed to the middle of the camp.

At last, he headed to Riona and her mother. Unconsciously, Riona brushed her dress out. When her mother had grown her up, the dress had adjusted in size. But the cut and style hadn't changed. She really needed a better one. A dress that fits and highlighted her new womanly figure.

"We've got news," Alsandair said without preamble. Not even acknowledging that Riona had grown. "Elder Muirenn wants us all to gather."

"We'll be there," Norene promised. As soon as Alsandair was gone, Riona could hear her mother mutter: "This can't be good."

Together, they headed to The center of the caravan. Quite a few others had already gathered. They didn't know what was going on, but a few congratulated Riona on passing her test. It made her feel slightly better.

"Can I have your attention please?" Elder Muirenn had stepped out of her wagon. For a Fae Touched, she looked ancient. A normal human might guess her at the end of her thirties or at the start of her forties. As Fae Touched they could determine how old they looked. Clearly, Elder Muirenn thought a woman her age, with over five centuries under her belt, shouldn't look as if she was in her mid-twenties.

"I see Riona has passed her test. Congratulations." A few others chimed in, but Elder Muirenn waved them quiet quickly. "Sadly, this is not the reason why I gathered you here. We've got news from another caravan. One currently staying in Germany. They won't be staying there much longer. The German chancellor has made a proclamation."

The woman pulled out a newspaper. By the headline on the front, Riona recognized it as a German one. Clearing her throat, Muirenn started reading aloud. "And I promise you that soon every German citizen will have a complete set of sentient clothes. As it is only just and right as we are the apex race that deserves- "Muirenn stopped as the murmurs rose. She skipped a few sentences and began anew. "It is only right that lesser races serve us Germans. Be it as labor or as garments. This will be our final solution and will for the lesser races."

Riona was appalled. This was against everything the Fae Touched believed in. Others made their anger more vocally known. Muirenn now looked her age as she put away the newspaper.

"It is clear that German arrogance has reached a new height," She spoke up. "We have long since heard rumors that they broke the armistice treaty of The Great War that limits how many mages they can have in their army. This news now- The other elders - and I agree - speculate this might lead to a new war. One that might put The Great War to shame and plunge the world into chaos again."

Now, there was dead silence in the camp and everyone looked to Muirenn at what would happen next. "All Fae Touched caravans are urged to leave Europe. We will, of course, follow that advice. First, we will head south and ferry over to Marokko. But we won't be staying in Africa for long. The Germans have too many colonies there. We will charter passage to the southern Americas as soon as possible. That is all. Prepare your wagons. We will head off tomorrow morning."

A new great war. Riona shivered. She barely escaped the last one by joining the Fae Touched. There was no doubt in her mind. Joining her new family had saved her life. This news indeed changed everything. It also put a damper on her mood.

"Cheer up," her mother said while giving her a hug. Then leading Riona back to her new wagon. "You haven't been to Africa yet. There are some mighty fine lads and girls, just begging to make your acquaintance. And wait until you see Brazil and the other countries of South America."

"Yeah. You are right." She hoped this new war that was brewing wouldn't follow them all the way around the globe.

---

Riona and her lover Dalton rolled away from each other. Both were out of breath but smiling. He glanced over at Riona's dress that hung close by.

"They're really sentient?"

Riona laughed at Dalton's question. "Yes, they are. But don't worry, they all gifted themselves to me. Take, for example, my dress. I met this strapping young lady in Brazil by the name of Milo. Oh, it was love at first sight. One week and he was ready to gift himself to me. Choosing to be a simple garment just to be by my side. Oh course, it wasn't that easy. The other Fae Touched argued it was too early. That we were both too young to make that decision. And I agreed. Heavy-hearted, I bid my goodbye and left Milo behind in Brazil."

"But you said he is your dress," Dalton pointed out the flaw in her story.

"He is," Riona insisted while giggling. She let her hands roam over the many ruffles of her dress before clueing Dalton in. "No one expected how stubborn Milo would be. Not even me. He followed us. All the way up the coast. Each time we set up camp, we had a lovely reunion. I think it was in Panama when the others relented and let Milo finally gift himself to me."

"That is quite the story," Dalton admitted. Then leaned back. This probably wasn't the post-lovemaking talk he had expected. "Anyone else that has joined us?"

Riona grinned and lifted the locket that dangled between her breasts. "Met a nice girl in Chile named Aylin that just couldn't live without me. I most often wear her as a necklace. So she can be close to my heart. And the panties over there - yes, the ones I made you pull off me with your teeth - that's Juan. He showed me the most beautiful places in Mexico City, but in the end, his love for me was stronger than for his home."

Dalton searched for her eyes. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Riona asked.

He looked flustered. "Will I end up like them?"

Riona gave a big laugh. "Oh, no. You won't. I told you. They gifted themselves to me. We've got a nice thing going here, but we aren't madly in love. Taking you in would be against everything the Fae Touched believe in."

Dalton gave a deep sigh. "Honestly, being a sentient piece of clothing might be better than what is in store for me. I got a draft notice."

Riona pushed herself up on her elbows as anger welled up within her. "And what? You just roll over? What was that about going to the protests with me?"

Dalton didn't even dare to look at the signs they made together. "Make love, not war," was proudly written on the first one.

When he spoke up, it was barely louder than a whisper. "I have no choice. They said, if I don't go, then they might draft my younger brother."

Riona frowned. After half a century, they had returned to her birth country. She, like all the others of the Fae Touched, fell in love with the hippy movement. Free love was what they were all about. Granted, they could do without the drugs. The only thing that really overshadowed their happiness was yet another war. This time in Vietnam.

"When do you leave?" Riona couldn't even look him in the eyes. She was angry and she wasn't sure who to blame. Dalton, who just rolled over and betrayed their shared beliefs, or the government, which had managed to get involved in yet another pointless war.

"Next week." An awkward silence filled the wagon. Eventually, Dalton scooted off her bed. "I should go. It is getting late."

Riona gave him a last look. "I hope to see you again." But in her mind, she doubted she ever would.

---

A shadow fell over Riona and she frowned. Couldn't a nice gal like her enjoy the gold coast without disturbances? Then again, as she sat up from her beach towel, the sight was not unwelcome. The man was handsome and the right amount of muscular.

"May I sit down?"

For a moment, Riona thought about sending the guy away. Then again, she could use some fun in bed. And he certainly looked like he could deliver.

"Be my guest."

Even sitting down, he somehow radiated power. A certain hint of danger. Not that Riona was worried for herself. A Fae Touched knew how to defend themselves.

"I am Alexei."

Riona smirked. "You don't look like an Alexei."

"I don't sound like one either. By design." Alexei looked around and continued once he was sure they wouldn't be overheard. "And you are Riona. A Fae Touched."

Riona narrowed her eyes. A Russian spy. Just what she needed. "Look, I am not interested in being recruited for your stupid cold war. I told your people two decades ago and I am telling you now. Not interested. None of the others will be either. Fae Touched don't do war. Hot or cold doesn't matter."

She was ready to pack up her things when Alexei held up his hands. "We know. We know. That is not why I am here."

Riona hesitated. He got her interested. "You've got five minutes."

Alexei nodded. "I try to make it quick. I take it you are familiar with Fashion Witches?"

Riona could barely keep disgust out of her voice. "Sadly, yes. They have been multiplying lately in the USA. Our caravan determined it might be best to leave until your agents are done playing around. Really. Spies and magic. Not a good idea."

"They aren't ours." It looked like it pained Alexei to admit it. "In fact, we have our own infestation of them. After World War Two we all signed treaties to limit magic users in our armies. A lot were let go and they didn't take it well."

"Interesting." If there were troublemakers in Russia, Riona and her people might be best served to stay away. "I still don't see why you are speaking to me."

"Russian witches wield old magic. Powerful ones," Alexei urged her. "They say Fae Touched do too. Our Fashion Witches need stopping. They don't care. About Russia or their people. We tried handling them. Even founded a ministry. They took it as a joke. There is this sick ritual they do. If an apprentice witch is ready to stand on her own, she walks right into our ministry for magical regulations. Snatching up our receptionist as a trophy. And there is nothing we can do about it. We tried every weapon. Doesn't even phase them. And that's fledgling witches I am talking about. Who knows what older ones can do."

"I am sorry," Riona said. Meant it too. She gathered her towel and other belongings. "But Fae Touched don't do violence. We only defend ourselves when attacked."

Alexei stood up but didn't look too happy about it. "It was worth a shot."

"I wish you luck," Riona offered, but then walked away. It was time to warn her family. Something wasn't right about the rise of Fashion Witches. If spies weren't at fault, then who was?

---

"Can you repeat that? Maybe a little easier to understand?"

Riona nearly groaned out loud. She had recently turned a century old. She looked, of course, still young and beautiful. But there were times when she felt her age. Yet she also had to remember that some of her fellow Fae Touched were a lot older. Some by centuries. Those sometimes didn't do so well with modern technology.

Some of the gathered Fae Touched looked like they might have understood, but most appeared to be confused. And it was up to Riona to make them understand. It was her, after all, who had gathered her caravan for this meeting.

"Okay. Again. It is called the internet," Riona started over. "You probably have heard of the advancements of computing machines. By now, they are small and cheap enough that everyone can own one at home. The most important detail here is that they can now communicate over the phone lines. Exchange information."

"And how is that troublesome?" Muirenn asked. The elder looked like she tried her best to understand what Riona is getting at. "So far, it doesn't sound like it should concern us Fae Touched."

"Okay, the problem is this. Imagine the internet, that network of information scattered around the globe, as a city. There are always parts that are scummy. Where criminals do their dirty work." Riona took a moment to look around. It seemed her analogy was working on her fellow caravan members. She still held their attention. "For the internet, that place is called the dark web. Most often it is used to sell illegal stuff. Drugs. Murders for hire. You name it."

"Now here is the important part!" Riona urged them. "I was looking there because I suspected there would be trading of sentient clothes and I was right. But I found much worse. Manuals. Parts of grimoires. Shoddily translated texts of meditation techniques to raise one's magical potential. It might look random, but if one looks carefully through it all, then one thing becomes clear. It is all aimed at creating more Fashion Witches."

A collective groan went through the group and hushed whispers were exchanged. Riona let it continue for a moment. Just a decade ago, the Fae Touched had dismissed Fashion Witches as a nuisance. Something that would resolve itself soon enough. Instead, their numbers had grown and in turn, the Fae Touched had received misplaced backlash.

Muirenn lifted her hand and the murmuring stopped. "Riona, it is good that you brought the matter to our attention. Yet, I am at a loss for what to do. Clearly, you studied this new threat. What do you suggest?"

It pained her to say the next words, but Riona knew they were necessary. "We have to be more careful about revealing that we wear sentient clothes. Or even that we recruit them. I theorize that there will be an explosion of new Fashion Witches. We are already being mistaken for these Fashion Witches often enough. It will only get worse. We have to weather this storm. Fae Touched live for centuries. We can endure. Fashion Witches are new and most likely not here to stay. But for now, we have to be careful. Blend into the background for a while."

"So be it." Muirenn didn't look any happier about it than Riona felt. But their leader had weathered other storms before. "I will inform the other caravans. I am sure they will agree with your assessment, Riona."

And just like that, their meeting dissolved. Riona felt bad as she walked back to her wagon. It felt as if she had robbed the Fae Touched part of their identity. She sure hoped she was right and this Fashion Witch nonsense blew over soon. A decade or two. Maybe three. Four at worst.

---

Riona stretched after finishing yet another Youtube video. She couldn't get enough of this Tiny Home movement. It amused her to no end. She, of course, knew all about it. Having lived in a Tiny Home for over a century. First the wagon of her mother Norene and then her own. At times, she had spotted people making fun of the fact that Fae Touched lived in wagons. Now, people tried to do the same.

Over the years, Riona had refitted her wagon time and time again. By now, it had all the modern amenities. It wasn't pulled by horses anymore either. She had a nice powerful pickup truck for that. Still, those Tiny Home videos gave her ideas for her next remodeling phase. Tease out a bit more storage space here and there. She probably wouldn't install a full-sized pizza oven. Some people were just crazy.

After getting a little snack, Riona let herself fall on her full-sized bed. Her wagon had grown to twice the size and her bed had grown equally. And she decided it - and herself - needed a workout. Thankfully, in today's modern age, Riona could order takeout. For Fae Touched that meant opening up any number of dating apps on their mobile phones. A few swipes on an app and a lover would deliver themselves to her doorstep. Some Fae Touched didn't like these modern times. Riona loved it.

Riona happily swiped around. Mostly to the left. Today, she wasn't in the mood for muscular and sporty. Maybe something homely. If you lived for a century and were hunting for lovers for half of it, one preferred variety. A little pudgy was okay. Tall and lanky too. Small men knew how to make the most out of their size. And if she was bored with men, she could always switch to women. Dating in the lesbian scene often was way easier. But not today. Riona was in the mood for-

Her swiping stopped. Her thumb hovered over a guy that didn't pose like all the rest. He looked shy and awkward. Probably a profile made at the insistence of friends. Most likely a virgin too. She liked a good deflowering. Sure, they usually weren't very good in bed. Lack of experience. But she liked the thought of making someone's first time special. In her mind, any virgin - male or female - would be lucky to have their first time with a Fae Touched. It would be special. Riona swiped right.

Of course, Riona checked out the rest of her chosen lovers' pictures. They looked just as awkward as the first. The written information wasn't much better. Still, something struck Riona as not quite right. It tucked on her instinct. Intrigued, Riona made her way back to her computer. It was a nice model. Pretty new and powerful. A recent gift by a lover. If one doesn't gift themselves, a new PC is a pretty good consolation prize.

It took her only seconds to get into the backbones of the dating app. Riona had kept up with the development of computers and the internet. She had plenty of backdoors in place for all sorts of websites. Some planted herself, others she had gotten access to by choosing the right lovers.

It was easy to pick up the digital trail of her chosen target. One Adrio Ruggeri. In just a handful of minutes, she found out where he lived, his social security number, and where he banked. All that wasn't really interesting to her. As she picked through his daily internet activity, Riona knew she had hit the jackpot.

---

Pretending to be asleep wasn't that hard. Keeping the anticipation down was. She had lured Adrio to her wagon. The sex had been less than stellar. Not that she really cared. Now, she had to wait for what Adrio did next.

As he silently rose from the bed, the chances were still open. He could simply get dressed and leave. It would be a shame, but a consequence Riona would have to accept. Instead, she heard the slight squeak of a dresser being opened fully. That her trap had been so simple as leaving it slightly ajar had kind of an ironic feel to it.

She could hear him look through her clothes. Judging him sufficiently distracted, she dared to slightly open her eyes. The view she saw had her elated. Adrio had pulled out a long red evening gown. Holding it against his body.

"Not a bad choice," Riona said aloud and gave Adrio the shock of his life.

"Sorry. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Don't hang her back," Riona snapped as Adrio was about to do just that. "Rude? It is rude to take out a dress, which then looks forward to being worn. I am afraid I can let you leave without you wearing her at least once."

Adrio still looked panicked, but understanding blossomed in him. "Her? This dress is sentient? You are-"

"Not a Fashion Witch," Riona cut him off. "Yes, my lovely dress - Aylin is her name - is quite alive and aware. But I did not take her. She gifted herself to me. That's the difference between Fae Touched and Fashion Witches. So, no, I won't be transforming you into clothing. But I still need you to wear her."

"Really?" Despite being scared out of his mind, a little hope found itself in Adrio's voice. As Riona nodded, he carefully opened the dress named Aylin and stepped into it. She saw his awe as the dress actually fit him.

Riona pulled out a pair of red heels from her closet. She had a feeling Adrio would go for a red dress. Thanks to her research. And in preparation, she had changed Aylin to match. Barna and Dorina had volunteered to be the shoes to complete the outfit. They knew what stakes Riona was playing for.

"Slip into these," Riona instructed. Now speaking more softly. "And then I'll do your make-up."

Adrio complied. He still looked confused, but not close to panic anymore. Slowly even showing excitement. On her urging, he gave her a twirl before sitting down at her vanity.

"How did you know?" he asked while she applied foundation.

"I know everything about you," Riona admitted while expertly making up his face. "The forums you visit. The discord servers you are part of. The pictures you snap, but definitely not go on your dating profile. Even the stories you read." At last, she put a wig on him. Making him a redhead in nearly the same vibrant color as Fae Touched displayed naturally. "Come on. Get up. Take a look."

"That-" Adrio needed a few moments to process. At last, he whispered, "Thank you."

"Let me ask you a question," Riona opened once Adrio had his fill of the reflection staring back. "Is this enough?"

Adrio looked confused. "What else is there to go? This is as far as cross-dressing can take me. And to transition- I don't know. It costs money, right? I don't have much."

Riona sighed. Did she really have to spell it out? "Adrio, how many stories have you read in which the protagonist was transformed by magic? Here I am. A genuine magic user."

His eyes grew wide. "You can make me a woman?"

"I can if you want-"

"Yes!" Adrio immediately interrupted her. "Please. You don't know how much I wished for this."

"First-" Riona raised her finger. "Let me finish speaking. You see, there is a price to pay. One I personally chose to pay. But you have to decide on your own."

Adrio sobered up. Steeling himself. "What is it?"

"We Fae Touched have a tradition. I want you as my daughter. Now, don't get too excited. If you agree, I am not making you simply a woman who can just run off and do whatever. If you become my daughter, then you will be part of the Fae Touched. A noble folk with deep roots and traditions. To learn them all and to understand them takes decades. Time we have. But adulthood has to be earned. You'll be a child. My child. And I, as your mother, will decide when that will happen. And it might take a while. Believe me, I know. So, you have to decide. Is that a price you are willing to take?"

Adrio went quiet. Clearly thinking it through. Riona approved. This was an enormous decision and one that should be thought through.

"Yes," Adrio finally spoke up. "This price is one I am willing to pay."

Riona beamed. "Then, welcome my daughter."

She gave Adrio a hug and in her arms, he shrank. The wig fell off, but that was okay. Her new form had better vibrant hair anyways. When she let go, Adrio was gone. A six-year-old girl stood wide-eyed before her. In an oversized dress that hung from her petite frame.

"Oh, my! You look cute. Now then. There is one last step." Riona had given it some thought before. Now, she made her final decision. "From this day onward you'll be known as Breanna. Welcome my daughter."

Another hug sealed their new relationship. It had taken a little over a century since Riona had started her journey, but now she was ready to help someone else on their path. Together. She could hardly wait and looking into her daughter's eyes, she knew it was mutual.

The end.

---

Quick Author's Note

---

Hi there.

It is November and time for NaNoWrMo.
Yes, I am taking part. However, instead of channeling 50.000 words into one story, I was convinced to split it into as many short stories as I can.

With Fae Touched the second story is finished. By vote on my discord server (Cassy's Library), the next story will be one for my Naughty Witches universe. If you would like to help determine what kind of story I'll write after that, you are welcome to join my discord server and take part in the vote.

Until next time,
Cassy

It was a sea of gray, beige, tan, and brown. Here and there, Robert spotted a suit in navy blue or black. But those were an exception. As if these accountants before him wanted to further their vocation's image as being boring. And, without a doubt, Robert knew it would be dull. Conventions for accountants always were.

"Bob!"

The shout made him turn around and spot Aden Shea walking toward him. Dressed in a not quite tasteful pastel pink suit. A bold choice and certainly it made him stand out in the sea of blandness.

"Aden. Good to see you." Robert shook his friend's hand. "Has it been a year again?"

"Guess so. Must have slept through it," Aden joked. "Like your suit. But something is missing."

Robert smoothed out non-existent wrinkles in his powder blue suit. Then opened his briefcase. "Of course, something is missing!" He pulled out a classical sleeping cap in a matching blue color. Pointy tip and bobble included.

"Slumber Squad!" Aden shouted as he pulled out a matching cap in pink. Placing it on his head.

They shared a laugh as Robert did the same. "Where is the rest of the squad?"

"Wyatt's company sent someone else this year." Aden scratched his head. Making the bobble of his cap bounce around with it. "And you remember Hunter telling us he had a fiance last year? Well, they are married now. And he put a bun in her oven. So, he declined to come this year."

"Peter's company pulled a surprise audit," Robert clued his friend in on the fate of the last member of the slumber squad. "Doubt we will see him this year too. Shall we head inside?"

"Of course," Aden shouted. "Time to catch a little nap."

Robert grinned, but it wasn't quite as big as his friends. It all was falling apart. The first time he got sent to one of these conventions, it bored him to death. But his company kept sending him. Then he had met Aden and the rest of the Slumber Squad. They shared a twisted sense of humor and together, they had at least a little fun.

"There. B-Three," Bob said and pointed out the room the first presentation was held in. Pushing in and taking their seat, Robert was a little surprised. There were double the security guards than usual. Shrugging, he leaned back. "What's first on the agenda?"

"A nap?" Aden volunteered. "Oh, you mean the schedule? Something about a change in the legislature and the impact of-" He mimicked falling asleep mid-sentence. It earned him a chuckle.

As the room filled up, Robert got his laptop out. He might joke around, but this was still a work gig. His boss expected a report at the end of the day.

"You know what I could really use right now?" Bob asked his friend.

"What?"

Robert gave a sardonic grin. "Midlife crisis. High time for one."

"For you and me both," Aden agreed.

More banter was cut short as the lights dimmed and a woman walked onto the stage. She looked young and smartly dressed. Certainly a change to the usual portly man who opened up the convention.

"Welcome everyone," she spoke into the mic at the podium. "My name is Rose Parker and I fear I have bad news. The usual speaker had a little accident. I am here to fill in. Now, today's first - and only - topic will be the financial impact of Fashion Witch generated merchandise."

Something about that struck Robert as wrong. He got up. "I'll go ask someone what is going on," he assured his friend. Then shimmied out of his row. Hurrying to the end of the room. However, as he tried to open the double doors, they remained firmly shut. That was not normal. And against code. There always had to remain a way open in case of emergencies.

Panic shouting made Robert turn around. He saw men stand up in a hurry. Only for their suits to explode off them and their human bodies replaced by tall white pillows. Immediately, Robert jumped behind the chairs of the last row. This was bad. This Rose Parker must be a Fashion Witch. One of the modern boogie men. He always had known it was possible he could run into one. But statistics said it was less likely than being killed in a car crash.

From behind his cover, Robert witnessed the mayhem. The wave of explosion continued. More pillows remained. A few tried to attack the witch, but the security guards stepped in. It was hopeless. For a brief moment, he saw Aden in his pastel pink suit. Then it exploded and only a pillow remained of his friend.

A sudden silence settled over the room as all the attendees had been transformed. All but Robert, who cowered behind the last row of seats. Making himself as small as possible. Still, he had to look. Had to witness the fate of his friend.

The security guards went to work. Some went into the rows. Plucking up the pillows and bringing them to the stage. Throwing them on a pile. Others brought in cardboard boxes and a strange machine. Clueing Robert in that this was planned from the start.

One by one, the pillows were brought before Rose. Now, Robert got a better guess on their size. These pillows were nearly as tall and wide as the Fashion Witch. Once presented, Rose looked at a sheet of paper. Then the pillow changed. Robert wasn't sure, but he could swear the pillow had now a full-sized picture of a woman on them. The pillow was rolled up and placed inside the strange machine. It came out the other end vacuum sealed and ready to be shipped. Placed in a box, the sheet of paper was put inside, and then taped shut.

Again and again, Robert witnessed this process repeated. Until one box remained and no pillow. "One is missing!" Rose shouted. "Find him or one of you takes his place."

Robert cursed under his breath. They had the attendance sheet. This was even more organized than he had feared. The security guards spread out. Checking rows one by one. It was only a matter of time before they found him. His fate was sealed. It was just a matter of time.

A sudden calm settled over him. Robert stood up. Losing his tie, he walked over to the closest security guy. Probably not even real security. Raising his fist, they both knew what would happen. The smirk on his opponent said all. Marking Robert as an easy target. The smirk vanished as Robert advanced quickly and broke the guy's nose with a quick vicious jab.

Of course, it was futile. The other guards closed in on him. Robert got a few more jabs in, but then they had him pinned. One heavy punch to the stomach and it was over. Dragging a wheezing Robert to the stage.

"Not bad, oldtimer," Rose remarked, but then gave an overdone pout. "But did you have to waste my time? Seriously?"

Options flashed through Robert's mind. Curse her out? One last witty remark? Maybe he should try spitting in her face. Like they did in movies. But it was too late. His clothes exploded off him and he was not human anymore. Just something soft and squishy. Rose looked once at a sheet of paper and then made a gesture at Robert. A short tingling sensation swept through his new fluffy body. Then, he was roughly rolled up and placed inside the machine. It compressed him further and trapped him in plastic. Not that he could have moved without it.

Placed in a box, a sheet of paper landed on him. Then the box closed up. Plunging Bob into darkness. This was it. Game over. He had lost. Doomed to an existence as a sentient pillow. Yes, he wanted a change in his life, but this was not the midlife crisis he had envisioned.

---

Endless darkness was punctured by some rattling of his box or muted talking now and then. Then, finally, a slit of light appeared. His box was opened up. After how long, Bob couldn't tell. Most of the time he had zoned out. Which was better than the alternative. To lose his mind.

The top of the box was folded up and the sheet of paper was removed. A guy looked down at Robert and the paper. He looked young. In the twenties, Bob guessed.

"Let's get you out of there."

Finally, Robert was freed from the box and endless darkness. The young man clawed at Bob's plastic wrapping until it gave away. A tear appeared and was used to free Bob completely. Without the shrink wrap, Bob unfolded. Not that it helped him much. He couldn't move or talk. Just lean against the furniture he had fallen against.

"Okay. Hi. I am Roman. Roman Haney," Bob's new owner introduced himself. "You must be confused. I am not sure you even know what happened to you. I am afraid you have become the victim of a Fashion Witch."

That much was obvious, but Bob couldn't voice out the sentiment.

"Let's see." Roman looked down at the paper that had accompanied Bob. "Jennifer Tillerman. Age eighteen. Senior and cheerleader. Hi, Jennifer. Wish we had met under better circumstances."

Jennifer? Robert was furious. Not just had that witch robbed him of his body. She had taken his identity too. How evil does one have to be to walk the path of a Fashion Witch?

"Look, I am not here to abuse you," Roman continued. "I saw your auction and had to prevent you from falling into the hands of some creep."

"Like yourself?" Bob wanted to shout, but his mental anguish remained unvoiced.

"They turned you into a Dakimakura," Roman continued his monologue. "It's a Japanese term. You could translate it into body pillows or even Waifu pillows. Do you know what a Waifu is?"

Great. Now this Roman was talking gibberish. Bob would have excused himself in any other situation, but that wasn't an option right now. He had to endure.

"Perhaps, it is best to show you."

Roman picked up Bob with ease. His new pillowy body appeared to be very light. He was then dragged in front of a mirror. The sight made Bob want to curse. The reflection showed Roman holding up the tall pillow that Bob had become. Drawn on in a cartoonish style was a girl. Raven hair and blue eyes. She wore a cheerleading uniform that was on the skimpy side. Probably for summer months or warmer climates. A short skirt and pompoms rounded off the uniform. Seeing himself reduced to this, Bob felt ashamed. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"I am afraid, it gets worse."

Roman turned Bob around. Confused by what the point of turning him away from the mirror was. But with a little concentration, he could shift his view to the backside of his pillow body. Bob immediately wished he hadn't. His backside portrayed the same cheerleader. This time in a more lewd pose. The top had been lifted over her breasts and revealed them in their naked glory. They appeared too large for a small frame like hers. At least in Bob's opinion. The pompoms were missing. Instead, one hand of the girl pushed down the hem of her skirt and the other pulled aside her panties.

Bob hadn't just been reduced to an object. He had heard of what Fashion Witches did. Transforming people into clothing for them to wear. But this was worse, he decided. Yes, he wasn't something to be worn. Instead of just stripping his identity as all the other objects, he had been given a new one. It was a twisted and vile one. Worse, this fool named Roman thought it was real. That he held a transformed cheerleader in his arms. And Bob could do nothing to correct him.

Roman walked back to his living room. Placing Bob on the couch and taking a seat on a nearby chair. "Now, not all hope is lost, Jennifer. I am a part of a group that rescues people like you. In fact, you aren't the only one we brought. We try to keep you out of the hands of perverts."

"Like yourself?" Bob wanted to ask again, but couldn't. He wasn't buying what Roman was putting on the table. Rescued? It was probably a story Roman told himself to feel better. Or maybe some twisted game he was about to play with Bob. What stood really on that printout? Was it the fictive Jennifer? An innocent girl transformed to be sold to perverts. Or was Bob's name on there and Roman just pretended it was different?

"But there is more," Roman continued. "We are working to find a witch that can turn you and other victims back to humans. Maybe with enough financial incentive, one might go for it. So, Jennifer, not all hope is lost."

That sealed it, for Robert. All hope was lost. Either Roman was a twisted pervert who told tall tales for sadistic reasons, or he was a naive boy who believed in fairytales. As if there were fashion witches who weren't black to the core of their hearts. If they still had hearts. Yes, he had heard of rumors of people being turned back to humans. But he had never seen the evidence. Not a single TV interview or picture in the newspaper. All hearsay. Buying up transformed people might be good on paper too, but Bob knew better. One way or another, the fashion witch who had transformed him had gotten richer.

"Until then, Jennifer, I'll take care of you."

Bob wanted to roll his eyes. But as with everything else, it was denied to him.

---

"I am home!"

Bob didn't answer. Even if he could, he wouldn't. It was his third day that he stayed in Roman's apartment. To say it was boring, was an understatement. But Robert was used to boredom or even boring tasks. Maybe the two decades in his job helped him out. For some reason, he could space out and just let time flow by. Provided he wasn't distracted by anything. Like an overeager twenty-something with nothing better to do.

Bob didn't have to wait long until Roman joined him in the living room. As most of the time, Bob was propped up on the couch. Instead of going for the usual tasks, Roman came over. Holding a familiar sheet of paper in his hand.

"I am so sorry, Jennifer." Roman even looked sorry. Either he was a very good actor or the naivety spoke volumes. Robert still hadn't decided between the two. "So, I met with the rest of the group. Well, our local cell. And I did you wrong. For that, I truly apologize. The others educated me that it is very important to keep you mentally healthy. That means talking to you more. Maybe even do things that you like. Well, sort of for you."

Bob wanted to groan. If Roman could do one thing, then it was talking endlessly. So much for spacing out and skipping all of that. How could this get any worse?

"Let's see what your hobbies are." Again, that cursed sheet of paper twisted Bob's fate. "It says you are cheerful and emphatic. A good person. Glad to be on the same page. You like sewing and stitching in your free time. I am afraid I won't be very helpful with that. Hmm, you spent a lot of time volunteering in retirement homes ever since your grandma died. I am so sorry to hear that. Oh, I can help with this. You like Mexican Telenovelas? Not my cup of tea, but I am sure we can find you some."

Robert was sure of it. In his last life, he must have done something terrible. Tortured puppies or the like. Every time he thought it couldn't get worse, it did.

Roman sat down uncomfortably close to Bob. He reached for the remote but didn't switch the TV on yet. "Okay, the next thing is awkward. According to the studies we have found, it helps keeping you mentally healthy if you are used for your intended purpose. I will not do something lewd to you. I swear. Not gonna sleep with you either. That just seems wrong. Well, some use body pillows for comfort. You know. As something to relieve their loneliness. Talking to them. Hugging them. I think that's okay, right?"

Robert braced himself for the inevitable. Now, Roman would show his true colors. Hugging and squeezing him all in the name of comforting Jennifer.

Roman scooted closer. Then tenderly laid an arm around Bob. Giving only a slight squeeze of a hug. "How's that, Jennifer? Okay? I hope so. Now, let's find you a Telenovela to watch."

As Roman flipped through channels, Robert had to admit it wasn't as bad as he had feared. It even gave him a small measure of comfort. A fact that surprised him to no end.

"Look, Jennifer, it's Desierto-Rosas De La Pasión. Your favorite Telenovela. I hoped you didn't miss too many episodes."

Right. Just when Robert let his guard down a little, life found a way to push again. But there was still a silver lining. Maybe Roman would shut up for a while.

---

"I'm home!"

The shout from the hallway tore Robert out of his stupor. Once again, he had been lost. Not even in thoughts. Just spaced out. It happened most of the time when there was nothing to do. The first week flew by as Robert didn't even register most of it. Then, Roman figured out how to program the TV to automatically turn on and off again. Now, Robert got to witness Jennifer's favorite Telenovela and a few others.

Honestly, it wasn't that bad. Yes, the Telenovelas were kinda trashy. So we're B-movies. If one took them in the same spirit, they weren't that bad. Even kind of funny at times.

"Welcome home," Robert replied in his best Jennifer impression. Not that Roman could hear him. But one thing Roman had said was true. Robert craved interaction. Even if it was pretending on his part. It wasn't that hard to make Roman's monologue into a pretend dialog. The young man talked a lot, but left plenty of breaks in between.

"You'll never guess what happened at work today."

Robert did his best to slip further into the mindset of Jennifer. "Oh? Tell me." Of course, it was logical for Robert to pretend he was Jennifer. Even if it was only in his mind. Roman talked to Jennifer and if Robert wanted to be part of it, he had to become her. Either it was perfectly reasonable or the Telenovelas turned his head into mush. Well, his was already kind of fluff. So, not too far off.

"So, this customer came in-"

In the beginning, Robert hated the chattiness of Roman. Now, he hadn't just gotten used to it. He depended on it to stay sane. At least, a form of sanity. Now, when Roman retold yet another mundane story, Robert listened and made commentary. In the way, he thought an attentive girlfriend might do.

Soon, Roman carried Bob into the kitchen. It nearly always was torture for Bob to witness what followed.

"No, the potatoes aren't done yet." Or. "The pasta is more than al dente by now." Of course, none of Bob's remarks made it into Roman's ears. Robert couldn't claim he was a great cook, but living nearly three decades on his own taught him a few things. Was he ever as hapless as Roman? Probably, but it was too long ago to remain a vivid reminder.

If only Jennifer could show Roman a few tricks around the kitchen. She would happily do so if it meant she'd return to human form.

Robert mentally shook himself. If he could return to being human then of course as his male self. Not as Jennifer. Where had that come from? Those Telenovelas did a number on his head. Or his little mental role-playing was to blame.

After dinner, Roman had another surprise in store. "I think you need another wash, Jennifer."

"You don't like Eau De fried bell pepper?" Robert joked in his best Jennifer impression. As always, his jokes fell flat. No one was listening and that made for a poor audience.

"After your favorite Telenovela, of course," Roman promised. "Wouldn't want you to miss it."

To Robert, it made no difference. Being washed always left him kind of loopy. His mind and memories jumbled. It took a few hours for them to return to normal and Bob never felt quite the same as before. Yet, there was nothing to do but accept his fate. Who knew that it was possible to get stoned on detergent? Bob could have done without that knowledge.

Being plucked up and placed on the couch, Bob was ready for what was to come. As always, Roman laid an arm around Bob. By now, it felt comforting. Like a light squeeze or hug. Bob could even feel a little of Roman's body heat radiate into him. That felt nice too. And so, Bob settled down. For yet another evening spent before the TV and in the arms of Roman.

---

"Morning Jennifer."

Jennifer snapped awake. No, that was quite right. She didn't sleep. Most of the time she just spaced out. Sometimes, she had daydreams. Those were usually very vivid. She imagined how it would have been growing up as Jennifer. To be a little girl. Then a teenager. To hang out with friends at a mall. Having fun with a BFF. Everything she never had.

Because she was also Robert. It was the core of her. He had childhood memories and so much more. Jennifer knew she was like a sock puppet. She might portray herself as a young woman, but it was Robert's hand that animated her. Except, nothing about her was animated and most often she forgot that there was someone else inside of her.

After four months of being spoken to as Jennifer and playing the part in her mind, it had become easier to slip into the mindset. To become Jennifer. Sometimes, she forgot that she was supposed to be Robert. To stop pretending she was real. Jennifer wondered if one day she would forget about ever being Robert.

"Morning Roman," she greeted back as Roman came to her assistance. It was silly. Jennifer slept on the couch. At least, Roman made it up to be like that. Every evening he would make up the couch and tuck her in. Blanket and pillow included. And despite the silliness, she loved this little gesture. An acknowledgment that despite being a body pillow, she was still a human inside.

It had taken her a while to admit it, but there was only one way she liked to spend her night more. Now and then, on a late-night movie marathon, Roman would fall asleep against her. Hugging her close and share more of his body heat with her. It felt intimate, but even more so, it felt right. As if her reason for being alive was fulfilled at that moment.

"I am sorry, Jennifer, but I can't spend a lot of time with you today." Roman looked worried and it worried Jennifer in turn. He rested a hand on her pillowy body. "I know I promised to spend the weekend with you, but something has come up. One from our group has found a lead. A fashion witch that might not be completely evil. We'll drive out to find her. I am not trying to get your hopes up for nothing, but this might be it, Jennifer. A way back into human form."

"You idiot!" she wanted to shout. Reason with a fashion witch? That was madness. It was an unnecessary risk and he could end up like her. Just an object to the world. Who would take care of him? And without Roman, who did she have? Would she space out forever? Sold in an apartment liquidation to someone who had no clue who she really was?

"Don't go," she pleaded. "I rather stay like this than risk you."

"I'll be back by evening," Roman promised. Unaware of Jennifer's inner turmoil. "All your Telenovelas are programmed in. So, hopefully, you don't grow too bored without me."

"Come back," she pleaded once more as Roman let go. Then again, as he left the apartment. Again and again. Like a prayer. Even when her Telenovelas started to run, her mind was with Roman.

---

"Still, nothing new," Roman said as he turned away from the PC. Three times now, he had chased that illusive fashion witch that might or might not exist. Who could be good or just evil in disguise.

Roman sat down next to her. "I asked around on all the websites that try to reconnect transformed people with their loved ones. None have heard of a Jennifer Tillerman or reported you missing." Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes. "To be honest, I sometimes wonder if that fashion witch lied. Maybe she changed your name for some reason and I've addressed you for months by the wrong name."

"Yes!" Jennifer was excited. Finally. Then, for a brief moment, she was confused. Why was she excited? Right. She wasn't Jennifer. Well, she was most of the time. But she had been someone else. Robert. What had been her last name? Andrews. That's right, she had been Robert Andrews. But for a long time, she hadn't felt like him anymore. She had all his memories, but they were vague. Just as the fake ones she dreamed up about herself. She knew those were the real ones, but it didn't matter to her anymore as much as it used to.

"If so, I am sorry," Roman continued. "For now, I guess, I have to continue calling you Jennifer."

Jennifer was glad. For a moment, she feared Roman might come up with a third name. Her transition from Robert to Jennifer had been hard enough. She didn't want to make another.

"I tried looking again into the company the fashion witch used at a front for selling you." Roman leaned over to hug Jennifer. It felt as if he needed it more than she did. Not that she minded. For quite a while now, she savored their hugs. "No new information. The police have locked down the building the witch used, but too late to catch her. And all files are seized. If there are any. They aren't forthcoming to my requests."

That was typical. Jennifer never had much faith in the police. One never heard that the police tried to engage a fashion witch. News always reported that the police arrived late. Even on confirmed sightings of fashion witches. In Jennifer's book, the police were useless. At least, when it came to fashion witches.

"I know she moved a lot of you," Roman mused aloud. "My group liberated sixteen sentient body pillows. And that was a fraction of the overall supply. I just wonder where she got you. I couldn't find any news of large disappearances in high schools. I mean, there are sadly always scattered disappearances of students. The prime hunting ground of young fashion witches. But over a hundred students missing must have caused waves. If only you could talk. I am hitting brick walls here."

If only she could. There were so many things on Jennifer's mind she wanted to say. Not just about where she came from. What she used to be. But that was wishful thinking. It was hard, but she was making her peace with the fact, that she would never talk again.

"Sorry to be such a downer." Roman looked at the clock and appeared shocked. "Look at the time. Desierto-Rosas De La Pasión is about to start."

If only Jennifer could talk. She would give Roman an earful. Today's episode was Paquitaxs wedding to Juan. She couldn't miss that. Jennifer was sure the plot would derail things. Cause drama. But would it be before or after the ceremony? She couldn't wait to find out.

Finally, Roman sat down, grabbed the remote, and leaned Jennifer against him in his usual half hug. Now she could relax. Let the real world pass by and escape into a world full of intrigue, drama, and revelations.

---

Jennifer came to herself at rather an odd time. From the sun and shadows, she could guess that it was about noon. A time she usually skipped by spacing out completely. It was after her morning Telenovelas reruns, but before the afternoon episodes aired. Roman was at work, so what pulled her back to the present?

The slamming of the front door alerted her that she wasn't alone anymore. Jennifer didn't have to wait long until a figure walked into the living room. But the way she did it was strange. The young woman walked backward. Her whole face was a mask of terror as she stared towards the front door.

Then the woman noticed Jennifer in the worst way. Just a glance and an immediate jump backward. Right against the wall. Collapsing against it, she rubbed the back of her head as she cursed under her breath. Then suddenly placed both hands over her mouth and listened. Wide-eyed again looked to the front door.

It took minutes for the young woman to calm down, but then she relaxed slightly. Leaning against the wall and taking a few breaths. Then, the woman's eyes fell on Jennifer again. A nervous laugh escaped her. "What the fuck are you? Scared the living daylight out of me. For a moment, I thought you were a person. Great. Now I am talking to an object too. Ain't like you are-"

The woman stopped. Her eyes narrowed. Studying Jennifer from afar. "Holy shit, you are sentient." A new wave of nervousness hit the woman and she looked around frantically. To Jennifer, it looked like she had one panic attack already behind her and was on the edge of another one.

"Not a home of a fashion witch," the woman concluded. "I hope." She looked at Jennifer again. "A cheerleader, huh? I really could use some fucking cheering right now."

The woman nervously combed her hair before cursing again. "Ah, fuck it. I am doomed anyway, right?" She pointed right at Jennifer who suddenly felt strange.

A twisting and turning feeling overcame her. As if the fluff in her inside was scrambled. Her fabric was pushed and pulled. And then, there was a sudden flash and Jennifer took an involuntary gasp of air. Something she hadn't done in months. Then it dawned on Jennifer. She was human again. At once, she tried to look at herself but found she had trouble moving right. How does one operate a human body again? Which limb did what? A half year and it all felt strange to her.

"Tada!" The woman proclaimed. Drawing attention from Jennifer. "So, how about, as a fucking thank you, a little cheer routine for me?"

Now it was Jennifer's turn to panic. Her limbs didn't obey her very well. Her mouth was a little better. "I would, but I can't move my-"

"Of course, you fuckin' can't," the woman groaned. Letting her head rest against the wall. "How long?" she asked without looking at Jennifer.

Not immediately punished, Jennifer took a second to calm down and think it through. "Half a year at least. Seven or eight months, maybe."

"Great. Just great. Can't even get-" She started to cry. Big tears rolled down her face and there was no stopping it.

Jennifer felt bad. Her mind said that this woman was a magic user. Probably even a fashion witch. She should hate her. But her heart saw only a scared woman. Maybe half her age. Early twenties at best. Scared, desperate, and utterly broken.

Jennifer got up from the couch. No, standing and walking was a no-go. Her control of her limbs improved, but it was minuscule at best. Crawling. That, she could do. It was slow, but she got closer. Halfway to her target, the woman noticed. Half-hearted she tried to move away, but she was backed against the wall.

"You hate me, right? What I am." The sobbing woman gave Jennifer a weak challenging stare. "Alright. Give it your best shot. Come on. Hit me. I deserve it."

Jennifer sat up beside the woman. Slightly swaying as she tried to keep her balance. She raised both arms. Then hugged the woman. Drawing her in and spending comfort. The woman melted in her arms as the sobbing returned. Jennifer took it all as she softly rubbed the woman's back.

"I can't cheer very well, but I can hug," Jennifer whispered. "What's your name?"

"They- They call me Kahina. Called. They are all gone now. It used to be- Doesn't matter anymore." Kahina squeezed back more tightly. But more than tears, words now quelled forth. "It was all Pedro's idea. So stupid. Let's learn magic, he said. No other gang will mess with us. Yeah. That worked out fine. Just a little snag. We awoke to magic smack middle in the territory of a fashion witch. A powerful one."

Kahina must be part of a gang, Jennifer deduced. It explained her strange outfit. Leather vest with studs. Bandanas tied towards it in strange places. Pants that screamed punk with all the added patches and buttons.

"You couldn't leave?" Jennifer asked as Kahina had another bout of big sobs.

"Pedro. He said- We could take her. That we are nine and she was alone." A short hysteric laugh escaped Kahina. "We weren't even close to a match. She picked us off as if she was swatting flies. We never had a chance in the first place."

Jennifer hadn't thought it would be possible, but she felt pity for a fashion witch. Previously she had thought all fashion witches were evil. Plain and simple. But Kahina was different. Just a young woman who didn't know better and got roped into stuff that went over her head.

Maybe, Kahina could be redeemed. If Jennifer could get her to safety, Kahina could learn from her experience. Maybe she would be willing to turn others back. Just like she had helped Jennifer. According to Roman, his group had plenty of sentient objects waiting to become human again.

The sound of splintering wood shocked both, Kahina and Jennifer. The front door was half ajar and slowly swung further open. Revealing a woman clad in all black. She looked like a domina to Jennifer. Her body was snug in some rubber garment that gleamed under the light. Her boots had high platforms and even higher heels. Strapped to her side was a viscous-looking whip and between her leather-gloved hands, she held a riding crop.

As the domina stepped in, Kahina tried to crawl further back. Yet there was no way out. She was trapped. Just like Jennifer, who now cursed herself. She should have gotten out while she had the chance.

"Oh, Kahina. My sweet Kahina," the woman in black purred. "Why did you run? Do you think I'd let you go? Of all your pathetic friends, you showed the most promise. Yet you tucked tail and ran." She stopped before Kahina and used her riding crop to lift the sobbing woman's shin. "And now look at you. Pitiful. Don't worry. I still have a place for you."

The woman Jennifer was hugging suddenly slackened and when she looked, there was no trace of Kahina left. Just her clothes and something red poked out where Kahina's head had been. The new fashion witch crouched down and pulled out the transformed Kahina. Standing back up, she lifted her conquest. Giving Jennifer a good look at what Kahina had become. She had become a shiny red catsuit with lots of paneling that gave the new sentient garment a sleek look.

"Much better. Don't worry, I'll wear you plenty. You will grow to love it." The fashion witch crouched down again. Completely ignoring Jennifer as she dug through the pile of Kahina's clothing. "Not bad." Kahina's jacket was transformed into a ring that the witch donned. The same fate befell the five bandanas Kahina had tied to her jacket. "Mundane." She tossed away Kahina's pants and shoes. Frowning, she picked up Kahina's panties. "Not even sentient underwear. Oh, Kahina. What a disappointment. You don't know what you've missed. Not that it matters anymore."

The last few items were tossed to the side. Now, nothing was between Jennifer and the witch. Only now, the fashion witch acknowledged her. "And who are you?"

Should she beg? No. This was exactly how Jennifer had always thought all fashion witches are. Cruel and evil. Begging wouldn't help. It was inevitable. Just as she had regained her humanity, it was about to be lost again. At least, she could state her name so the witch might use it.

"I am-"

"You know what? I don't care." The fashion witch stood up. Towering over Jennifer in her high-heeled boots. "Why do I even bother with small fry like you?"

Jennifer braced herself, but the change never came. Instead of transforming her, the fashion witch stood up and turned around. Walking out without sparing Jennifer a second more of notice.

Just like that, Jennifer found herself alone. Back as being human and utterly naked. Her hammering heart slowly calmed down. It was a strange feeling now to Jennifer. To have a beating heart and to draw gasps of air into her lungs. Thankfully, both processes were automatic. If she had unlearned it like using her limbs, her newfound humanity wouldn't have lasted long either.

What now? Jennifer took stock of her surroundings. Not much hinted at what had transpired just now. A few discarded garments from Kahina. Jennifer doubted any of them were sentient. She discarded the notion of wearing them anyway. It still would be creepy. And there was the door to Roman's apartment. Wide open and everyone passing by might see inside. Jennifer decided to do something about that. She might not be able to close the door. The door frame was busted after all. But she could at least create the illusion of privacy.

Getting to the door was awkward. She still didn't trust her legs to stand up or even walk. It resulted in more crawling. This time awkwardly towards the door. Nearly there, something caught her attention in the small hallway that connected the living room and front door. Roman had hung a full-sized mirror here and Jennifer now couldn't help but stare at it.

It was her. How she always had imagined herself as flesh and blood. A young athletic body. Cute nose, blue eyes, and raven black hair. It was all there. For the first time, she saw herself. With it came the realization that Kahina hadn't turned her back into Robert. Because, why should she? Kahina had never known Robert or how he looked. She had only seen the cartoonish depiction of Jennifer on her pillowy body. Now, she was human again but stuck as Jennifer once more. And for the life of her, Jennifer couldn't feel bad about it.

Looking back, she saw Robert in a new light. Pushing fifty, one could say he had been past his prime. His job was a dead end and boring anyway. No one significant had been in his life and he barely had any friends either. Jennifer hadn't noticed back then. When she still had been Robert. There hadn't been much going for him. Now, she was Jennifer. Young again and with a new outlook on life. She could start over. Do things better. Maybe this time find someone to share her life with.

She needed to contact Roman. Pushing the front door closed as best as she could, Jennifer contemplated how to do that. There hadn't been a moment when Roman told her his number. Just in case a one-in-a-million chance left her human again. Maybe there was something on his computer she could use.

Trying to get up again, she did better. As long as Jennifer hugged the wall, she slowly managed small little steps that brought her forward. It was a small odyssey. Despite that the computer nook was only a few meters away. Sitting down on the chair, she nearly keeled over. There was something called body tension she had all forgotten about when she had been a pillow.

Roman's PC booted up just fine and left her on the main screen. There wasn't even a password required. She would have to talk about it to him. Safety was important. Even if the lack of it currently helped her out.

Opening up the browser, Jennifer's mission to find a way to contact him derailed. Two tabs automatically opened up and Jennifer saw they both belonged to the same site. A forum for reconnecting sentient objects with their loved ones. For quite a while now she had suspected Roman had been honest with her. That he tried to get her back to being human for real or, at least, try to get her back to her loved ones.

Now, she had the opportunity to see if she had been right. The original post showed - Jennifer - in her pillow form. A picture of the sheet of paper with her details was also uploaded. In the text post, Roman detailed everything he knew about Jennifer. All lies, but he hadn't known that. The threat was long. Roman and others had speculated where Jennifer might be from. Analyzed the cheerleading uniform in detail in hopes of clues about where she might have gone to school.

Jennifer leaned back. Roman had been honest with her. It filled her heart with warmth. She had guessed before, but now, she knew for sure. That last little bit of cynic denial that was left by Robert was washed away.

Given the opportunity, Jennifer couldn't help but snoop. She opened up the other tab. It showed another thread in the forum started by Roman. This time, he was looking for someone. A Sarah Haney. That last name sounded familiar. Wasn't that Roman's family name? Reading further, Jennifer's guess proved right. Roman had lost his little sister to a fashion witch. She and nearly all of her friends in the drama department of her school had been taken. The long thread detailed Roman's search for his sister. Never giving up.

It explained so much. Roman had lost his sister. He couldn't help her, but he could help others like her.

"Police!" The loud shout nearly made Jennifer fall from the chair. "Come out with your hands held high."

Jennifer glanced at the PC's clock. Nearly twenty minutes had passed since the fashion witch had left with Kahina in her grasp. Of course, the police were way too late. By now, the witch might be blocks away or further.

"I am coming!" Jennifer shouted. She was still naked, but that wasn't something she could change right now. "Just, hang on." Again, she hugged the wall to get back to the front door. In her hurry, she slipped and fell halfway toward the door.

"What happened?" the police officer shouted. "Do you have trouble walking?"

How did he know that she had stumbled and fallen? He couldn't see her, right? And why didn't he enter? "Yes!" Honesty was probably best in this situation. "I haven't used my legs in a while."

"I am coming in." The officer sounded not thrilled about the prospect. "By law, I have to state the following. Do not move. Should you be a fashion witch be aware that if anything happens to me, you are toast. Two of my teammates have you in their crosshairs and loaded shots that shred through walls like paper. Understood?"

Jennifer was sure, but she thought the man was scared. Now that she thought about it, confronting fashion witches can't be a good thing for one's own health. The poor lad had probably drawn the short straw if he had to make contact. Maybe Jennifer had misjudged the police. These men and women might be just as scared of fashion witches as the rest of them. After all, what good is a kevlar vest against magic?

"I am not a fashion witch," Jennifer stated just to be sure. "I will comply."

Roman's front door was kicked open. It had been broken beyond repair before, but no door deserved such abuse. Sentient or not. The officer pushed in. Clad from head to toe in heavy gear. She didn't see much uncovered beside his eyes. But she could make out a nameplate - A. Ramirez - and the writing that made him part of a SWAT team.

Ramirez only hesitated a split second before leveling his rifle on Jennifer. "Why are you naked?"

Jennifer mentally cursed. She had noticed Ramirez wore fingerless gloves. The same fingers squeezed his weapons so much, they turned white. She was one twitchy finger away from splattered against the wall.

"I was an object," Jennifer hastened to say. "Not a half hour ago. I've been a victim of a fashion witch a couple of months ago. I was liberated and someone took care of me here."

The muzzle of Ramirez's gun never wavered. Seconds drew by as Ramirez made a decision. Then, he slightly lowered his rifle. "Explain. How did you turn back?"

"There were two witches. Not one." Jennifer thought that was the most important information. "One chased the other. Kahina - one of the witches - sought refuge here. She saw me and- I don't know if it was guilt or some other whimsy, but she turned me back. I didn't even get to thank her when the other witch arrived. She transformed Kahina and took a few of her garments. Then left."

"The second one just left you?"

Jennifer shrugged. "She said I was small fry. Not worth her time."

Ramirez looked at her hard for a few seconds, then lowered his rifle further. One hand reached up to the radio. "Clear."

He crouched down just as another person stepped into the doorframe. Just like Ramirez, the officer had lowered his gun, but Jennifer noticed that they still pointed in Jennifer's general direction.

"What's your name, Miss?"

"Jennifer."

"That is quite the story, Jennifer," Ramirez admitted. "I believe you, but until we can verify it, the protocol states that you remain a suspect. That means, no sudden movements on your part. We will take you to the police station where we need to get a full statement. Everything you think might help. Understood?"

"Yes." Jennifer wasn't too concerned about their thoroughness or worried as the guns were still in play. "Uhm, can you contact someone for me?"

Ramirez was hard to read, but his eyes didn't look scared anymore. However, they remained hard and on edge. "Who would that be?"

"Roman," Jennifer volunteered. "Last name Haney. It's his apartment. He was the one who took me in."

Another police officer arrived. This one without a drawn gun. Instead, he offered a blanket to her.

"You said he housed you as sentient objects," Ramirez pointed out just as Jennifer wrapped the blanket around her. "We have to get him anyway. Protocol states we have to interview him."

"I see." Jennifer pondered her current predicament. Yes, the police were still twitchy, but if she made it through, she was free again. And with a human body to boot. "Officer Ramirez is it? I may need a little help getting out of here. My walking skills are that of a toddler right now."

Ramirez gave a short chuckle. The first positive emotion she witnessed. "A stretcher is on its way. Just hang tight."

Jennifer nodded. Human again and still, she needed help. Hopefully, not for too long.

---

To say Jennifer paced the interrogation room was an overstatement. She slowly went step by step. Generously using the wall as a means to steady herself. How to walk came back to her. Now and then, she managed three steps at a time without help. Not just walking itself felt strange. The police had provided her with some clothes and it felt strange to be dressed again.

She nearly fell as O'Hara entered the room. For the last few hours, the detective had interviewed her on every detail she could think of. Not just about the incident at Roman's apartment. Every small fact that he could recall of the Rose Parker entrapment was worth gold. With careful prodding, O'Hara managed to squeeze out details Jennifer hadn't even noticed she possessed. But most of her time was spent on Robert Andrews. Her past self. To the police, it was vital that she was who she said she was. And not, for example, a fashion witch trying to hide by pretending to be Robert.

"Miss Andrews." O'Hara pointed at the chair Jennifer had sat in for hours.

A little weary, Jennifer made her way to the chair. By now, she had told every detail three or four times. Jennifer wondered if the detective suffered from short-term amnesia. Even with writing everything down, he had her repeat things over and over again.

"Good news," O'Hara said as he took a seat himself. "I conferred with the higher-ups and we are reasonably sure you are indeed Robert Andrews."

"Was Robert Andrews," Jennifer corrected. "I haven't felt like Robert for a long time now. And let's be honest, with my new body, I can't just go back to being him. What are the chances that I run into a beneficial witch twice?"

"Rather slim, I agree." O'Hara pulled out a slim folder and pushed it over to Jennifer. "In fact, we kind of speculated on that part."

Curious, Jennifer opened the folder and found a single page within. It looked official. Had a few stamps on it too. She found her details on it. As Robert and as Jennifer.

"What is that?"

"While rare, you aren't the first to be in this situation," O'Hara admitted. "By now, we are prepared for it. The protocol states you get a temporary ID. That's this document. You are required to apply for an official ID within two months. You can choose any combination of Robert Andrews and Jennifer Tillerman as your new official name. Though Jennifer Andrews appears to be the obvious choice, it is up to you."

Jennifer Andrews. She liked it. It combined her new identity with a nod to her old. "Sounds good. What happens now?"

"If you would look beneath the ID." Jennifer did and found a debit card. "On it are five thousand dollars. To help you tide over for a month or two. It is standard practice to freeze the accounts of suspected fashion witch victims for two years. In other words, your savings as Robert Andrews are safe, but inaccessible at the moment. I recommend contacting your bank as soon as possible and unfreezing it. In the meantime, the city will provide a hotel room or apartment."

"What if I want to stay somewhere else?"

"Mister Haney?" O'Hara guessed. As a response, he got a blush from Jennifer. "You are free to make your own arrangements. Please note, the city won't provide monetary compensation for whoever shelters you."

"I see." Was she that transparent? Yes, her first impulse had been to go back to Roman. But was that the right thing to do? He had taken her in because she had been helpless. In a way, she thought it made him feel better for losing his sister to a fashion witch. Now, Jennifer didn't need him anymore. At least, in the technical sense. "Is he here? Roman, I mean. I guess I should talk to him before making any decision."

"His interview concluded an hour ago," O'Hara said but was quick to add to it. "He's been waiting in the lobby."

The simple fact that Roman waited for her made Jennifer's heart beat faster. "Can I go to him?"

"Yes. You are officially dismissed." O'Hara tapped on the thick folder left before him. "We may contact you again if something new comes up or we have further questions. If you stay with Mister Haney, please inform the receptionist. If you choose to take the city's offer for accommodation, the receptionist can also help you."

"Thank you, Mister O'Hara." Taking her temporary ID and preloaded debit card, Jennifer stood up. She still swayed a little but declined assistance from the detective. Jennifer had too long depended on the help of others. Now, she wanted to walk on her own again.

She found Roman sitting in the lobby. Worried. Restless. But as Jennifer walked closer, Roman recognized her. Standing half up, he asked: "Jennifer?"

"Yes. Sort of." She gave him a lop-sided grin. "Thanks for waiting. I hoped we could talk."

Roman got up to help her the last few meters to one of the couches in the lobby. This time, Jennifer accepted the help. Sitting down together, Jennifer reached for his hands.

"First, let me thank you." She gave a weak smile. Trying to overplay her nervousness. "Taking me in was very generous of you. Especially as you didn't know who I am."

Jennifer held up her hand as Roman was about to speak up. "Please. I have to explain. In the last few days, you had speculated that Jennifer might not be my real name. I am afraid that is true. You see, I used to be double your age. Technically, still am. Jennifer was just a figment of fiction the fashion witch spun to make better sales." Jennifer wet her lips to steal a moment to calm down. The next part would be the hardest. "You see, I am not a cheerleader. Never was. And I was known by the name of Robert."

"You-" Roman stopped himself. Taking a moment to process. His inner turmoil was plain to see for Jennifer. First, the realization set in. Then, the shame. "I am so sorry. I hadn't-"

"Known," Jennifer finished for him. "I know that and I don't blame you in any way. Roman, before coming to you Jennifer had been fiction. But you made her real for me. I needed something to cling to and you taking me seriously has helped. Going in I had not been Jennifer, but now, there is nothing I'd rather be. Even if someone offered a way to go back."

She saw hope blossom in Roman's eyes. "You aren't mad?"

Jennifer wanted to hug him. The impulse was there. But now, she wasn't immobile anymore. Nothing was stopping her. To his surprise, she pulled him into a hug. "Mad? I am grateful. For everything you have done. You helped me through a very hard time and asked nothing in return. How can I be mad about it?"

For a moment, they savored their shared embrace. Then, slowly, they parted. "What now?" Roman asked. "Can you go back to your old life? Changed as you are."

"Probably, but I don't want to," Jennifer admitted. Then took a deep breath. "I wondered if I could stay with you. Just a little while longer."

"Really? With me?" Roman looked thoughtful and then gave a short laugh. "Aren't you sick of me by now?"

"Of you, never." Jennifer's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Your cooking? For sure."

"You never tasted my cooking," Roman protested.

"Thank God," Jennifer gasped. "I might have died of food poisoning. And that as a pillow. How embarrassing that would be. Look, you let me stay for a while and I'll teach you a thing or two in the kitchen."

"Fair enough." Roman offered his hand. "Deal?"

Instead of taking the offered hand, Jennifer drew him in for another hug. "Deal."

"Wanna go home?"

"Yes." It was a long day and Jennifer just wanted to get comfy. Maybe what a Telenovela. "Oh, no."

At once, Roman looked alarmed. "What is it?"

"Desierto-Rosas De La Pasión!" she exclaimed. "How late is it? Maybe we can go back just in time."

"You actually like them?" Roman asked as he helped her stand up. "I thought that was made up."

Jennifer leaned a little more on Roman as she might need to. "I mean, at first I didn't. My Spanish was kinda rusty too. But when you get into it, it is exciting. Last episode, Paquita was bitten by a venomous snake. It couldn't have come at a worse time as-"

After a short talk with the receptionist, Roman and Jennifer left arm in arm. A shared hug that wouldn't look wrong on a young couple in love.

The end.

---

bonus end scene 1 - Kahina's fate

---

A few hours earlier,

Mistress Carmen smiled brightly as she exited an apartment with the latest trophy in her arms. A bright red catsuit with stylish paneling that surely would enhance Carmen's look once worn.

Her boots echoed through the hallway as she walked with assured steps toward the exit. Then there was a twitch. A little change in the magic around her. Surprised, Mistress Carmen unrolled her latest acquisition.

"Oh, my. Kahina, what was that? Don't tell me you can still access your magic. How unusual. And fortunate that I noticed. A sneaky witch might be able to escape. Or worse, enchant me."

Her words had the intended response. Not only could Kahina use magic - in much-diminished strength - but the transformed witch managed to slightly move her latex body. A twitch here or there.

"But don't you worry," Mistress Carmen said as she rolled Kahina back up. "I know just what to do with you. A slight mental enchantment and a round trip to my servants with the postal service will do wonders. By the time you get out, you'll be begging to be worn by a woman like me."

Carmen placed the rolled-up Kahina under her arm and patted it with her hand. Then, with a big smile, she walked out of this dreadful building. Why would anyone hide in such a boring place? She had to educate Kahina once she came back. Not that it would make a shred of difference.

---

bonus end scene 2 - Sarah says Hi

---

Five weeks later,

Jennifer practically flew the last few meters to the apartment building. Not because one of her Telenovelas would soon start. Each tiny jump made her mini skirt move up and down. Just to tease Roman a little more.

It had been a nice day for a little walk. They had enjoyed the park, gotten ice cream, and enjoyed a kiss on one of the romantic little bridges. As Jennifer lost time opening the door, Roman caught up and drew her into another kiss.

They practically fell inside. "Behave," Jennifer warned. "Just a little longer."

"Anything for me?" Roman asked as Jennifer opened the mailbox labeled R. Haney and J. Andrews.

"Yes, actually there is a letter for you." Jennifer frowned as she flipped the letter a few times over. "But there is no return address. Not even a stamp."

"Strange." Roman tore the envelope open and pulled out a postcard. The sight made him stop and stare.

Worried, Jennifer looked over his shoulder. The postcard showed a flooded banquet hall and a mermaid floating right in the middle of it. But what amazed Jennifer was that the mermaid moved. Slightly bopping up and down. A small loop that animated her and the surrounding in the background.

Obviously, the postcard had to be magic. "Who would send something like this to you?" Jennifer asked.

Her question broke Roman's petrification. "You don't understand." He tilted the postcard so Jennifer could see it better. Then pointed to the mermaid. "That's my sister."

"Sarah?"

Roman nodded. Too stunned to act, Jennifer gently took the postcard from him. Flipping it over revealed a short message. She read aloud: "Hey, Brother. Heard you are looking for me. I am fine now. Can't spare any details yet. But we will talk to you soon. I promise. Love, Sarah."

"She's free?" Roman asked.

Jennifer wanted to say yes, but the fact that Sarah was a mermaid opened up many questions.

"Hopefully," Jennifer said as she drew Roman into a hug. "Let's ask her when we hear from her again."

---

Colton stopped his car at the farthest spot from the club. It was the middle of the day and the lot was nearly empty. Still, he needed some privacy and didn't dare to park closer. Picking up an old-school map, Colton O'Hara checked once more the many colored dots on it. All unexplained disappearances of persons. Presumed victims of a fashion witch. To his co-workers, the pattern was too random to draw conclusions. But Colton had a hunch.

Smack in the middle of the area sat one of the more popular strip clubs. The very same now before Colton. He was sure this was the common nominator of all the victims. The overwhelming maturity of the missing persons had been male. And in many apartments, he had found evidence they had been here. At this club. Bills, matchstick blocks, and fliers all pointed in this direction.

Colton was sure. This was the hiding spot of his quarry. It was time to get ready. First, he shrugged out of his jacket. It was necessary to equip a shoulder holster that would contain his service weapon. Colton doubted he would need it. Next was a back sling for the real star of his loadout. Colton picked up a handgun that put others to shame. It was a monster. Rated to take down armored vehicles or a charging elephant in one shot. A few shots might even take down a witch. It felt heavy on his back, but also good. Reassuring.

Slipping his jacket back on, Colton sent a quick text to police dispatch. If anything happened to him, they would at least know where he had found his demise. Then, he unclipped the police badge from his belt. The protocol was for him to leave it behind. If he failed and succumbed to a fashion witch, she would at least not go after his fellow officers. Plain clothed as he was, he might be one of the many bounty hunters that aimed to claim the head prize posted for a fashion witch. To that effect, he picked up a fake bounty hunter's license. As the last step, he placed a small temporary tattoo of a panda on his wrist.

Getting out of his car, Colton walked with a confident step towards the entrance. Two burly men played bouncers. They might be the first hurdle to overcome. But after a quick check of his ID, they waved him through. Just a cursory pat down would have revealed his weapons. Either they were incompetent or they wanted him to get in. Of course, there was a worse option. There might be other security in place. One of the magical varieties.

The inside was nothing special. Colton's work led him often enough into strip clubs. Not that he enjoyed them himself. Yet the muted atmosphere with trashy pop songs and neon lights spoke volumes to him. The club was large and it was midday. Hardly the busiest time of the day for such a club. Yet he found a girl on every stage. They went through the motion even when no one was looking. Giving a nod to the attractive brunette barkeeper, Colton made for one of the stages that had no patrons yet.

He put on one of his cockiest grins as he sat down. The girl on the stage immediately reacted. Giving him a great show. She might be disappointed if she found out just how little Colton cared for her performance. Still, he played his part. Pulling out two rolled-up bundles of ones and using them generously. His expense report would be a bitch, but Colton was used to that particular rodeo.

As he played the part of generous and enraptured patron, Colton stole glances around him. Most customers he could discount quickly. He knew the crowd that hung out midday in a strip club. It was unlikely any one of them would be a fashion witch.

Then, he spotted her. A mid-twenties blonde sat in a booth surrounded by three strippers. She clearly was having a good time and had the spending money to boot. Stacks of bills were on her table. Along with booze and some bags that might contain drugs. If that wasn't Colton's fashion witch then he still might do an arrest today anyway.

"What can I get you, honey?"

The sugary voice belonged to the bartender, who now leaned over Colton's shoulder. She clearly had the looks to rival those of the strippers but dressed slightly more modestly.

"Whiskey. Neat." Colton pulled out an extra twenty and pointed with it at his suspected witch. "What can you tell me about her?"

The bartender was quick to take the bill. "Regular. Big spender. She's here all the time. Knows how to have a good time. And-" The bartender gave a quick glance over. The woman they were talking about was distracted by the skillful display of a performer. "Not someone you want to tangle with. I'd recommend staying clear of her."

"Thanks for the advise," Colton replied and slipped her another twenty. "I guess I'll stick to my whiskey."

As soon as the bartender was away, Colton pulled out his phone. One more quick text and then he locked it. Throwing a few more bills to the stripper before him, Colton casually stood up. It was time to hunt. Roaming about, he pretended to look at a few more strippers. Slowly making his way closer to his prey.

The moment was perfect. The witch was distracted. No security was anywhere close. Not even other patrons. In a fluid motion, Colton knelt down, opened his back sling, and drew his witch killer. Countless practices had him draw and aim the hand cannon within seconds. With the witch's head in his aim, Colton braced for a hell of a kickback from the gun.

Darkness enveloped Colton in the next second. He couldn't move his body and it felt strange. As if he couldn't even discern where his limbs were.

Bright light tore through the darkness above him. A giant hand reached down and grabbed Colton. It belonged to an equally giant bartender.

"Look, Sidney." The bartender flung Colton's limp body around. "This one nearly blew your head out."

Sidney jumped up. Gone was her carefree nature. She looked scared. Not at the giant gun that Colton had dropped or even himself. Her doe eyes were riveted on the bartender. "Thank you, Abigail."

A deep pit opened within Colton. He had made a rookie mistake. Fallen for a decoy that had just been perfect. The real fashion witch was now holding him up. It had been the bartender all along.

Abigail held Colton close to her mouth as she whispered: "Told you not to tangle with her. You should have listened." She then addressed one of the strippers. "Jenna. Grab his stuff and follow me."

The reply was quick and meek. "Yes, Abigail."

Colton could do nothing as he was carried backstage. Up some stairs and into a large office. Two things he noticed immediately. There was a large pile of weapons in one corner. Jenna added his guns to the pile. His witch killer wasn't even the largest piece on it. And then there were the hooks. Hundreds of them drilled into the ceiling. More than a handful were occupied by brightly colored thongs dangling off them. Here, Colton found a new home as Abigail placed him on another hook. Making it clear what he had become. Just another thong. One more trophy of a fashion witch. His life as he knew it was over. All that he could hope for was that his texts would make other police officers wearier. And, maybe in time, that he was worn.

---

The next morning, Abigail plucked Colton from his hook. He wasn't the only one. Late in the evening, a lot more thongs had been placed on the ceiling. Now, Abigail picked thongs at random before heading downstairs.

The club was deserted. Not a single soul was here besides Abigail. It changed quickly. She threw one thong on the ground and a split second later, a naked man crouched there. Colton recognized him as one of the bouncers.

"Thank you, Abigail, for letting me serve you again."

One by one, the thongs were thrown and more of the club's staff appeared. Each thanked Abigail for the role they got to play. Be it a stripper or even a decoy. At last, it was only Colton who remained a thong. He was helpless as Abigail walked to the bar, grabbed a glass and bottle of booze, and walked to one of the stages. Here, she sat down and poured herself a glass. Only then, she threw Colton on the stage.

His fabric body had barely hit the ground when he was suddenly flesh and blood again. Landing on an ass more plum than his normal one, he knew it was a new body. Just a quick glance revealed the truth. Colton had become a woman. For a moment, Colton was relieved. Everything was better than being a thong stuck on a hook at the ceiling. He'd gladly take a stripper's body if that was his only option.

The impatient snapping of fingers diverted Colton's attention from his new voluminous body to Abigail. "Done checking yourself out? Good." Abigail took a swig and enjoyed it. Making Colton squirm with dread at what was in store for him. She snapped when his eyes darted to the exit. "Don't even think about running away. Dillon and Spencer will catch you. They better be if they don't want to be punished. And even if you should slip out successfully, I have placed a tracking spell on you. There is nowhere to run girl, where I can't find you."

Colton swallowed hard. He had feared as much. It was clear the whole staff of the club was Abigail's thralls. She had to have something on them if she could frighten them enough that none dared to stand up to her. Despite outnumbering her by twenty to one.

"Now." Abigail sat down her glass and leaned forward. "What are you supposed to be?"

He knew it was coming. The inevitable interrogation. Colton just had to stick to the story. It wouldn't save him, but it could prevent acts of revenge by Abigail against the police.

"A bounty hunter," he said and cursed himself for how meekly it sounded.

"Oh, sweety. So wrong. Sounds like you think with your tits instead of your brain. That answer was garbage. What you are, is a stripper. My stripper. At least, as long as you make me money. Got it?"

Colton nodded. Not trusting his voice.

"Then get to it, girl." Abigail took a quick drink before waving impatiently at Colton. "Show me what you got. You get a few days of grace period to improve before you go on a live stage. Either that or the hook. So, give your best, girl."

This was embarrassing. Shameful. Colton had worked hard to not just become a police officer, but a detective. And now he was reduced to a common stripper. Yet, there was nothing he could do. Biting down bitter replies, Colton went to work. Degrading himself like this was still better than being fabric.

---

"Come on, Titsi. Shake those babies."

Scarlet hated that stage name. It had been just another humiliation Abigail had thrown at her. Now, all the patrons knew her as such. For the life of her, Scarlet couldn't think of herself as Titsi. Even though she had the tits that inspired the stage name. After five weeks in this hell, she couldn't think of herself as Colton either. Or as a man. One way or another, she was stuck as a woman. Or thong. Every closing time, Abigail went around. Collecting all her prisoners as thongs and hanging them up.

She had picked Scarlet as a name for herself. A nod to a character in the novel Gone With The Wind. How could she not? They already shared the same last name. By now, Scarlet had gotten a few of the others to call her by that name. However, never when Abigail was close.

"Do I need to remind you all of what is at stake?"

The shout from Abigail had the intended effect. Scarlet doubled her efforts to look good in her performance. Today, there would be competition. To Scarlet's horror, Abigail had a lot more victims than she had realized. Today, the club was crowded with strippers. All eager to show how good they were.

"Only the top third gets to be my strippers," Abigail reminded everyone. "The rest get to be outfits for another three months. So, get to it. We open in ten. Those who make me the most money stay human. The rest get an extra rinse cycle in the washer tomorrow."

Now Scarlet knew why all her outfits had always felt so good. Making her reluctant to even strip out of them. She had worn sentient garments and hadn't even known. None of the other girls had warned her.

It was obvious when the club opened. A flood of customers rushed in. Tryout day was known to the patrons. Just not how significant it was for those who participated. It was a grueling day for Scarlet. When it wasn't her turn on the stage, she made her way through the masses. Offering her service for a lap dance or two. Anything to earn a little more and stay ahead of others.

She nearly missed it. A small tattoo of a cute little panda peeking out of one guy's sleeve. It was placed right on his wrist. Scarlet circled the club two times before she could make an inconspicuous approach.

"Hey there," she purred as she boldly sat down on his lap. Laying it on thick was not thick enough. This was an opportunity. "Cute tattoo. Had one just like it. Are you thirsty?"

"Really?" The guy looked handsome and muscular too. Even a little familiar. And for once, Scarlett didn't mind that someone checked her out. The guy downed the last sip of his drink and then smiled. "As a matter of fact, I am fresh out. What are you recommending?"

"How about an Appletini?" Scarlet was aware that she drew curious glances from other girls nearby. This wasn't a drink usually ordered in a strip club. But she had to go all in. "The bartender does a mean Appletini. Trust me."

The guy rubbed his chin. "Are you sure? I had other people claim that before and it was a weak ass version."

"It's her specialty," Scarlet insisted. "In fact, I bet all my money on it." And her humanity, but she didn't voice that out loud.

"Okay." He gave her a serious nod. "Let's go with that."

Not a second later, the club broke out in chaos. First, there was the shattering of glass. Scarlet saw Abigail stumble backward and a hole in the wall opposite her. A faint bang was heard too. Just then, Abigail was thrown back again as a light flashed in front of her in the faint outline of a sphere. More glass shattered behind the fashion witch and the first people threw themselves on the ground.

Abigail raised her right arm. To what end, Scarlet couldn't tell as the witch's hand disintegrated into blood and gore. There was a brief moment when Scarlet could tell that Abigail realized what was happening. The fear started to creep into her eyes. Then the whole head exploded along with a large chunk of the bar behind her.

"Geez!" Scarlet exclaimed. "What did you guys use?"

"Fifty cal from about a mile away." The guy had stood up just after Scarlet did. "Anti-material rifles. Works for witches too."

"If you fire enough of them," Scarlet agreed. "Three just to get through her shield."

Around them, the chaos started to tickle down. First, there were a few claps. Then hollering and cheering. The patrons looked clueless why the strippers hugged each other and celebrated a bloodbath.

"I think you need to get on that," Scarlet remarked.

"Right." He climbed on a stage and then shouted in a surprisingly authoritative voice. "Officer Ramirez. SWAT. Everyone down. On your belly. Face to the floor. Now! My team will be breaching in just a few seconds and anyone still standing might be counted as hostile."

Scarlet did follow the instructions before Ramirez was even done speaking. She was so close to the finish line that she'd be stupid to chance it all on a possible friendly-fire situation.

---

A half-hour later, Ramirez found her leaning against an ambulance. "Antony. Antony Ramirez." He offered his hand. "I take it you are Colton O'Hara."

"Yeah." She shook and his strong hand felt surprisingly nice in her own. "Though I don't know if I can continue calling myself Colton. I've been eyeing Scarlet."

"Like that character in that book?"

Scarlet shrugged. "Might as well. Thanks for the assist, by the way."

"Just doing my job," Antony was quick to say. His words were followed by a blush. "Sorry about ogling you before."

"Part of the job too. I understand." Scarlet let out a short burst of a chuckle. Seeing Ramirez's questioning look, she explained. "Never thought all those silly keywords we learned would save my bacon one day."

Antony shared in her mirth with a laugh of his own. "Yeah, half of those were thought up by my team. We had to come up with stuff applicable everywhere."

"Well, thanks for that. And for saving me." Scarlet gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I think I owe you and your team a drink."

"As long as it isn't a mean Appletini."

"Oh, no." Scarlet shook her head for emphasis. "One mean appletini in a lifetime is more than enough."

Scarlet pushed off the ambulance as she saw the police chief arrive. Time to give her report. But first, she turned around to Antony again. "And who knows. Maybe I'll throw in dinner too. Just for you." With a wink, she marched off. Because she knew the difference between fake ogling and real interest. And Ramirez was definitely into her.

The end.

Hamish steered his old Ford pickup truck into the parking lot behind the local dinner. Slipping out, he could hear the creaking of the suspension. Or had it been his back? Hamish could believe both. He wasn't the youngest anymore. Just a few more years, he always promised himself. Then he could enjoy retirement. What he would do with it was beyond Hamish. His work was his life. Without-

Shaking his head, he cleared those morose thoughts. His client could be waiting. She was the only client that had mattered for the past few years. With a practiced swing, Hamish slammed the door of his pickup shut. To his surprise, the door stayed put. Normally he needed a few tries. Maybe that was a good sign. He could use one.

Stepping onto the main street, Hamish took a moment to appreciate the small town of Bakersville. Just a few years prior, it had been desolate and run down. Barely any soul had been on the sidewalk. Now, new shops have opened up. Trees and potted plants lined the street. He couldn't spot a single piece of trash. Bakersville had changed. It was idyllic now. The picturesque ideal of a small town.

Hamish shuddered. Everything came at a price. He himself was not without sin. His hands were dirty too. He had played a part. Still did. His client was waiting. She didn't like to wait. That, he knew.

Hamish walked up to Benny's Diner. Beyond the glass door, he saw the classical look of the fifties. An iconic design. Benny had never cared for that. Had barely cared to run his diner. It had looked the part. Neglected and run down.

Hamish walked in and Benny waved from the kitchen at him. All smiles. He looked happy. And for all that Hamish knew, that might be the truth. Benny had changed. As had his diner. Both hadn't been voluntary.

His client sat in her usual booth. Staring out onto the street. She only noticed him when he reached the booth himself. "Gladis," he acknowledged her and gave a tip of his imaginary hat. Hamish hated the gesture, but Gladis appeared to like it. Everything that made her happy was good practice in general.

"Hamish. There you are. Sit." Gladis was all smiles and sugary. Belying the predator beneath her facade. "How is business?"

Hamish sat down opposite her and tried to prevent a groan from slipping out. His body reminded him from time to time how hard he had worked in the last few decades. Instead of an acknowledgment of his pain, he gave the best casual smile that he could muster. "I left my schedule wide open for you."

"Excellent!" Just then, a waitress in a retro uniform showed up. Gladis held up a finger to give her pause. She pulled out a slim folder and slid it over to Hamish. "My newest project. Why don't you take a look while I order us something? My treat."

As always, Hamish hesitated to reach for the folder. How many of these projects had he helped her with? Involuntary, he glanced at the waitress. Her name was Janice or Jasmine. Something starting with a J. It had been Kyle Handerson, Hamish remembered. It happened just after they had remodeled Benny's Diner - and Benny - when Gladis decided it needed proper staff. Kyle had been unemployed and a drunkard. Now, she was mid-twenties, all smiles, and all woman.

Hamish reached for the folder. It would contain who her newest victim would become. Gladis' projects weren't renovations. That followed after. It was people. Whoever didn't fit her idea of the perfect small-town citizen. And she was good at it. Gladis was a witch. Body and mind yielded to her magic.

Determined to not push away the inevitable, Hamish opened up the folder. An all too familiar form greeted him. Filled out by Gladis' flowing handwriting. It would contain more information than he technically needed. He was this town's only carpenter. His profession for the last few decades. Now, thanks to Gladis, he could add interior design to his job description. It would fall to him to remodel the victim's place of living to the chosen new person they would become. In some cases - like Benny - he had to renovate their place of work too.

The first anomaly was the box that should contain the name of whoever drew Gladis' attention. Hamish wondered why. It wasn't like he could warn whoever was the next project. Running away was futile. Gladis had put some kind of spell over the whole town. None of the residents could speak of their plight to outsiders. They could leave the town, but not permanently. Only for legitimate reasons. They were trapped and there was no one to help them. So, why had she left the name blank?

Hamish knew who the person would become. A woman named Adele Walls. Age twenty-four. The occupation was professional YouTuber. There were some details to it, but Hamish skipped them for now. Youtube. The internet.

He hadn't been the biggest supporter of this innovative technology. Far from it. His niece had called him a stubborn mule until she finally convinced him to get a computer. And this dreaded internet. Hamish had used it to the bare minimum. Preferring personal contact, books, and good old-fashioned work. Not this techno mumbo-jumbo.

And then, Gladis arrived. Suddenly he was forced to acquire knowledge that was alien to him. His sense of interior design was outdated by decades. Now, he was forced to use this internet day by day. To acquire new information as fast as possible. A part of him resented the change. Yet he couldn't help but to agree with his niece too. He had been a stubborn mule and some of what the internet had to offer was useful. Not that he would admit it out loud.

"What do you think?" Gladis asked.

Reminded of the witch before him, Hamish did his best to school his face. "A YouTuber." The word sounded like a curse. "Are you sure you want those here? That could bring a lot of attention to Bakersville."

"Ah, Hamish." Gladis gave him one of those patronizing smiles usually reserved for grandparents giving their young grandchildren. "That's the point. Bakersville can't be a paragon of small-town living if no one knows about us."

Hamish strongly disagreed but kept his opinion to himself. Gladis was putting up a show. She wanted to present that perfect image of small-town nostalgia. A diorama with caged people in it. But it was all a lie. Then again, maybe that was the point. By acting as a paragon, maybe other small towns got revived too.

Instead of speaking up, Hamish returned his attention back to the file before him. He learned a few more generic details about the life Gladis had designed for one Adele Walls. The YouTuber to be. Most of it sounded quite mundane. A few details he would have to look up on the internet. Some of the modern slang was simply unknown to him.

And then, Hamish's stomach dropped. A tiny little detail. He had read over it two times, but it was the third time that it clicked in his head. A fact that changed everything.

He needed to get out. Fresh air. Get away from that witch before him. Hamish stood up. The folder was still in his grasp.

"Hamish?"

"I better get started," Hamish heard himself say. As if someone puppeted his mouth.

"Don't be hasty," Gladis chided him. "You haven't even eaten yet."

The last thing Hamish wanted was to share a meal with this monster before him. And Gladis was a monster. Her cheerful and pleasant exterior might fool some. Even Hamish had to remind himself sometimes. Gladis was a fashion witch. One who could take away a person's human body and transform it into a simple garment. Sentient and alive, but trapped and at the whim of the witch.

Her normal handiwork was not better by much. Hamish hadn't known that fashion witches could do what Gladis can. Not just altering a human body, but the mind too. She could bend personality into a new shape and permanently alter one's memories. Granted, if the breadcrumbs he had picked up from Gladis were true, all these extra abilities were rare among fashion witches.

Hamish took a step back. "To be honest, I am not feeling that well. Ruins my appetite."

"You do look a little pale," Gladis conceded. "Don't get sick on me. We have work to do."

"I will do my best." As Gladis dismissed him, Hamish made his way out of the diner. Barely avoiding running out instead of walking. He needed air. Desperately.

He made it all the way around the diner to the parking lot before Hamish started to heave and barf up the last remains of his breakfast. Then, with shaky legs, he made for his pickup truck. Getting in, Hamish threw the folder on the passenger seat and rested his hands on the steering wheel.

"That monster!" A fit of rage overcame him and Hamish hit the steering wheel to let go of some of his anger. This was quite unusual for him, but the situation warranted it. His gaze went to the folder. It had fallen open and revealed the future details of Adele Walls. A YouTuber with a specialization in crafting and woodworking. There was only one person in town who had that particular skill set. "As if leaving the original name empty would keep me fooled!"

And yet, no amount of rage would help. Magic prevented him from running. He couldn't bring himself to call anyone and ask for help. Part of the enchantment that laid on him and every other town member. Hamish was trapped and his future was already laid out.

---

An hour later, Hamish arrived home. It was only a five-minute drive from the diner to his small home, but Hamish remembered the lessons of his father all too well: "Never drive in anger or drunk. It will get you killed."

Getting out of his beaten-up truck, Hamish took a moment to look at his house. It wasn't the largest. Two stories. Later an added-on workshop for his job. The whole building was raised and built by himself nearly three decades ago. Sure, he had help from neighbors and friends, but it still represented his work.

He grabbed the dreaded folder and the form within. Hamish's eyes fell on the address of Adele Walls' future residence. The apartment above the drugstore of the Meyer family. Gladis wouldn't even let him keep his home.

Slamming the truck's door shut - this time he needed three tries - Hamish walked to his home. Everything about it was familiar to him. One could say it was an extension. An expression of his carpenter skills and his personality. Unlike his late brother, Hamish had never married. This house represented him and him alone.

Inside, most of the furniture was his handiwork too. He didn't give a crap about that mass-produced stuff by IKEA and other big companies. Handcrafted was better. That the monster Gladis agreed was a thorn in his side.

Instead of his usual routine, Hamish went to the kitchen and opened up a cupboard he rarely opened. The half-full bottle of single malt whiskey had dust on it. He didn't believe in self-medication, but sometimes shit hit the fan and one needed something to dull the sharp point of dread. Hamish remembered the last time he had taken out this bottle. The day his brother died in a car crash.

For hours, Hamish sat at the dining table and stared at that dreaded folder. Only now and then taking a sip of whiskey. His future was sealed in that document. He couldn't run from it and he couldn't hide from it. And going against a fashion witch was suicide. No, worse than that.

"Better be a woman than to become panties."

Or any other garments. If he would become a garment in the case of pissing off Gladis. He had heard horror stories about object transformations that were much worse. Compared to that, Hamish should consider himself lucky that his fate was only to become a woman.

"Why a woman?" he asked into the room. Of course, no one answered him. "Doesn't make sense. Why not leave me as a man? Shouldn't make a difference if I make videos as a man or woman."

Hamish took another look at the file. YouTuber. He knew nothing about making videos. Had no idea about the technical know-how or how to moderate one. They probably have to be planned too. Unknown territory. Much like some of the buzzwords Gladis had scribbled down. What the hell was upcycling?

As twilight settled over the room, Hamish stood up. The bottle was empty anyways. With unsure steps, he climbed the stairs. Collapsed on his bed. His fate was sealed and Hamish knew he should wallow in his own pity. Maybe tomorrow would be better. He sure hoped so.

---

Hamish groaned as he got up. His head hammered with pain and he sluggishly made for his medicine cabinet. He had never been good with alcohol, but his advanced age made it a lot worse.

"Not to worry. Soon I'll be young again."

There was a cheery thought and it nearly made him laugh out loud. So much for his well-deserved retirement. Hopefully, Gladis would fix his back too. That was something to look forward to.

Hamish stopped after swallowing two ibuprofen and a glass of water. His hand paused mid-movement to refill the glass. Yesterday, he had been all gloom and doom since meeting Gladis. The life he knew was about to end and a new one would start. Now a new day had started and he suddenly had a strange realization. Maybe there were aspects of it that weren't that bad. Maybe even advantageous.

Closing the medicine cabinet, Hamish was confronted with his mirror image. What stared back was a man past his prime. With a roughness to him that no woman had ever filed down as he never had a relationship lasting longer than a few months. His reflection also looked old and tired. Weary by a long life of work and not much else.

Making his way downstairs, Hamish really took in his home and saw what he got. It was familiar. An extension of himself. "You haven't changed much, have you?" he asked as he let his fingers run over the walls. Just like him, his house had stagnated.

When he was young, Hamish had always found a project or two to improve his home. Friends had even joked that his house would never be finished. But in time, Hamish had found fewer and fewer things to improve. And then, he simply stopped. Only getting his tools out if something needed repairing.

In the last few years, Hamish had to learn a lot about interior design. He had always used it to reimagine other homes. Never his own. Now, he looked for the first time at his domain. It was clean and well-maintained. It also looked outdated. A relic of the past. Just like himself.

Hamish made breakfast on autopilot. Waiting for the headache that plagued him to recede. Only once his stomach was full and he could think clearly, Hamish pulled the folder close and started to read again.

Again, anger flared up within him as he took the details in. Yes, losing over thirty years of age wasn't that bad. But why did he have to be a woman? Or a YouTuber for that matter. Maybe he could ask Gladis to reconsider. He had done it before. A suggestion here and there. Small things.

And there was the problem. Never had he dared to debate her on a major point of change. Gladis was a fashion witch, after all. And while she could be all smiles, Hamish knew her temper could change at the drop of a hat. He doubted he could change her plans. Maybe he could tweak it, but Hamish had to admit to himself that he was on lost ground. Adele would be a YouTuber and she would be a woman. Those were the cornerstones of her persona. Hamish had to accept these facts along that he would become her.

"I have to make my peace with it," he mumbled to himself. There was no sense in fighting it, but if he accepted the fact then maybe he could suggest some alterations. Minor ones. But which one?

Hamish grabbed the folder and walked to his computer. Until he knew, Hamish decided that denial was a goal strategy. Even if that denial was forced and not by heart. What would he do if Adele wasn't his future, but of someone else? If she was just another project of Gladis in which he had no stake in it.

The first step would be researching and here Hamish started. A woodworking YouTuber. Would there be some? Hamish had never bothered to look before. After all, he was a learned carpenter with over three decades of knowledge under his belt. Wood didn't change. What could he possibly learn?

To his surprise, he found plenty of videos. Carpenters of all ages uploaded videos on a variety of projects. He scrolled through them when Hamish noticed a small detail. Most of these YouTubers were male. Not many women uploaded videos. It surprised him. A part of him had always known that his craft was dominated by man, but since he always worked alone it wasn't that obvious. Or had he simply ignored this imbalance?

Of course, the implications were clear. Gladis didn't just want a Youtube personality to highlight Bakersville and the carpenter craft. No, she wanted to advocate for gender equality. To show more young girls and women that it was a legitimate option for them. That Gladis would cheat by making a man into such a role model of a woman had some irony to it. It also cemented the fact that there was no way Hamish could convince her to keep his original gender.

For a moment, anxiety and dread welled up within him, but Hamish pushed it down. Instead of dwelling on this fact, he immersed himself in the task. He had to know what female woodworking YouTubers actually did. What projects do they usually tackle? Their methods and planning.

It was a revelation that caught Hanish off guard. He had expected things like chairs, tables, bookcases, and cabinets. The bread and butter of carpentry. And yes, there were those projects. Though there were always twists to them. An elaborate design or hidden function. Floating shelves and bookcases that could be turned one hundred and eighty degrees to reveal a new face and shelves.

But there was also so much more. Cabins were built. Some even on trailers. Tiny homes were those called. Old houses were renovated. Teardrop camping trailers built from scratch. Small mods for cars too. From center consoles to storage racks in the back.

Quaint little pavilions were raised in backyards surrounded by fancy assembled trellis and artfully constructed fences. Flowers and vegetables alike found a home in wooden planters and raised beds. Or even simple covers for composting bins.

With that flood of strange applications, it was welcome to see smaller projects that weren't as abstract, like bread boxes and spice racks. Even creative uses of reusing log trimmings for live edge furniture.

But while many of these projects were astonishing, the way they were assembled and produced was the real epiphany for Hamish. The old-fashioned practices were still alive but were now augmented by specialized tools that he would have loved when he was younger. His old machinery couldn't hold water to the new ones that had special features Hamish hadn't thought possible.

And then there were machines that added whole new functionality. From CNC routers to laser cutting and etching. It was a whole new world to Hamish that he first tried to dismiss, but couldn't help but envision the possibilities.

Video by video was consumed by Hamish and he jumped from one topic to the next. Following some obscure algorithm of suggested videos he couldn't comprehend. The manufacturing of a medieval musical instrument led him to an entirely new topic that departed from carpentry. Something called Cosplay. It was a kind of dress-up that oriented itself based on fictional characters. Hamish couldn't help but watch video after video until he noticed that he had spent two hours off-topic.

Standing up from his computer, Hamish felt old again. He had missed so much. Instead of continuing to learn, he had stuck his head in the sand and let the world pass by. Confronted with his changed fate, he now had the opportunity to remedy this oversight. A part of him was excited at that prospect.

Less so for the fact that he would do it as a woman. Not that he had anything against women. If any girl or young woman had asked to be his apprentice, he would have welcomed them with open arms. Carpentry was for everyone in his opinion. But he still didn't want to be a woman.

He knew how to be a man. To take care of his body. How to act. What other people expected of him. For nearly sixty years he had been one. Forty if one didn't count his adolescent years. And even those - one could argue - were in preparation for being a man. Sure, Hamish had to unlearn a few things he had been taught in his early years. His father hadn't been a very progressive man on the whole gender equality topic. Hamish had strived to be a better man. And he liked what he had become. Felt comfortable. Save.

What did he know about being a woman? Next to nothing. Maybe that was the reason he never had a girlfriend for long. They were still creatures that were largely a mystery to him. Nowadays, the woman he had the most contact with was his niece and she had thankfully moved away before Gladis arrived in town. Once Hamish became one, he'd have to start from zero. Not even teenage years or a mother to show him the ropes. He has to learn a whole new set of rules and social conventions. Not just knowing them, but living them too. And then there was the whole topic of hygiene.

Tired, Hamish ran his hand over his face. His fingers stopped over the stubble of a three-day beard. Stroking it a few times. He needed a shave. A good one. And he knew just the place to get one.

With a goal in sight, Hamish headed out of the door.

---

The bell over the door rang as Hamish stepped into the barbershop. Still the same one as the one he had visited as a young man. He remembered how proud he had been the first time that there was actually enough of a beard to warrant a shave at a barber. It had felt like an important step in becoming a man. For decades the shop had barely changed. But now, it got a new look that ran deeper than a fresh coat of paint. Hamish still felt slightly guilty about his part in it.

"I'll be right with you," an African American woman said without looking up. Still busy with another customer. Her most prominent feature was her long tightly knit braids that were gathered into an elaborate knot on her head and still managed to reach down to her waist. Latisha - as she was now known - appeared to be in her late twenties. But Hamish knew better.

"Little Hamish. In for a shave?" Latisha asked once she finished up with the last client. "Any special occasion?"

"Not really," Hamish replied while taking a seat in the offered chair.

A moment later, Latisha had him lathered up and started to sharpen her blade. A straight razor. Latisha was a traditionalist. With expertise, she went to work. Letting the blade glide over his skin without nicking his skin even once.

The whole time, Hamish tried to find the words. How should he start approaching a very delicate topic? There was a good chance
Latisha didn't want to talk about it. It might be a sore spot.

"So? What's the real reason you came by?" Latisha asked as she started to clean the blade.

To his shock, Hamish noticed in the mirror that he was all done. Lost in thought, he had missed the entire shave. Again, Hamish tried to speak up but chickened out again. "Just needed a shave."

"A shave?" Latisha leaned against a nearby basin and gave him a stern look. "Hamish, I've shaven you since you were wee high. The only times you come by is if you want to look presentable for something official or going out. And we both know that that isn't it."

Hamish contemplated pointing out that he came by for haircuts too but knew it was futile. It was best to get it out of his chest. "I think Gladis' next project is me."

For a moment, Hamish expected mockery. After all, he hadn't just been complacent but actively helping Gladis. But Latisha had never been the person to give in to such things.

"That's a scary prospect. Believe me, I know." Latisha took a seat in a barber's chair and gave Hamish her whole attention. "Has she told you about your future self?"

"No." A little amount of anger flared up again. Anger that was misplaced if directed at Latisha, so Hamish took a second to calm down. "You know her forms, right? The first field is the name of the target person. This time, it was empty. That's a first. All the skills- Well, not all the skills. But the key skills needed match mine. And there is no one else in town who has them. And the rest? We both know that she can make you invested in learning them."

Latisha played with one of her braids between her fingers and remained quiet for a moment. "Yes, your conclusion has some merit. One never knows with Gladis, but Occam's razor suggests it is you. I guess you got a peek behind the curtain and am now worried about what you will become. Anything you want to share?"

"I will become Adele Walls." There. Hamish had said it out loud. Just doing so added to the feeling of inevitability of it.

"You are switching genders." Latisha gave a few small nods. More to herself than Hamish. "That's rare for Gladis. There is Jenna at Benny's Diner, Mariah, and - well - me. I guess you have some questions."

"I do." Of the three men before him who had become women, Hamish respected Latisha the most. She wasn't just the oldest, but in his opinion also the wisest. "If you are willing to talk about it. I mean, it has to be a sore spot for you."

Latisha gave him a genuine smile. "Yeah, I admit, I was a tad bit angry at first. Maybe a day or two. But then, when I looked past my anger, it wasn't as bad as I feared."

"So, the transition wasn't that bad?" When Latisha didn't answer straight away, Hamish used the opportunity to be more precise. "I mean, a different body. Different needs. The knowledge that is missing. How to act and behave as a woman."

"Ohh! That wasn't actually that bad. Mariah and I speculated why. I think Gladis gave us a woman's starter kit. From the moment I was changed, I knew how to adjust to a changed center of gravity. What and how to wear."

Hamish should be elated at the news. At least, he didn't have to suffer by missing knowledge and skills. But at the same time, it sounded like more and more of his personality would be overwritten. Just how much would be left of him?

"I didn't know she could grant knowledge and skills."

"I think she can only copy her own." Latisha leaned forward. "Get this. On day one, I have no problem whatsoever. Living my life as if I was born a woman. But not all works out perfectly. I knew how to take care of long hair. Was so sure of it. Nope. Turns out I knew how to take care of the hair type Gladis has. And before you ask, there are plenty of hair types. I mean, I am African American. Gladis is as Caucasian as it gets. I should have known that our care routines and products would be different. So much for spending decades as a barber. Yet when she copied her knowledge, I instinctively went with her approach. Took me two weeks to notice. And that's just one example."

"Sounds like those who get gender-bend by her get a rough start," Hamish concluded. "Those who remain their gender don't need the cliff notes provided by Gladis. Might also explain why she hasn't turned any woman into a man yet. "What other examples are there?"

"Well, you know that Mariah wasn't a seamstress and boutique owner before. Back as Hank, she had no clue about fashion." As Hamish nodded, Latisha dished out more. "You see when Hank became Mariah, she inherited Gladis' fashion sense."

Even Hamish could guess where this one was going. "Her style is a bit old-fashioned."

"A little? Last century!" Latisha exclaimed but stepped back a moment later. "Well, not quite. Whenever I see her, I feel back transported back into my twenties or thirties. Well, the first ones. Poor Mariah had to unlearn and educate herself on all matters of fashion. Well, I say poor Mariah, but you know how she is now. Loves fashion. Had the time of her life."

Hamish did a quick mental calculation. It appeared Gladis was stuck in the mid-fifties to mid-sixties of the last century. Or maybe she just fancied that era. Hamish couldn't tell.

"So, when I become Adele, I shouldn't think I am finished. There is still work to be done."

"That's true for all of us who were changed by Gladis. Not just those who became a woman." Latisha looked away for a moment of contemplation before addressing Hamish again. "Think of it like this. For one moment in time, Gladis takes a cake form and makes us the batter. A quick bake and a new cake is ready. But the moment we are out of the form, it is up to us to give the finishing touches. What frosting do we want to have? Sprinkles or not? Some sugary decorations on top? That's all up to us. We want to be as yummy as we can get, right?"

Hamish nodded along for the most part of the allegory, but the last part had him lost. "Yummy? Has Gladis some rule about looking as best as we can that I am not aware of?"

"Oh, right! There is probably something I should clue you in. So it doesn't come as such a shock as it had been for us." Latisha rarely was at a loss for words, but now she looked like she was hunting for just the right ones. "You see, of the three people she changed from men to women, all of us found out we now fancy men. Let me tell you, that was quite a shock to me the first time I accidentally flirted with someone. I didn't even mean to. It just came naturally to me and I only noticed when my proverbial hook caught a fish."

Hamish suddenly felt like someone had slapped him. He hadn't even thought about that aspect. For over four decades, he had pursued women. Not with a lot of long-term success. But he had been comfortable with it. Now, that would change. He couldn't even wrap his mind around it. He wasn't gay and when Gladis changed him then he would be- Well, technically not gay either. Still, it was one more thing Gladis was taking from him and he wasn't too happy about it.

"Relax," Latisha urged him. Maybe sensing his inner tumult. "It is not as bad as one might think. At first, I was reluctant to acknowledge it. To even experiment. Now, I couldn't imagine going back. As with a lot of Gladis' changes, it is a matter of acceptance. If you do, you can find happiness. If not, you are only making it hard on yourself."

"Just going with it? Sounds easier said than done." Hamish pinched his nose and wished this discussion was over. Yes, this was exactly why he had come here. To get an inside scoop of someone who went through it before. But it all was so much at once that his mind had trouble catching up. "So, not only will I have to be that YouTube influencer, but no, that isn't enough for Gladis. Gotta find a man. Settle down. Portrait that perfect family life here in Bakersville."

Latisha shrugged. "So far Gladis hasn't given me any trouble. Sure, I am now into men, but I feel no urge to settle down. I mean, it will be hard to find someone I can click with. Ever heard of a man in his late twenties or early thirties who can match the life experience of an eighty-year-old? If I go huntin' it is good that it is just for sugar, you know. The moment they try to appear deep I could roll my eyes. Finding even normal friends is hard enough."

Another aspect Hamish hadn't thought of. It wouldn't be such a stark change as with Latisha, but still, Hamish would lose over half his age in years. Fitting in might be troublesome. Right now, the challenge appeared to be insurmountable. Yet he had no chance of avoiding it. Going to Gladis and saying he wasn't up for it simply wasn't an option. Right now, the glass was half empty for Hamish.

He gave a small snort. Maybe he should suggest Gladis make him an optimist. So he could happily work on problems that would discourage most. But the thought gave him pause. Yes, Gladis would change him. Body and mind. There was no helping it. But maybe he could make some suggestions. If he was careful and could back it up with some logic. Going with Latisha's anecdote, maybe Hamish couldn't just influence the icing and toppings of the cake named Adele Walls. Maybe he could also get Gladis to change the ingredients of the dough.

"Thanks, Latisha," Hamish said as he finally stood up. "To be honest, I am now more concerned than before, but at least I know what I am dealing with. Maybe I can make my peace with it in the next month."

"I hope you do," Latisha cuffed his shoulder. "But don't sweat it too much. It will work out in the end. It has to, right? After all, that is what Gladis aims for. A town where everyone is happy."

But at what price? Every time Hanish had defined an answer to that, Gladis went a step further. This time, Hamish was up on the chopping block and the future looked daunting. But thanks to Latisha he knew what lay ahead. And with that, he could plan.

---

Rarely, Hamish had been this nervous. Pacing back and forth in the apartment above the drugstore that would become the home of Adele Walls. His new home. Again and again, Hamish had gone over his plan in the last few days. Held mock presentations while being alone. Trying to guess what Gladis would say and how she would react. He had only one chance at this. Soon, he would be Adele, but who Adele would be wasn't written in stone yet.

He wiped his sweaty hands for the fifth time and made minuscule position changes to the furniture he had assembled. Compared to his usual work, this looked sloppy. As if he had gathered them without thought or care. Only a few matched each other, but that was by design. Hamish had a plan.

Eventually, he heard Gladis make her way upstairs. As she entered, Hamish expected the usual cheerful greeting. Not so today. This was the mid-project meeting where Hamish usually showed his progress toward the final stage. A chance for Gladis to make corrections. An option she usually took in a liberal amount.

"Hamish." She gave him a frown of displeasure. One that usually spelled bad news if found on a fashion witch. "What is the meaning of this?"

Now was his chance. If Hamish could convince her of his first suggestion was valid, then he had a way in. A crack that he could exploit.

"I can explain. This is all on purpose," he said aloud while holding his hands up in a pacifying and non-threatening gesture. "Look. Adele is a YouTuber, right? Focused on woodworking and restoration. Even upcycling."

Hamish was quick to step over to a small round table with an elaborate matching chair. Both looked like they had seen better days.

"I found these two at a yardsale two towns over. Quite old, but still solid." Hamish was quick to point out some dents and flaked-off paint. "A perfect project for a first video. Showing how to strip the paint and treat the wood. What to watch out for when handling the wood and how to later paint it. Not to mention there is some refurbishment needed. They could look quite different than they are now."

"All of these." Hamish made a wide sweeping gesture at the many pieces of furniture he had gathered. Be it from flea markets or from attics of friends and acquaintances. "Perfect for projects and videos. Because that's what Adele needs, right? Not the perfect furnished apartment. But something to work on and show the world her progress."

He held his breath as Gladis contemplated his storm of words. At last, she nodded. "I haven't looked at it this way. Very thoughtful of you."

Hamish took it as an encouragement to continue. "Of course, I have repainted the whole apartment. In neutral tones. Adele then can use it as a base to repaint rooms as needed and as her mood strikes." Hamish already had plans for it. Having played interior designer for a few years, Hamish could guess what he would like once he was Adele. But it wasn't assured, so he held off for now.

"Let me show you the studio." Hamish led her to the biggest space beside the living room. Probably meant for a bed, Hamish had other plans. "So, Adele needs a space to make her videos, right? This room is perfect. Plenty of space to place her camera, lights, and an area to display projects. Here we have a desk to work on. Still needs a computer. And besides it, an old vanity I found."

Quite nervous, Hamish didn't dare take a break. He had to use the momentum and push forth. Now, it was time to make suggestions that would impact how Adele would turn out. If he messed up, he could easily land on the bad side of Gladis.

"Here we have a small shelf for fitness and sport. I know. A little unusual. This is a studio, right? But if not in use it is the perfect space to do some yoga or other workout. I imagine that Adele will be fit, but not too muscular. I guess you don't want her too dainty either. Or a total makeup guru. More like the girl next door pretty. She has to be relatable, but still pretty enough to give her charm a boost. But if she is too pretty - like a supermodel - no one would believe she does her own work. So, balance is needed."

"That is a good point. Let me write that down." As Gladis pulled out her own folder with the form for Adele Walls, Hamish was nearly excited enough to jump for joy. Yet, he stifled the urge. As Gladis glanced up, Hamish was glad to school his face. "That's quite unusual for you to take so much interest. Normally I have to figuratively pull the words from your mouth. How come?"

For a moment, Hamish was tempted to reveal his cards. Point out how obvious Gladis was. That he is meant to become Adele. It was only natural for him to take an interest. They were talking about who he would become for the rest of his life. But Hamish knew better than to antagonize Gladis.

"I just thought maybe getting a little more involved might be good," he lamely answered instead and downplayed it with a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders.

Gladis straightened up and regarded Hamish for a moment. Then breaking out in a small smile. "That's a nice change of pace. What else do you have for me?"

Hamish's heart sped up. Gladis was actually receptive to his suggestions. Should he play it safe and show her the bay windows first or take a risk and bring the flag? He decided on the latter.

"Wait here." Hamish ducked out to get a cardboard tube from the living room. Once back, he pulled out the fabric of a flag and unrolled it for Gladis."

"A rainbow flag?" Gladis looked more surprised than dismissive.

Now came the biggest gamble for Hamish. It all depended if Gladis was nostalgic but progressive or simply conservative to a fault.

"I thought it would be good for Adele to be gay." Hamish didn't even give Gladis a moment to speak up. This was his chance. He had to take it. "Adele and her YouTube channel will be like a spokesperson for Bakersville. She can show that we are modern and educated. That we go with the times. You probably know about the many prejudices that plague small towns. That we are backward and don't welcome change. Dismissive of social reform. With Adele openly gay and Bakersville accepting of it, we can show everyone how modern we are. And maybe even change the perception of all small towns to a degree."

Hamish knew he had struck gold as Gladis' smile got wider and wider as he spoke. Not morphing into an evil or dismissive smile, but a warm one.

"I haven't even thought about that!" Gladis looked contemplative for a moment and Hamish tried his best to wipe the stupid smile from his face. "Stuck in my old ways indeed, but you are right. We need the representation of gay people. Come to think of it, for other minorities too. But those can wait for future projects."

For future lives to be screwed with by Gladis, but Hamish was too excited to be bothered by it. So far, he had achieved nearly everything he had set out to. There was only one more suggestion and it was a small one compared to the others. Hamish was sure now that he could push this one past Gladis too.

"There is one more suggestion that I have," Hamish spoke up. Then quickly corrected himself. "Well, less a suggestion and more like an opportunity. Can I show you?"

Gladis was all smiles. "Sure. Go ahead."

Hamish led her back to the living room and to the small nook that was nestled against bay windows. "I saw these and couldn't help but build a small reading nook. It's perfect. So much natural light and Adele can read here or work on a laptop. Maybe even watch the folks down there if she is bored."

If Hamish wouldn't become Adele anyways, he would be sorely tempted to remodel his house a bit. Add bay windows there too. But as he was moving out, it wasn't worth the work. Not for the first time Hamish wondered if one of Gladis' future projects would inherit his house. Maybe he should spend part of his free time in the next two weeks polishing it up. Leave it in a decent shape for whoever would live there next.

"A little bit of a bookworm," Gladis commented and drew Hamish's mind back to the present. "I could see that. She'll probably make her home as cozy as possible. How is the rest of the apartment?"

As cozy as possible. Hamish never had gone for cozy. His home was functional. What he had was the bare minimum of furniture. Sure, those were comfortable, but he had never gone out of his way to add dedicated spaces just to lounge around. Not like the reading nook he had added here. Maybe Adele was already becoming a part of him. Even without magic.

"Well." Hamish cleared his throat. "I had gas and water checked. Both are fine. Got Ray to go over electric. He exchanged some switches and whatnot to make it a bit more modern. But that is all done too."

"So, everything is ready for Adele?" Gladis asked. "Perfect. Sounds like she can move in today."

"What?" Hamish grew pale. This was too early. He was supposed to have two more weeks. Time to get more used to the thought of becoming a woman. Maybe even call his niece and tell her some story about why she will never see him again. Not that he could tell her the truth. But maybe he could come up with a convincing lie that would give her closure.

"I thought I'd have more time to add to the apartment," Hamish added lamely.

"What more is there to add?"

Hamish hunted for a good reason, but all he could add was: "There is that flea market next week. Maybe I'll find something there and-"

"Hamish." Gladis had the same tone of voice as his grandmother chiding him if he did something stupid. "That sounds like something Adele could do on her own. And here I thought you'd be excited to meet her. You appeared to be so invested."

It was a little more than just meeting her. Why shouldn't he be invested when he became her? This was his future and he had tried to bend his imposed destiny more to his liking.

Before Hamish could even try to argue, Gladis withdrew fabric from her handbag. Once freed from its confines, it fluttered to the ground. Was that a scarf? A second later it became irrelevant as it was replaced by a naked woman. She appeared to be mid-twenties with an athletic build.

As she stirred and then looked around frantically, Hamish took a step back. His mind had a hard time comprehending what was happening. Her gaze found him but didn't remain there. Instead, she focused on Gladis.

"Thank you! Thank you for making me human again!"

Hamish took a further step back. He hadn't known. Like everyone else he had assumed that people who had been transformed into clothing by a fashion witch were stuck as such permanently. Yet here, right before his eyes, the truth was revealed. Why hadn't Gladis revealed as much sooner? And who was this person before him?

"Oh, sweetie. Of course. Of course." Gladis leaned down to give the woman comforting pads on her shoulder and back. "And you get to stay a human. Provided you play your part."

Hamish turned. Walked with wooden legs out of the door. He could only hear the beating of his heart and the white noise in his ears. Hamish nearly stumbled as he took the steps down.

He needed to escape.

Air.

To breathe.

A few steps out and Hamish collapsed on a nearby bench. One of his own works. Commission by Gladis. All to fulfill her convoluted plans to make this the perfect small town. His hands felt clammy and were shaking as he looked down at them. Tearing his eyes away, he looked up to the second story of the building he had just left.

There, the witch was instructing her newest victim. Normally, Hamish stayed and explained a few details. Eased the transition as best as he could. But he couldn't face her. Adele Walls. He had met her indeed. Now, he knew. It wasn't his destiny to be her. Never had been. Hamish had jumped to conclusions and now paid the price.

"I should be happy," he mumbled to himself. Wasn't that what he wanted? To remain a man. Be himself. Continue his life as he had for the last few decades. Looking forward to his retirement in a few years. So, why was he upset?

Hamish's mind went in circles. Trying to make sense of his confusing feelings. He only stopped as someone sat down on the bench beside him. On reflex, he looked and saw Gladis. The fashion witch looked concerned. Anger surged forth in Hamish, but also the urge to laugh. What a fool he had been. Hadn't he always known that fashion witches were monsters? Time and time again he had reminded himself of the fact. Yet somehow, Gladis still had fooled him. Chipped away at his perception of just how monstrous and grotesque she was.

"You look upset, Hamish. Why did you storm out like that?"

Upset? How dare she mimic compassion at a time like this? Hamish wanted to tear into her, if only with words. Yet he could not. Something prevented him from attacking her. He struggled to find words that could vocalize his anguish. None would come.

Eventually, defeated, he let his head hang. "I thought it would be me."

"Be what?"

Of course, Gladis played unsuspecting. "Adele," he pressed out. "I thought you wanted me to become Adele."

The sharp laugh of Gladis felt like yet another knife in Hamish's back. "You? Why would you think that?"

Why? In hindsight, his reasoning was flimsy. Still, Hamish couldn't help but voice it out loud. "Woodworking. It said Adele specialized in woodworking. There is only one person in this town who could fit it." He shook his head. "It never occurred to me that you could get someone from outside of town."

"Oh, Hamish. Aren't you the one always complaining about the internet as if it was the end of all decent?" When he didn't react to her humor, Gladis became more serious. "I ran into Adele - well, her previous self - two years ago. Budding YouTuber who just passed one hundred thousand subscribers. I knew he was perfect. Creative. Charming. The videos were professionally done. But that was when I just started with Bakersville and it was too early to show off to the world. So, I stowed him away."

"And now he is Adele." The very fate Hamish had tried to avoid was now bestowed on the newly made Adele. No, it was worse. So far, Hamish had always the excuse that he worked under duress. That Gladis made him do it. But not so with Adele. He had a hand in how she turned out. Her personality had been changed by Hamish's suggestions.

A few moments passed before Hamish looked at Gladis. He had to know. No one else had dared to do so before, but now, he had no choice. "Do you have a plan for me? Will there be a day when it is my turn?"

Gladis returned his gaze unfazed. Her expression was unreadable to him. "No," she eventually said quietly. "I do not."

Hamish looked away. There was his answer. Yet, why didn't he feel relieved? Hadn't he dreaded the change? Everything would stay the same. No life-altering event to throw off the trajectory of his future life path. But maybe that was the problem. In the last two weeks, Hamish had been confronted with his own life. How stagnant it had become. The change to Adele - even if unwelcome - would have been a jolt to break him free. To experience new things. Now, he had no such excuse. Could he do it on his own? Without the help of Gladis?

The fashion witch stood back up. "I need to get back to Adele. Finish her orientation and then call Mariah to get her some clothes." She walked five steps and then stopped again. Hamish heard her withdraw something from her handbag. Then the sound of paper sliding. It was quiet for a moment before Gladis held a folder into his eyesight.

"If I learned anything from this misunderstanding, then that you can do well if motivated to contribute. Take a look. See if you can fill in the blanks to my satisfaction."

Hamish felt drained. Instead of confronting her with anger - how dare she shove a new project in his face now - he took the folder quietly. Not even acknowledging the fact that Gladis walked away. Back toward Adele. The life he thought he would have.

He leaned back. No one paid any attention to him. Bakersville was a small quiet town that had a tranquil atmosphere to it. Especially since Gladis made her home here. Right now, Hamish needed it. To calm down again. It wasn't easy.

Hamish was stuck in a rut. His life was stagnant. No close friends and his only living relatives had moved away. For a long time, there only had been his work. And now? He helped a fashion witch play dollhouse with a whole town. His gaze fell onto the folder again. There was no end to it. No special plans. To Gladis, he was exactly what he needed to be. Someone following orders. And the next target, he already held in his hands.

He was tempted to head home. Postpone any glance at the next project. The next person to be doomed. Their life about to be twisted to an ideal dictated by a fashion witch. But part of him wanted to know. Needed to.

He opened the folder and his gaze failed to find any information. Each field normally filled with Gladis flowing handwriting was empty. All but one. The name of the recipient was his own.

---

Hamish stared at the paper. Nearly empty of any details. Just two weeks prior, he had done so with another one. The previous one he had mistook as a means to restrain him. Bend his life into a new shape. To make him into something Gladis would like for her perfect little town.

Now, he knew better. Yet the paper before him - with nearly every field of the form empty - somehow scared him more. Gladis had given him a blank check to rewrite his life. Provided it would get her approval. Hamish had no illusions on that part.

Hamish had dreaded the prospect of becoming Adele. But as it had been snatched away right in front of his eyes, he also had to admit that a part of him had wanted it. To be young again. Living a life full of potential. With all the doors to take still open.

He had realized that he wanted to break out. To change things up. An epiphany that hadn't come easy or painless. But the sheet of paper before him didn't just promise a little bit of change. The possibilities were endless and Hamish had to choose. The acknowledgment that he not just wanted change, but craved it was hard enough. Now, Hamish had to decide what he wanted to keep and what he wanted to have changed. There was no one to blame if he messed up. No one, but himself.

Grabbing a pencil, Hamish decided to start with the easiest fields. Under gender, he wrote in male. Because now there was no reason to subject himself to becoming a woman. He was comfortable as a man and Gladis wasn't imposing anything. So, why shouldn't he stay a man?

Deciding on a new age was a little harder. Hamish didn't want to be too young. At least drinking age. Not that he drank much anyways. Maybe a few years older. Late twenties like Latisha? For a moment, Hamish imagined Latisha flirting with him. He shuddered at the thought. Latisha was a beautiful woman, but Hamish still couldn't decouple the mental image of who she had been before. A part of him still viewed her as a mentor and wise man. Someone to head to in the need of advice.

Something in between of those for sure. Maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. For now, he penciled in the former. The occupation was another easy field to fill out. Hamish was a carpenter through and through. Woodworking flowed through his veins.

He let his fingers glide over the surface of the dining table. Wood was such a magnificent material. It could be hard and unyielding. But in the right hands, it could transform in a myriad of ways. Hamish doubted he could ever get fed up with it. Not even in two or three lifetimes. There was something visceral about it. To remove and shape it step by step. Giving it a new form and function. Not many materials were as flexible as wood. There was no other choice. In his next life, he would be a carpenter too.

Of course, he would stay in his house. Who wouldn't? And now he could realize all these small improvements he had gathered in the past weeks. Even remodel it. Now that he got to remain in his own four walls, Hamish could tackle those changes to it he thought wouldn't be able to do anymore as Adele. That should keep him busy for a year or two.

Hamish leaned back. His satisfaction of having filled out part of the form vanished as he realized most of it was still empty. Worse, what he had filled in barely had any change to it. He would be himself, but younger. Everything else might be a new year's resolution. How long would it be until he was stuck back in the same rut as he had been before? Worse was the thought that he might not even break free of it in the first place.

He needed more change, but Hamish didn't know what to add. Maybe a hobby or two. Something to motivate him and give him a reason to go out. He needed something that challenged him and would constantly offer new experiences. Yet his kind drew blanks. None of the hobbies he knew about would offer these desired perks.

Frustrated, Hanish stood up. His mind was a mess and after the tumult of today, he needed to relax. Think about something different for a change. His first impulse was to reach for the TV remote, but he hesitated. Hamish rarely watched TV and he wasn't in the mood for generic entertainment. With a bemused smile, Hamish walked to his computer and switched it on.

As much as he disliked the new medium, he had to admit that there were perks. An example was those creators that catered to a niche audience. Hamish still had a bunch of videos about woodworking and carpentry set aside. More to prepare for becoming Adele until the point got mood. Still, he was intrigued now. There were new technologies he could still explore. Maybe add a CNC router to his shop or do laser engravings.

A small part whispered in his mind that it wouldn't change anything. That even this wouldn't help him break out of his mold. For now, Hamish ignored this tiny voice and just relaxed. Watching video after video. When his backlog was cleared, Hamish simply went for the first recommended video. Then the next and next. He didn't even notice it at first, but the content shifted more and more away from carpentry. In the last few days, Hamish had shown discipline and didn't veer off-topic for long. Now, he didn't care anymore.

3D printing caught his attention. At first only how to compliment his carpentry. Sometimes, he had to wait for small parts that weren't wood to finish furniture. With a printer, he could make them himself. Faster and cheaper. Then he saw other applications and he grew more intrigued. Working in plastic certainly provided an outlet for creativity, but not the visceral feeling of shaping something with his own hands.

One wrong click and Hamish was in a video that had nothing to do with woodworking. Not even 3D printing. It was one of those dress-up videos. What was the hobby called? The title of the video reminded him that it was Cosplay. He nearly clicked away but stopped. The Cosplayer - a young woman - explained how she was about to tackle a difficult costume that would involve many different materials. Some kind of fantastical armor that would need plenty of fabric, but also foam and 3D printing.

It was the way she sketched out her project. The initial design and then the steps she needed to take to get to the end result. It reminded Hamish of his own process when he worked with wood. Step by step the costume took shape and Hamish could appreciate the methods used. He saw a little bit of himself in the Cosplayer. Her workflow was eerily similar to his own, but where he used only wood, she used plenty of different materials. That must be quite the challenge and for that, Hamish had respect.

The end product was astonishing. Hamish wasn't much of a moviegoer these days, but the quality of the final product of the cosplayer rivaled those of movies he had seen a few decades earlier. The video closed out with a gathering of Cosplayers. Hundreds of them mingled at some kind of convention. Not all came to the same quality of costume as the YouTuber of the video had achieved, but Hamish was still impressed.

In the weeks prior, Hamish had stumbled upon Cosplay before. He had thought it was a rather niche hobby. An offshoot of those people who did a reenactment of the Civil War and other historical periods. But if hundreds of people gathered in one place, it must be more popular than he thought. Intrigued, he clicked on the next video. Then another. Falling down a rabbit hole until the sun had set and tiredness forced him to stop for the day.

While making his dinner, Hamish's eyes fell upon the half-filled-out form again. Grabbing the pencil, he added Cosplay. Followed by a question mark. The hobby certainly was intriguing. Those people in the videos appeared to have plenty of fun. Even more so, it appeared to be a lot of work too. There were always new techniques and materials to experiment with. Promising that the hobby would never be stale. Hamish wasn't inclined to enjoy the social aspect, but that could be changed too.

Cosplay certainly was a contender for a viable hobby and a means to break free of his stagnant life. Provided he dared to leave it on his form and Gladis accepted it. But the prospect was also daunting. There was so much to learn that it could be overwhelming. Thankfully, he could draw upon the experience of others and vowed to do that the next day.

---

Hamish stopped his pickup truck in front of the only tailor in town. This time, it needed two whacks of the door for it to stay put. Maybe the visit to a mechanic was more prudent than a life-changing alteration by Gladis, but Hamish pushed the thought aside.

Instead, Hamish straightened his clothes and then walked into the tailoring shop. His trained eyes skipped over the fabric at first. Taking in the many shelves and tables that dotted the store. Each looked in good condition. Not that Hamish expected a lot of damage. He had made them less than a year ago.

Then Hamish took in the many materials on display. Everything was available from needlepoint to knitting utensils. Even a few sewing machines were available. Everything needed for the hobby enthusiast of sewing and related skills. And if one wasn't as gifted, one could secure the help of the shop's owner for custom clothes or alterations.

"Hamish?" The owner - a woman about twenty-seven years old - asked as she came back into the shop from the backrooms. Around her neck was a tape measure and he could see a few needles stuck into a small pillow attached to her wrist. "What brings you here? Hopefully something small. Gladis dumped a big order into my lap."

"Just came by to say hi, Mariah," Hamish was quick to assure her. "And maybe to catch up a little."

Mariah stopped spreading a cream-colored fabric on one of her tables and looked up. "Bullshit. You aren't one for talking. Even before- Well, my change." She resumed spreading the fabric and brushed out the folds. "Latisha told me about your problem. But seeing as you are here and I have a ton of work for an Adele that is not you, I assumed that had resolved itself."

Even in his advanced age, Hamish couldn't help but blush. "She told you about that?"

"Hamish. Please." Mariah gave him a suffering look before returning to her work. "Women talk. I knew that even before I became one. Let me guess. You aren't off the hook yet. So, what do you wanna know about being a woman?"

"Oh, no. It is not that." Hamish felt uncomfortable as Mariah looked at him again. "She gave me a blank form. For myself. It is up to me what she changes. Or even if I want them."

"That is-" For the first time, Mariah actually stopped her work and took a step back. "Many of us would kill for a chance like that. Well, not literally. But that is quite the break for you. How did you manage that?"

"That's complicated. When Gladis made someone else into Adele, I wasn't as happy as I should be. It was hard to realize, but I guess a part of me wanted to become her." Hamish sighed. "No, that isn't quite right. I didn't want to become Adele, but rather what she stood for. Change. A way to break free of myself. And I admitted that to Gladis. To my surprise, she offered me this blank form. Giving me a chance to change myself on my terms. With the caveat that it needs to fit Gladis' vision of this town."

Mariah nodded and took a moment to give it some thought. "So, you ain't being here for more information about women. What else is there?"

"It's about what Gladis can change. Or rather, can't. In my talk with Latisha, we guessed that Gladis can transfer knowledge. But only of which she knows herself." Hamish took a look around. Let his eyes roam over the shelves of fabric. "You didn't use to be interested in sewing. I remember that you even had trouble stuffing your socks. And now you might be the most knowledgeable person in town. That got me wondering. Just how much of that is from Gladis and how much of it is from you?"

"Yeah, I was quite helpless, wasn't I?" Mariah gave him a mischievous grin. "To be honest, I think I didn't get much knowledge from her. But that was alright. Instead, she gave me a drive. After the change, I knew she wanted me as the town's tailor. At first, I found the notion ridiculous. But the more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became. Getting where I am now, took a lot of studying and gathering experience, but I didn't mind. I actually had fun doing so. Still have."

"Wasn't it overwhelming?" Hamish asked. "To learn so much at once. To me, that sounds terrifying."

Mariah gave him a few small nods. "Sure. But that was part of the appeal. A challenge I could throw myself against. I guess that is what brings you here. After decades as a carpenter, I guess you need a new change, right?"

"No, I love carpentry," Hamish was quick to correct. Maybe a little too forceful. He sighed. A little annoyed at himself. "I've been thinking about picking up a hobby. One that will keep me occupied for a few years. Maybe even decades. Yes, something that is challenging and will keep changing." Hamish took a moment to calm down and then asked: "Have you heard of Cosplay?"

An amused snort escaped Mariah before she could stifle it. "Sorry. You surprised me. Cosplay? Yes, I heard of it. Not a hobby I thought you would choose."

"Not very Hamish, is it?" Hamish asked with a lopsided grin. "But that is the point. I've been the same person for decades. I want to change. That I realized. But if I go through with it - and lose a few decades in age - I need something to draw me out. I am not exactly a hermit, but sometimes it feels like that. Cosplay would change that. It would give me a challenge and give me an excuse to become more social again. I am just worried that I will bite off more than I can chew."

Mariah frowned. "What's so complicated? It is a hobby like every other."

"Is it? The way I see it is that Cosplay would be a lot of areas to learn all at once. It starts with sewing. Maybe some leather working. Not to mention fabricating. Foam. Plastic. Wood. There is even 3D printing. Maybe even designing with a-"

Hamish stopped as Mariah laughed out loud. "Always with the head through the wall, is it? Hamish, you don't have to do all that at once. Think about it. Most who have Cosplay as a hobby started in their teens. Do you think they had access to everything? Cosplay outfits aren't created all equal. Some - most - are made on a budget. The level of skill varies. So, don't expect to create masterpieces right from the get-go. Start slow. Work your way up. Just like everyone else."

"Yes," Hamish agreed after a few seconds. "You are right. I guess if I go step by step, it won't be too much at once either."

"So? Cosplay, huh?" Mariah asked again. "Does that mean you might become a woman after all?"

"What?" Hamish was blindsided by the question. What had given Mariah the idea that hopping the gender fence was on the table again? "Men can do Cosplay."

"Of course, they can," Mariah was quick to agree. But there was still a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Though from what I heard, they are outnumbered. It appears girls and women usually have more fun with it. You probably stumbled upon a few high-profile Cosplayers, right? How many of those were male?"

"That's nonsense," Hamish protested on reflex, but as seconds passed, he couldn't come up with a single male cosplayer he knew through youtube. Yes, he had seen plenty of male cosplayers. But usually in the background of videos when a female cosplayer visited a convention. "Maybe I need to do more research." Hamish walked toward the exit but stopped before it. "Sorry. That is a lot to think about. Thank you for answering my questions."

"You're welcome," Mariah replied with a warm smile. "And Hamish. Should you choose to make Cosplay your hobby, come by to say hi. I can probably teach you a few things."

"Thanks."

Hamish pushed out and made for his truck. His mind was a whirlwind. Mariah wasn't onto something, right? He hadn't chosen Cosplay because most participants were female. That was absurd. It would suggest that on some level he wanted to become a woman. It was exactly what he had tried to avoid the last few weeks.

He could do everything as a man. There were plenty of characters to choose from that he could dress up as. Granted, he'd probably have to watch more movies and series again. His knowledge was hopelessly outdated. And the outfits would be challenging to make too. There wasn't a reason to become a woman.

But as he arrived at his house, a single thought pushed through. But what if he chose to become one? What would change? Obviously, it would catapult him even further out of the Hamish-mold he tried to escape. But what else?

As Hamish walked into his home, Hamish was busy imagining two life paths before him. One where he stayed male and one where he chose to become a woman. Trying to guess what challenges, perks, and disadvantages had.

After half an hour, Hamish walked to his dinner table and opened up the form Gladis had given him. Most fields were still empty. Under hobbies and other interests, Hamish erased the question mark behind Cosplay. He'd probably have to split up the hobby further into distinct skills and interests. Then, his pencil turned upward. Pausing at the field for gender. After a moment of hesitation, Hamish changed the penciled-in male to female. Followed by a question mark.

"Need to do more research," he grumbled, before heading to his computer.

---

Hamish nervously nursed his coffee. Waiting in the booth Gladis preferred at Benny's Diner. He was half-minded to order something to eat his nervousness away but refrained from doing so. Gladis didn't like that. It was common courtesy to wait, she would say. Right now, Hamish needed her in her best possible mood. Deciding to take yet another sip of his coffee.

"Hamish. Good to see you."

Hamish nearly sighed in relief. Which would be a first. Normally he dreaded meeting with the fashion witch. Now, he was eager. Last week, he had done a lot of studying. Revising the form Gladis had given him again and again. It definitely wasn't blank anymore.

"Gladis." Hamish stood up and gave a tip of his imaginary hat. "Thank you for taking the time."

They both sat down and Hamish tried to patiently wait until Gladis had ordered. Meanwhile, he was so nervous that he couldn't help, but squirm and fidget in his seat.

At last, Gladis gave him all her attention. "So, you called me. Is it about the offer I made?"

Hamish gave a small nod and launched into the speech he had practiced. "I met someone. We fell in love. Now I am retiring to Florida and-"

"Hamish." His name spoken by Gladis sounded disappointed and judgemental.

He was quick to raise both hands in a pacifying gesture. Then, he withdrew the folder Gladis had given him a week earlier. Opening it up, Hamish placed a densely filled-out form before the fashion witch.

"As Bakersville needs a carpenter, my grand-niece Hanna will be taking over." To underline his point, Hamish pointed at the form again. "The official narrative will be that she used to spend every summer break with her grand-uncle - me - who taught her carpentry. Now, she is ready to take over."

"I see. That is quite the thorough backstory." Gladis gave a quick glance over the form, before looking at Hamish again. "I have to admit I am surprised. You know that I didn't intend for you to become a woman, right? I rarely change a man into one. Only if it is necessary."

"I know." Hamish bit his tongue on the topic. One could argue that the four times she had done it wasn't really necessary either, but he didn't want to ruin her mood. "The truth is, I want to become a woman. Yes, it surprised me too." Hamish took a deep breath before continuing his confession. "Once I realized it was an option, I sort of compared it to staying as a man. It is hard to explain, but when I envisioned my future it always was a bit easier to picture myself as a woman. All the details were clearer. More refined. Fell easier into place."

Hamish steeled himself and looked directly at Gladis. "The more I thought about it, the more I discovered that I already knew how it feels to live a life as a man. I've done it once and I could do so again. But as a woman, things would be new. Sure, there are probably drawbacks and things I do not know yet or failed to factor in. But even that has its appeal. It would be new and exciting. Or so I hope."

"That didn't sound as if it was hard to explain," Gladis remarked. She pulled the folder a little closer. "Let's see who Hanna would be and if I can make her a reality."

"She will fit," Hamish assured her. "Still a carpenter and-"

"Hamish!" Gladis gave him a stern look that didn't last long. "Let me read. You can comment soon enough." She took her sweet time and Hamish could see her digest each filled-out field as her finger moved with it. Then, she raised her eyebrows. "I see Hanna would fly the rainbow flag too."

"Well, yes, I-" Blood shot into Hamish's face. "I kinda felt bad because I made Adele gay for my own selfish reasons. And now I think she is the only lesbian in town. Not that I expect us to end up together or so. Just to show solidarity and maybe some companionship. Not sure if she even wants that. Truth is I have kinda avoided her since- You know."

Gladis gave him an amused smile. "You are rambling."

Hamish replied with a subdued "Sorry."

"Age twenty-two. Athletic build. Girl next door beauty." Gladis looked up at him. "Reminds me of Adele."

"Well, I am sure you can avoid making us twins," Hamish said. Followed by an awkward laugh. "I actually thought that maybe you could make Hanna of mixed heritage. Maybe a quarter of Mexican or Native American. All to become more diverse, right? Show that Bakersville is progressive. There wasn't a field for that, so I kinda hoped to find the opportunity to bring it up."

One of Gladis' eyebrows had steadily risen, but instead of commenting on Hamish's suggestions, she turned back to the piece of paper. "Let's see about hobbies and passions. Hmm, what is Cosplay?"

"Oh, that is sort of a hobby of dressing up." Hamish practically jumped at the topic. "Like they do down south for the Civil War. But for modern things like TV shows or movies. Even books and comics. It is really diverse and grows in popularity. There is this aspect of crafting your own outfits that is really neat and challenging."

Gladis tried to comment, but there was no stopping Hamish.

"I mean, it could be good for Bakersville too if we advertise it right. A lot of Cosplay is set in medieval times or in fantasy landscapes. That's ideal if we get Cosplayers to come here for meetings or photoshoots. Just imagine the exposure. If we can cater to them we will have a good flow of tourism in the town."

"I see your point!" Gladis spoke up as Hamish took a breath. "We will have to talk about details later. Let's return to Hanna for now, shall we?" As Hamish nodded, Gladis looked at the next point and immediately frowned. "What exactly do you understand by 'flexible passion for makeup'?"

"Well, some Cosplay requires makeup. Sometimes heavy," Hamish explained. "But, Hanna can't be totally into makeup. She has to be a carpenter too. Imagine if she can't live without heavy makeup and tries to get any work done. Carpentry can be messy with dust and so on."

"That makes sense," Gladis commented dryly. "Let's see. A passion for sewing and working with fabric. Minor interest in knitting, stitching, and needlework."

"For Cosplay too," Hamish added subdued.

"Of course, it is." Gladis took a second look over the form. "Certainly looks complete and just as I knew, you made an effort to make Hanna fit into the town." Gladis stopped as Hamish motioned for her to turn the page over. As she did, an "Oh, my!" slipped out of her. Half the backside of the form was written on too. "3D printing. Foam working. Plastic molding." She rattled off half a dozen other interests. "Are all these for Cosplay too?"

Hamish gave an embarrassed shrug. "It is a broad hobby."

"Let me guess," Gladis continued. "The point of 'comfortable wearing tight lacing corsets and high heels' is for Cosplay too."

He only managed a nod. Gladis started to reread the form. Flipping back and forth between the form on one side and Hamish's addendum on the backside. At last, she leaned back. After a moment, a single word slipped past her lips: "Okay."

"Okay?" Hamish repeated. "Does that mean-"

"I think Hanna could fit into Bakersville," Gladis conceded. "You did a fine job of reasoning and certainly you put a lot of thought into her. So, yes, you can become Hanna. Just tell me when it is convenient for you."

"Now," Hamish said immediately. Before he could develop cold feet. "I am ready. Everything is prepped. I even have a letter to my niece. Explaining to her why I am gone and who Hanna is. I know, I can't tell her the truth. But I crafted a convincing lie that should pacify her."

Gladis gave an amused shake of her head. "I get it. You have thought of everything. Here we go."

For a split second, Hamish felt very weird. As if the universe had decided to knead him thoroughly like bread. But the displeasure didn't last. And then, he felt different. No, she felt different. Hamish was gone. Instead, Hanna occupied the booth opposite the fashion witch. Her body felt new and strange, but also familiar. It was the oddest feeling.

"Let me take care of your clothes," Gladis remarked.

Hanna was a good few inches shorter than Hamish had been. The flannel shirt and jeans hung loosely on her new frame. Not for long as they shrunk to her size.

Looking down, Hanna found a body nearly exactly like she had envisioned. Maybe her breasts were a bit bigger than anticipated. But that was her fault. Nope. Hamish's, as he had failed to write down how well endowed she should be. Not that Hanna minded. Surely having a bit more on top would help her with sexier Cosplays.

"Thank you so much!" Hanna exclaimed while standing up and grabbing both hands of the fashion witch to shake them. "I won't disappoint you. Oh my gosh, I can hardly wait to get started."

Gladis waved her on with an amused smile on her lips. "Go. Have fun."

Hanna nearly ran out of the diner. A noticeable spring to her skip. Her head was full of ideas. The plan had been to head home. But maybe visiting Mariah was more important. Gladis had made sure that Hamish's old clothes fit her, but this was hardly how Hanna wanted to dress. Not to mention that with her well-endowed body, she needed a bra for sure. Mariah could guide her on what bra to get. But to Hanna's surprise, she already knew what to look out for when shopping for underwear.

On her way to her truck, Hanna stopped as she saw her reflection on a polished surface. Long black hair and brown eyes greeted her. Her skin tone was definitely a few shades darker than Hamish's had been. Gladis must have taken the suggestion of a mixed heritage seriously. Hanna had to ask her in the future what her exact makeup now is.

Gladis really had delivered. Hanna wasn't a knockout, but she was no plain Jane either. Instinctively Hanna knew that if she really wanted to wow someone, she could always dress up and go heavier on makeup. Her athletic form might also shine through more if she ditched her current clothes. A flannel shirt and jeans had been alright for Hamish. It was not a style Hanna could see herself in for long. She definitely had to visit Mariah first. Right after sending the important letter to her niece to explain things. Hanna wouldn't want her to worry or check in on old Hamish. For she couldn't even answer the phone if her niece called.

Hanna arrived at Hamish's old truck. It would do for now, she decided. But maybe it was time to go for an upgrade here too. Hamish really had been stuck in his ways, Hanna decided. But she felt full of energy and she couldn't wait to channel it into changing things up. It felt so great to be young again.

"Excuse me?"

The voice spooked Hanna just as she opened up the truck and grabbed the letter to her niece. Surprised, she jerked back and managed to hit her head on the roof.

Cursing under her breath, Hanna stepped away from her truck and looked at who had disturbed her. She noticed the blue eyes first. Then the cute nose and kissable lips. The blonde hair next and Hanna couldn't help herself to check out the young woman's body. She definitely liked what she saw.

"Sorry!" the woman said with a wince of empathy. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was looking for someone and now I might have you confused with someone else. I was told this truck belongs to the town's carpenter. A guy named Hamish. I have been trying to reach him for a few days now."

Hanna let out an amused snort. "Sorry. Not making fun of you. It is just, you missed him by five minutes."

"Oh." There was a brief flash of disappointment on the blond's face, but she recovered quickly. "When will he be back? Ah! Sorry." A little embarrassed, she fiddled with her hair a bit. Pushing a strand of it behind her ear. Then, she offered her hand. "I am Adele, by the way."

"Hanna." Adele's hand was so soft as Hanna shook it. "And I am afraid you have to deal with me. Hamish isn't coming back. Not ever, if I can help it. You see, he had a meeting with Gladis, the fashion witch, and I walked out."

"Oh, my! You were-" Adele had a cute blush, Hanna decided. "Then we are in the same boat. Sort of. At least, she did a fine job."

Now it was Hanna's turn to blush. She couldn't help it as Adele was obviously checking her out. Subconsciously, she mimicked Adele's gesture from before and brushed a strand of her own hair behind her ear.

"Maybe we can exchange stories a bit?" Adele suggested. "See how much we have in common. And originally I wanted to ask if I could share your workshop. I am also into woodworking. Maybe we can make a deal for it?"

Hanna swallowed hard. Adele was definitely flirting with her. And Hanna was surprisingly into it. A lot. "Yeah, I mean, I guess we can work something out between us."

"Do you have time now?" Adele raised an eyebrow and pointed behind her. "My apartment is around the corner. Talk over a coffee?"

Absent-mindedly, Hanna placed the letter to her niece on the dashboard. "Sure. I have time." As always, she slammed the door to her truck close. Not noticing that the letter fell from the dashboard and landed under the seat. No, Hanna had only eyes for the future that unfolded before her. And Adele's butt as she walked ahead.

Hanna's future definitely looked promising and she couldn't wait to explore it more. She had no doubt in her mind that it had been the right decision to leave Hamish behind. He was her past now. Being Hanna was her future. And maybe, Adele was in it too.

The end.

---

Epilogue

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Monika balanced a heavy grocery bag while opening the front door to her home. She had barely slipped off her heels when a shout echoed through the house.

"Mom? You home? We need to talk."

A sigh escaped Monika. What was it this time? Would her daughter ask for another raise in allowance? Maybe she wants to have a sleepover. One thing was for sure if she'd argue for a piercing again, Monika would have to shut it down as soon as possible.

"How about a 'welcome home mom'," Monika asked as she entered the kitchen. Seeing her daughter Flynne sitting at the kitchen island and practically crawling into her smartphone. "Or a 'let me take that heavy bag for you'?"

Monika braced for a snarky retort but got something else in return. "Mom, do I have a sister?"

The grocery bag nearly slipped her fingers and Monika was quick to set it down on a nearby counter. "What? No. I am pretty sure I would know. Given that I had to give birth to another ungrateful brat. That's hard to forget."

Flynne rolled her eyes but actually pulled on her mother's arm to get her full attention. "Look!" Shoving her phone under her mother's nose. "Isn't that Gruncle Hamish's house?"

"Granduncle," Monika corrected automatically. Then took a better look. "That definitely is." She could recognize it in a heartbeat or half blindfolded. But she didn't recognize the two young women in front of it. Both were dressed up in some fantasy garb.

"You see this dark-haired one?" Flynne asked. "I found her on Instagram by chance. I thought I recognized Bakersville in some of her photos and then this." Flynne's tone of voice shifted as if afraid to be overheard. "But that isn't the strangest part. Once I found more pictures of Gruncle Hamish's house, I read through her bio. According to it, she is his grandniece. Taking over his house and shop after Gruncle Hamish retired."

"That's indeed strange," Monika admitted. Many things were in the last few years. Ever since Flynne had turned fourteen, Hamish had blocked every opportunity for them to visit him. Always citing some vague reason why it wasn't a good idea. Most of them were rather flimsy, but Monika had a hard time getting a real reason from her uncle why he avoided them. Come to think of it, they hadn't even spoken in a few months. Now there was a young woman in play that was definitely not her daughter. "Let me give Hamish a call. Maybe he can explain."

Monika fished out her own smartphone and gave her uncle a call. No one picked up for a minute. Worried, Monika glanced at the clock. It was shortly after seven in the evening. Hamish's dinner time. It was rare that he was out. Usually picking up quite fast.

"No one is answering," Monika said as she hung up. "I'll try again later."

"What if we can't reach him?" Flynne asked. "Maybe that imposter put him into a retirement home and stole his house. Or murdered him. I've seen real crime shows where-"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Monika cut her off. But it was worrisome. "I guess, if I can't reach him in the next few days, we have to take a road trip. See what is going on in Bakersville."

And find out why her uncle was trying to cut them off from his life, but Monika didn't voice that thought out loud. For now, she hoped someone would pick up soon. She didn't like the thought of returning to Bakersville. She left for a reason. But now, it appeared she had to.

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Author's note:
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