You reach out to the grimoire.

Where is the trap? Where is the guardian? You feel a sudden surge of energy coursing through your body as you touch the book. A rush of power courses through your veins, and you feel your magic surging within you like never before.

The words of power leap from the pages into your mind, and you feel your knowledge expanding exponentially. You know that you must seize this opportunity to learn all that this book has to offer. You must become more powerful than ever before. You willingly take in the magic, and then you realise your error. This is some form of charm spell… you feel lust, longing and a profound sense of trusting submissiveness. It would be good to be a bad… then the next spell… feeblemind. You struggle to understand the magic. But… it’s threads slip through the fingers of your mind and become pretty patterns in … fractals… kaleidoscopic… no pretty patterns. You struggle to hold onto your intellect. Your intelligence. Dwindling. One. Point. At a time. In a hands-breadth of seconds you find yourself staining stupidly at your hand, trying to count your fingers. “Nooo…” you mutter. And finally the magic, fuelled by your own considerable power… emasculates you of your power, your body warping and twisting. You feel your clothes crawling over much more sensitive and youthful and softly yielding skin. Growing larger. No. You are getting smaller and more feminin… female. Girly. A polymorph spell of some description. But the direction of these changes are extremely feminine. You’re becoming a bombshell. Vacuous. Aroused.