Look around for a clue.

Guessing that Carly is off doing something important, you figure that there might be a note or letter somewhere that indicates where she is. There is a nagging feeling at the back of your mind that maybe she's in trouble, and if you have to report her missing then some clue as to her activities this afternoon would be valuable. Starting in the kitchen, you look thoroughly at every scrap of paper, opened envelope, open book, and photograph that you can lay eyes on. Nothing much useful comes up. Under a stack of recipe books you find a photo of Carly and John together, with a thick crinkled crease between the two of you where the glossy photo paper has flaked away. You feel a pang of guilt, and look at your old face with surprise and disgust. Next you find a slip of paper with "MICKEY" and a phone number scribbled on it hidden in one of the drawers. You know that Mickey is the guy she buys her weed from, and wonder if that's what she was out doing. It's a worry if so, as your mind races ahead to all the awful things that could happen in that scenario.

Next you move into the living room and start the process over. Seeing the place with fresh eyes, you leaf through a stack of magazines, in a set of drawers beneath the TV, the cupboard in the corner - finding nothing of interest. Looking at the tall bookcase by the couch you find half a shelf of self-help management advice books, a complete set of Harry Potter, some trashy girly novels (that's definitely a taste you've not acquired since your transformation) and then, weirdly, a good two dozen books on spells and Wiccan spirituality, some of which appear to be pretty gnarled old volumes. That's a surprise - you've never got any sense from Carly that she is into that stuff. You take one of the more esoteric-looking ones from the shelf and flick through it. It's an old book, with old-fashioned layout and type, listing the sources of magical scholarship at the turn of the century. The margins are filled with neatly written pencil notes in Carly's hand - things like "NB: Look for this one" or "Tried it; nothing new."

This is a trip. Seems Carly is not just into this stuff, she's serious about it. The content of the other books here varies from small volumes explaining the hierarchy - and economics (???) - of the Faerie kingdom, through trashy mass-market folklore stuff, up to some other pretty serious looking books that go into detail about potion recipes and spell rituals. Mad stuff. You put them away and move on, guessing that if you need to find clues to her whereabouts in these you'll need to study pretty hard to discern anything of value.

Moving on then. you know the bathroom is free of clutter so don't bother looking in, and ascend the stairs slowly with a hand on the rail and the other beneath your tummy giving a bit of support to stop you overbalancing. At the top of the stairs you turn left, into the spare room where you've spent a couple of nights before. You know there's not a lot in here so do a quick glance over to check nothing's changed before going back on yourself and into Carly's room.

Immediately you notice a large matt-black shoebox right in the middle of the bed. There is a folded piece of paper on top that has "Summer" written simply on it, and "Have a look in here x" on the inside.

The box is surprisingly heavy. Opening the lid, you see dozens of photos of yourself from the last several months, all jumbled up. Some are selfies that Carly took with you, but others are ones from times when you weren't even with her. There's one of you with Gwen at Perucci's taken through the window, and another of you in your house with your Mom. Jesus, there are some of you naked, through your bedroom window, pleasuring yourself. Many, many more with Alex. Explicit, even pornographic images of you riding him, on all fours being taken from behind, him standing and you with his cock stuffed in your mouth. In some you have no bump at all, and in others you have a clear timeline of your pregnancy as you see your increasingly heavy belly and the different positions and angles that you and Alex have begun to use as adjustments have become necessary. There must be hundreds of pictures. You leaf through them, stunned, as details jump out at you. Your face plastered with his cum as your cheeks bulge with a few final thrusts; Spooning as he fucks you just the other night, his strong arms wrapped around your big belly and leaking boobs; His blissful face buried in your snatch while you 69; Riding him forcefully, a modest four-month bump in front of you while your fingers scratch his chest; Your tear-streaked face from the one and only time he convinced you to try anal; Clenched eyes and gritted teeth as he makes you come with his tongue; With his fingers; With his amazing prick. Despite the feeling of violation at your most private moments being spied on, your cunt is very much responding to the stimulus, soaking your panties and making you shift desperately. You feel flushed with arousal and struggle to keep a clear head.

"What the fuck," you think. Carly has been stalking you the whole time, months before you even met her at the law class. She's been getting pictures of you in all sorts of places. Shit, there are even a few pictures of you and Alex up at the lake! At the very bottom of the pile, you find a series of pictures of Alex fucking you that very first day by the pool, of you sitting afterwards, crying and clutching yourself, after his abrupt departure.

You sit back, hands full of these extremely graphic images, and struggle to process it all. What does this mean? Carly's been following you since Day 0. The only explanation is that knew about the change, that she did all this - all the magic and the stalking - as **** for the way you behaved.

Wow.

But, even with her fiery temper considered, this scale of **** is pretty ****. You cheated on her and fucked her over, but does that really warrant all of this?

Beneath the photos is a heavy bundle, wrapped in a thick embroidered scarf, which you remove and unwrap, more or less managing to ignore the arousal that is burning between your legs. You place the scarf on top of the pile of images to try and help keep them out of your mind. Inside, you find an immense, ancient-looking book, with a couple of envelopes sitting on top.

The first one strikes you as odd; it is a couple of ultrasound pictures. You assume that Carly's stolen them from you somehow, but then you realise that these are actually super early ultrasounds. You've only had the one, your routine scan a month or two ago, with your baby looking... like an actual baby. These barely depict a fetus at all. The date on them reads last fall, back when you were still staying up all night smoking pot and playing Xbox. These are not your scans.

The next envelope reveals a letter, dated a couple of weeks after the scans. "Dear Ms. Reynolds, We are delighted to confirm your appointment for termination..." It's from the Planned Parenthood clinic in town.

It all makes sense. A horrific, twisted sense.

Carly was pregnant when you cheated on her. She was pregnant with your baby. When you broke her heart she had an abortion, and must have started to think about getting her ****. Admittedly, the nature of her **** is pretty bizarre, having found the magical means to make you go through the same experience that she did, but it all fits into place.

At last, you look down at the huge grimoire, knowing what you are likely to find in there, but drawn to it by a sense of finality.

Several pages are bookmarked. The first, a fertility ritual. The ancient text is hard to read, but with the help of some weird old drawings and Carly's ever-present scribbled notes, you figure out that this can be used to bless animals and livestock with offspring 'every season.' Carly's hand at the bottom of the page reads "Evidence suggests this one is permanent unlike human fertility spell on pg 77 - year after year after year..."

The next bookmarked page has some loose sheets of modern paper with extensive hand written notes. It seems this page details a libido-enhancing spell, and Carly's notes list a spell from another source that blesses the recipient with sexual desirability. One sentence at the top of the loose pages says "Zuna explicitly cautions against use of these together - perfect!"

Finally there is the big, obvious one. A gender reversal spell. There isn't much to interpret here, and clearly Carly agreed. There is just a single margin note saying "This one first."

You close the book with a slam. Finally, after nearly eight months of living under a complete mystery, the case is solved. You don't know how to feel right now. The obvious emotion would be anger at the huge way in which Carly fucked with your life, but strangely, this doesn't float to the surface at all. In many ways, you almost feel... gratitude? Gratitude that Carly's intervention gave you the wonderful life that you have now. Further gratitude that knowing why you are so freakishly horny, and so incredibly fertile, might mean that you can find somebody to help keep those pieces of spell under control. As you pack up the book, the envelopes, the sexy, sexy pictures, you muse that you could probably even find a way to go back to being a guy, but the thought of that really doesn't appeal as much as you once thought it would. Besides, how would Alex feel about that?

... Alex.

Shit. Alex. Your eye lights on his lovely face in one of the pictures, and you start to develop an awful hunch as to where Carly is right now.