Lich

In life you were known as Blair, but it's been so long since your were reborn as an undead mage that you've almost forgotten yourself.

Your time has been spent running experiments on new forms of magic without rest, without self-care, your body stripped down to weathered bones without your notice. Knowledge is your goal and only concern, knowledge and the power that it brings. Indeed you only joined Plagueis' schemes at all on the promise of more resources for your research. You have for months now been engaged in study, only interacting with others when they come to collect a finished project.

You are just putting away a fresh potion to cool when you feel it. A magical probe, but not one with Plagueis' signature. What is the meaning of this?

That question is answered by the snapping of bone. The ancient robe you adorn yourself with flies apart in tatters as pull at them to see your skeleton. Your bones are shifting noticeably, particularly your pelvis, which has split wider apart, and your face, which contracts on itself.

Disturbed, you attempt to form some kind of counterspell, only to have your concentration broken by jarring of new matter forming on your frame. Raw flesh coalesces on your bones like dew, and the sensation in feeling is too much of you, who has gone so long without any such feeling. You throw your head back and clench your forming eyes closed, gasping and screaming with newly regrown lungs.

The overload of sensation is agonizing until you start forming skin, and then the pheltora is cut down to a simpler, sweeter sensation. You brace yourself against the table and try to recover. The warm air caresses your newly minted form, blowing through your hair, curling around your breasts.

But that can't be right. You were a man in life.

You open your eyes and summon a mirror. A petite young woman looks back at you from the glass. Her smooth skin is pale and bloodless, and you become aware of how your heart is still, and that your lungs only work when you put conscious thought to breathing. Her chin-length hair and deep, mournful eyes are a similar washed-out gray color. Her breasts and buttocks are small.

You thoughtlessly squeeze you modest curves, and are rewarded with an intense erotic feeling. A girlish squeal pulls from your mouth as you frantically think about how this could be possible. You distinctly remember being a man before. You think back to your past, what you looked like in life, the way people spoke of you the relationships you had...

Thoughts along those lines only serve to remind you of long ago trysts, a cute female classmate kneeling between you legs, a girl from the bar tugging you up to her room. It all drives your hands back to your bosom and vulva, as you imagine yourself taking their place.

You sit on the floor with your back propped against a bookcase, panting as you rub your crotch, the electric sensation in your clitoris intensifying. You perch on the brink for several delicious long moments, then finally launch over your peak with a wail.

You lie back and just bask in the afterglow for a while, then get up. After a little looking around, you see a purple cloak on a hook by the door. You tie it around your neck, and while it doesn't cover the front, it's better than stark naked.

Something turned you female and reformed your flesh. You should be working to see what it was, but somehow it doesn't seem that big a deal anymore. Instead you fire up a scrying crystal, looking for something you really can't name just yet.

You magic isn't as potent all of a sudden, a portion of your power now passively being funneled into maintaining the health of your undead flesh. And you find yourself pleased by it, wanted to keep your delightful body whole, now that you've rediscovered bodily pleasure.

You scan the surrounding area idly, and then see something that immediately grabs your interest.