Not Great, But Available and Fits, Right?

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," you say, tugging at the oversized t-shirt slipping off your shoulder again. "I can't exactly figure anything out while I'm drowning in these clothes."

David nods and disappears down the hallway. You hear him rummaging through the hall closet where guests' forgotten items accumulate.

"Here we go," he calls out, returning with a small pile of women's clothing. "Clara left these after that house party last month. Said she'd pick them up next time she's over."

He places the bundle on the coffee table in front of you—a pair of light-wash jeans, a forest green sweater with a deep V-neck, and a set of lacy underwear still with tags attached.

"The, uh, underwear was a gift for her sister or something," David explains, a slight flush creeping up his neck. "Never delivered. They might actually fit you better than they would have fit Clara."

You lift the delicate black lace panties between your fingers, the material impossibly soft against your new, sensitive skin. The bra matches—black lace with small satin bows at the straps. Both items still have price tags from an upscale lingerie boutique.

"Right. Thanks," you say, awkwardly gathering the clothes. "I'll just..."

"Bathroom's all yours," David says quickly, stepping back. "Take your time."

Once inside the bathroom, you're confronted again by your reflection. The petite redhead in the mirror stares back with wide green eyes, looking lost in Matt's oversized clothing. With trembling fingers, you begin the strange process of undressing your new body, carefully avoiding looking too directly at yourself.

https://imgur.com/a/A0FQNSz

Clara's clothes fit surprisingly well. The jeans hug your new curves, though you have to roll the cuffs a few times to account for your shorter height. The sweater drapes perfectly across your shoulders, the V-neck modest enough but still showing more skin than you're used to. The underwear—well, they fit like they were made for you, the lace hugging your new curves intimately.

Fully dressed, you look... normal. Like a woman who's always been a woman. The Irish coloring suits you—the copper hair playing off your creamy complexion, bringing out the green of your eyes and the light dusting of freckles across your nose.

"My phone," you remember suddenly. That strange app might hold the key to reversing this.

You step out of the bathroom, and David does a double-take, his eyes widening slightly before he catches himself.

"That's... better," he says, his voice carefully neutral though his gaze lingers. "You look good—I mean, the clothes fit well."

"Thanks," you mutter, still uncomfortable with how his eyes track your movement. "Listen, my phone—I dropped it in the kitchen when... you know. I need to find it."

You hurry to the kitchen, your new body moving with an unfamiliar lightness. The phone must have slid under something when you dropped it. You drop to your knees, checking under the counter where you were standing when the transformation hit.

There—a flash of pink light from beneath the refrigerator. You stretch your arm underneath, your new slender fingers just managing to hook the edge of the phone. As you pull it out, the screen lights up with a notification.

A blonde cartoon avatar winks at you from the lock screen: "Welcome to your new life, Mia! Ready for your orientation? "

Mia? That's not the name you gave yourself earlier. You glance over your shoulder to make sure David isn't watching before sliding your finger across the screen.