Boredom. Impatience. Anxiety. Excitement.
It took all of thirty seconds for the stupor to fizzle out. Forty-five seconds to consider all the ways to misinterpret his wishes. A full minute to wonder if this was really such a great idea. A little over a minute to ignore the sudden panic and decide everything was fine.
“It’s a neat premise,” Jon finally said, appreciating the dulcet sound of his new voice, “and if things go wrong, I can undo the wi-oaaaaah.”
A sudden onset of nausea almost sent him tumbling, but the magical outfit kept him steady.
The hell?
A cold numbness. It wasn’t painful, not in any describable way, but it was jarring. As if Jon’s body decided to relax all of its muscles at once, disregarding whatever he had to say about it. He tried to keep stay focused, to undo his previous wish, but he couldn’t ignore the fogginess invading his mind…
“Goodness Damien! Would it kill you to clean up a little? I swear, you’re not gonna be impressing any girls if you keep this up…” Her son’s room wasn’t just a mess, it was so chaotic she could hardly recognize it! The furniture, the decorations, even the junk laying about? This hardly even felt like his room anymore!
The exasperated mother eyed her ring. It was a memento from her own parent, seeming to be little more than a quaint piece of jewelry, but it possessed an esoteric power well beyond the scope of any normal human. She was normally committed to using it in moderation—she’d seen it do enough harm, after all—but she did just finish such a long and stressful week…
“I wish my house would be cleaned up a little, at least so it’s more recognizable.”
Poof!
Much better, and no effort required.
It wouldn’t hurt to splurge a little more with the item, would it? She’d been so good until now, and it might do good to vent out its arcane power for once… But she looked at her into her son’s mirror, knowing exactly why she’d been so reluctant to use it in the first place. She’d made mistakes growing up, and was still living with the consequences.
...It’d be such a waste to ignore the heirloom, though. Especially with all the trouble her father went through to get it.
Jon regained his senses the same way one might wake from a particularly bad dream: screaming.
He forgot he was Jon.
He forgot he was Jon.
For those few seconds, he couldn’t even imagine being anything other than the stunning and curvaceous woman he appeared to be. Four decades of womanly experience, governing each and every thought, belief, and movement—and it felt entirely natural.
It was bizarre and confusing and wrong. Was this an existential crisis? Jon was having an existential crisis. No, seriously. Was he still himself during the “experience?” Even if he didn’t know it? Or was Jon, if momentarily, dead? Was he the same Jon as before?
-Moving the body felt like the most natural thing in the world. Even with the curves and boobs and towering heels.
-He didn’t recognize his own room.
-He felt a genuine, maternal love for Damien, despite never meeting the kid.
-None of that was currently true, but his short time as Josephine felt as vivid as any other recent memory.
No, no. It was probably mind control or something. His own existence didn’t flicker, temporarily making way for a complete stranger’s. The rock couldn’t do that, right?
Wait a moment.
Jon shrieked. This wasn’t his room! The walls were the wrong color and the furniture were the wrong make, his posters replaced with an array of amateurish photography and paintings, his expansive collection of books replaced with unfinished drawings and crumbled sketches.
I wish my house was cleaned up a little, at least so it’s more recognizable.
This was recognizable alright, but to Josephine, not Jon. Did the wish turn his house into hers? The faux-woman rushed to the hallway, letting out a sharp gasp. Gone was the eclectic cluster of knick-knack decorations his parents kept messily collecting, replaced with more groundedly refined decorum.
Wishes were retroactive. That wasn’t new. But Jon wasn’t expecting things to be altered here. Where did Jon’s own family go? Did they still live in town? Did they even exist in this continuity?
Deep breaths, Jon. The wishes had a time limit.
…
A family picture. Jon recognized Josephine grinning bashfully and guessed that the 16-ish-year old was Damien. Next to them was a girl, slightly younger, followed by what was most likely Josephine’s husband.
Huh. Josephine had a husband.
Which meant Jon had a husband.
Fuck.
“Stop this wi—” A cold shiver washed over his body, and Jon felt his sense of self giving way. “No! Not this shit again—gah!” His panties violently jutted upwards, punishing his immature and unfeminine language. The faux-woman howled in pain, trying to undo the wish, but the momentary distraction ate up too much time.
Josephine shook her head, trying to wave off the sudden disorientation.
