Medium Breasts ---> Buxom Hourglass Figure

My mind drifts, still riding the haze of magic both figurative and literal. I muse on the "truth" presented to me by the cursed mirror. It says my breasts are merely "medium," and I scoff. Scoff? I scoff at the notion. I would roll my eyes too, if they would move. Who would look at a body like mine and say I have 'Medium Breasts' of all things? I've always had a 'Buxom Hourglass Figure.' The world spins away and--

--I'm left bewildered. I don't think much changed. Did it? Change? What would have changed? Why would it change? Oh. Right. The mirror!

My thoughts are confused and bewildered, and the lingering lusts of last night's encounter stubbornly refuse to fade. I must be imagining things. This frozen state is simply terrible. I itch in more ways than one, anxious to move, and act, and deal with this haze.

Did the mirror even do anything? Does it even do anything? Is it really even the mirror's fault at all, that I stand frozen in time like this, or was it some unseen actor that simply caught me at an awkward time? I don't know. I...

(buxom court-dancer, wavy light-green hair, tiny bedlah bra, see-through silks, surprised expression, buxom hourglass figure, hairband, stockings, translucent bedlah dancer's outfit, standing in a castle bedroom)