Mira's changes have very visibly begun showing on her body.

Then she felt it. A weird pop as her designer jeans suddenly sagged around her waist. Her perfect, sculpted legs were… shorter? No, that was impossible. She grew an inch last summer, she didn’t lose any. But her Prada heels, which usually gave her the perfect height to loom over Petra, now felt clunky, like her feet were swimming in them.

Petra’s lips parted in a silent gasp as Mira’s skin rippled, patches of sickly green spreading up her arms like a rash. "Uh… M-Mira? You’re—"

"I’m what?!" Mira shrieked, but the sound came out shrill. Her head throbbed, her thoughts turning syrupy and slow. Why was she so angry again? Oh, right—Petra’s stupid face. She raised a hand to smack her, but her arm felt… stubby? Her fingers, once long and elegant, now looked stubby and clawed, her nails darkening into little curved points.

Mira’s breath hitched as another wave of heat pulsed through her body. She barely had time to register the coarse, dark stubble sprouting between her thighs before her skin prickled violently—every inch of her turning a sickly, vibrant green as her ears became drooping elven ears. Her once flawless complexion now looked like something out of a cheap fantasy flick as she kept shrinking and shrinking.

"Wh—what the fuck?!" she shrieked, but her voice was higher now, almost cartoonish. Her hands flew to her chest, fingers sinking into soft, natural flesh where her expensive implants had been just moments ago. No more perfectly rounded, bolt-on tits—just perky, oversized handfuls that bounced with every panicked breath. Her ass, too, had deflated from its artificial plumpness, now jiggling with a shameless, primal roundness that made Petra’s cheeks burn.

Her clothes—her expensive clothes—itched like hell, then dissolved against her skin like wet tissue paper. Mira let out a garbled scream as fabric turned to dust, leaving her in nothing but a scrap of ragged leather barely covering her new, dripping slit. The loincloth clung to her hips, accentuating every obscene curve of her now tiny, three-and-a-half-foot frame.

Petra stumbled back, hands clapped over her mouth. "O-oh my god—"

"YOU DID THIS!" Mira screeched, her voice cracking. She lunged, but her legs—short, stubby things—betrayed her, sending her crashing into Petra’s knees instead. "Fucking—bitch! I’ll ruin you! I’ll—I’ll—" Her words slurred, her thoughts turning to mush as something wet trickled down her inner thighs.

Then came the pop.

A soft, squelching sound right between her ears. Mira’s tirade cut off mid-sentence, her eyes rolling back and turning gamma green as a thick, glowing drip oozed from her nose. Her brain—or what was left of it—leaked out in slow, syrupy strands, dribbling down her chin like melted candy.

For a second, there was silence.

Then Mira blinked.

A slow, stupid grin spread across her face, her tongue lolling out as she giggled—high-pitched and airheaded. Her hips wiggled on their own, her cunt aching, her fingers twitching with the need to touch.