Turn 5 of 17

Staring into Mias eyes via the mirror, you try to find an excuse, or a reason why you are not to blame however you notice the next change starts, your body starts smoothing, arms, core and legs toning into a dedicated yoga followers, hips and ass rounding like a dedicated squatter, and modest firm brests swell. Mia remains emotionless

You can't look away from her eyes, even in the mirror. It feels safer that way — finding her reflected gaze and holding it, as if the body below your chin belongs to someone else you don't have to answer for.

"Mia. Listen to me," you say, and your hands come up, pastel nails flashing as you gesture. "Those girls — I never made them any promises, okay? They knew what it was. If anything, they used me. I'm not the villain here. You have to know that. You have to—"

She says nothing. Her face stays smooth and unreadable, half-lit, and her lack of reaction is worse than anger. And while you're searching her eyes for a crack, the next change begins, and you feel it as a warm spreading looseness across your whole body, like stepping into a hot bath.

Your arms are moving under your skin. You watch in the mirror as the thin softness of them firms, defines, settles into lean toned lines — the arms of someone who has done an hour of yoga every morning for years. It travels down your core, your stomach cinching flat and tight, then down your legs, your thighs reshaping with slow, purposeful precision, muscle sculpting itself where softness was. Your hips and the curve of your rear round and lift, filling out into the unmistakable shape of someone devoted to the squat rack, and you sway on your smaller feet as your balance changes again beneath you.

Then your chest. A warmth gathers there, a tightness, and you stare, hands frozen in the air, as it swells — modest at first, then firm, full, sitting high and perfectly shaped against your narrow ribcage. You don't have a shirt to hide it in. There's nothing left of your clothes anywhere in the house that would fit you now.

"There she is," Mia says at last, tilting her head at your reflection. "That body. That exact body, Dylan. You used to describe it to your friends in detail, remember? You always thought it made you look good, being seen with it." Her eyes finally meet yours in the mirror, and they are utterly without pity.

"I'm not making you into something new. I'm just showing him what he chose."