Turn 4 of 21

wake up and see how much has changed. A lot. Her tits and ass are bigger, so is her belly. She has gained 15 pounds pounds. From 145 to 160 on a 5'7" frame. Her red hair is greasy as well with stubble appearing all throughout her body. None of her clothes fit her. Thankfully she works from home, so she can be naked. She continues to eat more and revel in her changes.

Lena wakes to the smell of herself — warm, faintly sour, the kind of body smell that comes from sleeping hard and sweating through the night without sheets to absorb it. She lifts her head from the pillow and the room tilts, then settles, and she lies there for a long moment feeling the weight of her own body pressing into the mattress. It is heavier than yesterday. She can tell before she moves, the way the bed holds her differently, the way her center of gravity has shifted lower and forward. She runs a hand down her side and the terrain has changed overnight — her hip is softer, rounder, the bone buried under a new layer of warmth that wasn't there when she fell asleep.

She sits up and sees herself. The bathroom mirror is ten steps away but she doesn't need it yet — she can feel the changes in the way her breasts settle against her ribs, heavier and fuller, pressing outward to the sides in a way they never have. She lifts one and the weight of it surprises her, the soft mass filling her hand and spilling past her fingers. Her ass, when she shifts to the edge of the bed, spreads beneath her wider than before, the cheeks pressing into the mattress in a broad, comfortable shelf. She stands and catches her reflection in the dark window glass and the silhouette is unmistakably different — wider, rounder, the line from her shoulders to her hips softened into curves that weren't there a week ago.

Her belly is the centerpiece. It sits round and plush above her waist, fuller than it was last night, and when she presses her fingertips into it they sink in deep before meeting anything firm. The skin is warm and smooth and the warmth pulses beneath it, the familiar bloom of the wish doing its work. She steps onto the scale in the bathroom and watches the number settle: 160. She was 145 a week ago. Fifteen pounds in seven days, and the pace is not slowing. She stares at the number and the old Lena would be panicking but this Lena — the one the wish is building, the one who is rising up through the ruins of the old one — feels a surge of something close to pride.

She catches sight of her hair in the mirror. The red is dulled, greasy, hanging lank against her forehead. She runs a hand through it and her fingers come away slick. Her underarms are rough with stubble she forgot to shave — days now, probably — and when she runs a palm down her shin the coarse prickle of new growth catches against her skin. Legs, underarms, the faint shadow above her lip. A week ago she would have been horrified. Now she pauses in front of the mirror, arms raised, and looks at the stubble and the grease and the roundness of her body all together, and the warm voice says: This is you. The real you. Unpolished. Unrestrained.

She goes to the closet and tries everything. The jeans won't pass her thighs. The work blouses won't close across her chest. Even the sweatpants — the old reliable sweatpants — strain at the waistband and cut a red line into her belly when she forces them up. She strips them off and kicks them into the corner and stands naked in her bedroom, breathing hard, and the feeling that washes over her isn't shame. It's relief. She works from home. She doesn't have to wear anything at all.

She eats breakfast naked at the kitchen counter, her belly pressing against the cold marble, and the coolness against her warm skin makes her shiver in a way that feels delicious. Scrambled eggs, four of them, with cheese and toast and a glass of juice and then a second glass. She eats standing up and feels her body sway with the new weight, feels her thighs rub together, feels her breasts heavy and warm against her chest. She belches long and low into the quiet apartment and grins. The day is young. There is more food in the fridge. And the wish is not done with her yet.