Become the Bride

The fact that you're going through a wedding is, your training tells you, meaningless. When you can be anyone, the concept of a union between two individuals becomes strangely fluid. Alexandra is the obvious choice, and you're sure the true test is whether you can pull off a convincing masquerade where you will be the complete center of attention. You slip into the elevator, shifting a little in Kurt's muscular body. This is going to take all of your skill to pull off. Taking this route means obtaining - and switching - the Bloom becomes easy. It's the rest of the day that's hard.

You arrive, walking down the airy, lavish corridor of the five-star hotel, the faint smell of jasmine drifting through the halls. Eventually you arrive at 407. This is one of the finest rooms in the hotel. It's not a bridal suite - the new Mrs Parry will be staying in another room with her husband tonight - but rather a room given over to the family for preparation. You give a light rap on the door.

"Yes?" The voice is deep for a womans, not quite reaching husky but giving an expressive vocal range to play with. You note with some satisfaction how you're already analyzing it. The months of training, and of being so many different faces, has evidently paid off.

"A gift, madam." You try and sound like you're from the hotel. There's a sigh, and footsteps. Then the door opens.

Alexandra Vincent is stunning. She's already in her wedding dress, her curvy frame and generous breasts bursting free out of the shoulderless design. She's short, with her long, brunette hair flowing down her back in a shimmering, smooth waterfall. She's gone for a tussled look, a bride with wild, classic hair rather than precise styling; all the better for you, as it will be easy to comb once it falls to the floor. But it's her face that captures your attention. Her lips are a perfect cupid's bow, with pronounced features leading up to a large, though not unpleasantly so, nose. Beyond that perfectly styled eyebrows slip fiercely over sleepy opal eyes of exquisite blue. She's larger than conventional beauty, and could be a plus-size model. She takes your breath away.

Alexandra stares expectantly. "Yes?" She asks again, hands on her hips. She's not a woman that's kept waiting. You brush inside, closing the door behind you.

"A gift," you say again, taking a few paces in to look around the room. It's large, twice the size of a normal suite, albeit with classic off-white walls and simple designs. A quick glance in the bathroom confirms that the bride is, for now, alone.

"Hey!" She says, chasing after you a little, although struggling under the blooming expanse of her dress. "I didn't say you could come in."

You turn, shrug, and zap her. Then you stride over and lock the door.

It takes a moment to remove the wedding dress. It's ornate, and you have to be careful with it, bringing the zip down slowly and muttering your thanks that she hasn't been sewn into it. Skin free, you hop on the bed and strip off Kurt's clothes, kicking them under the bed. You were deliberately cautious and chose a loose top for ease of slipping out. Now, naked in a stranger's body, you begin to slip into body number two.

You've been a lot of different people, of a lot of different ages. You've acted out birthdays, given lectures, played boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife. But, watching your toes turn into Alexandra Vincent's dainty, painted digits, and your legs reshape into her shapely, waxed-smooth limbs, you feel twangs of guilt. This is the first time you've been a bride. You're robbing Alexandra, not just of her diamond, but of the best day of her life, too. You pull on her hands - nails trimmed to perfection - and ease on her chest and large breasts. Her body is overweight, and you pinch her sides a little in appraisal, but she carries her weight very well indeed. Finally, workmanlike, you flick her wild brown hair forward, over the mask of that stunningly unique face, and slip your head inside the suit, feeling as your chiseled jaw vanishes into the soft curve of her chin.

Alexandra Vincent floods your mind. Memories, thoughts, ideas and aspirations. Mother is coming shortly to help you put the finishing touches, so you can get this damn wedding over. You don't want to marry Holden. You don't want to marry anyone. If it were up to you, you'd be able to carry on sleeping with who you want and enjoying the life of luxury your position provides. Unfortunately, the Vincent fortune is fading fast, which means your family needs a cash injection, courtesy of the Parrys. Holden's exasperating company, dull as dishwater, but he's wealthy.

You frown, tilting your head at the new information, your new body's hair acting as a makeshift veil. Expertly you flick it up and back, wiping it free from your face. Alexandra, 25 years old, is making a power play on behalf of her family, it seems. You narrow her wondrous eyes, tucking one of her cheeks back in thought. Looking at your nude, voluptuous body, you can see how easy it was to wrap Holden around your finger. You pose, hands on hips, as you study your new appearance and listen internally to her schemes. Then you turn to the wedding dress strewn on the floor.

Ten minutes later, your masquerade is complete and you unlock the door. You've struggled to slip into the tight confines of the white dress, the bodice clinging a little too snugly to your large frame, but not showing it on the outside. You look incredible, your silky hair tussled and a satin headband completing the look. Your pouting cupid-bow lips are painted in a soft palette, and you're standing at the dresser, hooking long, golden earrings into your lobes. There's a knock, and the door opens, Alexandra's mother slipping in. You look at her from the mirror's reflection, allowing Alexandra's mannerisms to guide you. She would keep working on her appearance.

Now, however, you don't know how to proceed. Alexandra's memories of her family's hardships have changed the situation. The Scarlet Bloom was sold years ago; the jewel that will hang from your neck is a replica anyway, designed to give the trappings of wealth the Vincent family simply do not have. That makes your mission entirely pointless, and you wonder if your Organization knew that. Do they still want you to swap the Bloom for your fake? Or would you be expected to report in? And do you continue with your mission, or do you abort? According to Alexandra's knowledge, the real Bloom is being held in a secure vault in the local bank; your father sold it to a wealthy financier who agreed to keep it there until the family was back on its feet. Perhaps you're expected to slip out of Alexandra and rob the bank, instead?

"You look wonderful, dear." Your mother, showing her age as she walks over in her light blue dress suit, walks over, touching you lightly on the shoulder. You tilt your head to squeeze her hand.

"Thank you," you say quietly.

"Oh! And that band through your dark hair. Stripes like a zebra."

Stripes like a zebra? That's your handler code. Evidently this isn't Alexandra's mother.

"Stripes like a tiger," you counter, turning around, keeping up the act; your handler will have to drop out of character first. They do so.

"Very good. Very good indeed. The bride was a risky choice, but a smart one. And if I didn't know who you were, I'd never have spotted the replacement."

"Thanks," you say, far more casually than the real Alexandra would. "So what's the problem? Or is this a check in?"

"There's been a development," your handler says. You raise one of Alexandra's plucked eyebrows, and listen closely.