Turn 3 of 19

Applies heavier makeup and sticks on the fake lashes. They stay perfectly. Nails grow longer and stronger while she paints them bright. Tries the curly weave; it sits like it belongs. Hips and thighs already feel softer. Panics a little, keeps going anyway.

The girl in the mirror watched, daring Jess to stop, daring her to take it all off and go back to being herself—except somehow Jess wasn't sure who that was, anymore. The makeup kit was still open on the dresser, spilling its treasures of glitter and gloss, and Jess's hand hovered over the eyelash glue. Before she could talk herself out of it she was dabbing it onto the cheap fake lashes, pressing them carefully to her lashline. They settled into place with unnerving perfection, as if they'd always been there, and Jess blinked in surprise—her new lashes stayed settled, dark and thick and impossibly long, against her steadily darkening skin.

She grabbed a bottle of bright red nail polish, the cheap kind that promised long-lasting shine, and began to paint her fingernails with quick, nervous strokes. As the first coat dried she felt them—felt the nails growing longer, stronger, curving into elegant ovals beneath the red lacquer. She stared, transfixed, as the red shimmered into place.

The big curly weave, the one that had looked so flashy and ridiculous in the polaroids, was lying on the dresser. Jess picked it up—somehow she already knew exactly how to fit it onto her own head. As soon as it settled into place it seemed to change, its coarse synthetic curls softening into something like real hair, settling around her shoulders as if it belonged there. Her hips and thighs, still clad in the cheap red skirt, felt softer, rounder, beneath her hands.

A tremor of panic shot through her—this was real, this was happening, and it wasn't ever going away. But the stranger in the mirror just smiled, a slow, knowing smile that promised safety, that whispered of belonging. Jess took a shaky breath, gripped the edge of the dresser, and kept going.