Void Guardian 1.3

Impact 1.3

My sleep is fitful, and I jerk awake several times as I dream of a bloody face with unseeing dead eyes. Dead girls accusing me of murder and my body warping as a gleeful 'Puchuu!' echoes. Eventually though, the morning is here and I resign myself to not being able to sleep any longer. The air in the house is heating up and with all the windows closed it is rapidly becoming oven-like. Looking through the slats in the closet door, I can see the square of sunlight streaming in from from the window on the floor. The room is bright if empty and smells like paint. I listen for any surprise workmen before exiting the closet.

I make my way to the bathroom to empty my bladder and have to stop as I realize I'm in a skirt, and even if I did have a fly, I can't piss standing up anymore. I glance around for toilet paper but find none. Fuck, I had a spare roll in the car, why didn't I take it before leaving it to be towed? I eye the tub. It's stained and clearly hasn't been replaced yet. It's still the best option and I can shower while I'm at it. I retrieve the sword and blanket from my closet, and set the blanket on the towel rack, the sword in arms reach of the tub. No sense taking chances.

I start the water running while I strip down. Everything comes off with some ease except the bra. While I'm not terrible at working a bra clasp, I'm used to doing it while reaching behind someone else's back, and I fumble with it awkwardly before finally giving up and just rolling it up and off like a too-tight shirt. As I toss the garment to the side my new magical senses twinge briefly and a slight pull I hadn't noticed vanishes. I glance outside the door, but don't notice anything. I guess there's something about my clothes? Whatever, my bladder's killing me.

I hop in the shower and instantly regret it. The water is too cold, and I shiver as I let my bladder relax. I take a few moments to make sure I'm all rinsed off before grabbing my blanket to use as a towel.

With my immediate problem out of the way, I move to resolve something I was both curious about and dreading. I head to the master bedroom, where mirrored closet doors would provide me with a full length look at the new me, rather than the tiny slice of face I saw last night. I gulp a little as I let the blanket pool on the floor and stand transfixed, staring at the girl in the mirror.

I was gorgeous. I wouldn’t call myself a perfect ideal woman, but I was easily a 9. Ample bustline, long limbs, slightly wiry and gangly, but not in a way that was at all unattractive. In the sunlight I can see that my hair is more of a very dark brown rather than black - if I stand right in the sun it shows much lighter tones. Taking in the whole package - my wavy dark hair, bright eyes, a body that had padding in all the right places and little where it didn’t need it, the freckles across my nose and cheekbones... I shiver, and I'm not sure if it's from the cold water. Was what I became a template? Drawn from my subconscious? Me if I had been born female? Why do I look like this and not myself with tits and hips?

I had noticed I was tall and stacked in an idle way before, but standing in the mirror made it plain how impressive I was in both areas. I spun briefly, watching myself, then looked down and ran my hands over my body as I came to a realization. I had practically no body hair. Other than the usual head hair, I had only a small delta of trimmed pubic hair. My arms and legs were completely devoid of hair. Not superfine hair that was hard to notice, just completely bare.

A slight chime from the other room ends my self-inspection and reminds me I'm waiting for word from my wife. I pile the clothes into the blanket and sling it over my shoulder with one hand, sword in the other as I march back to the other bedroom. I retrieve my phone and see a few messages waiting for me as well as a missed call from Sandra.

	- What? What's going on?
	- I'm up, it's 7. You should have been here hours ago.
	Where are you?
	- Please respond, you're worrying me.​

I scrub my hand over my face. There's no real good way to break this to her, but at least I didn't go home and flop into bed to surprise her with my new body. I'm sure that would have ended in screaming and flung objects.

	I'm okay. Sort of. You want the long story or the condensed one? -​

My phone rings immediately. I reject the call – she'll notice my voice.

	I can't talk right now babe. Text me. -

	- James, what the fuck is going on?

	Okay, Condensed version. Magic is real, I hit someone with the car
	last night, now I'm forced to take their place. The Santa Clause could
	be a fucking documentary. -

	- What.
	- Are you fucking with me? It's not April Fool's Day you dick.

	Not fucking with you. -
	And goddamn, I'd rather be in Tim Allen's shoes. It'd be better. -
​
There's a long pause. I start to wonder if she'll believe me at all, when a full minute later the next response appears.

	- Okay, give me the long version.

	Hit a girl with the car last night, while coming home. -
	She turned out to be some kind of magic demon hunter or something -

	- You did what?!

	Then this... thing turns up and says I have to take her place -
	And then it changed me. -

	- Please tell me you are high right now.
	- Someone slipped you some pot brownies, LSD, or something?

	Not high. Scared as hell though. -
	I'm not a dude anymore. -

	- You were never dude-like in the first place.

	No, I mean I don't have a penis anymore. -
	My junk has been swapped for ladybits. -
	Hunter was female, so I am now too. -
	Hence why I can't talk. My voice is different. -

	- I'm gonna assume you're high. That makes more sense that the
	nonsense you are spewing.
	- I hope you didn't actually hit someone last night.

	Fuck! babe I'm not high. This happened! I'm barely holding it
	together. Give me a fucking chance here! :/ -
​
I tug on my hair in frustration. This was going to be a hard sell, but I didn't see anything for it. I'd have to be there. It's too hard arguing via text I'm not much better off arguing in person, but at least then I could demonstrate SOMETHING to her.

	I'm a couple blocks away. I'll walk over, we'll go back and forth on
	in-jokes and shit so you know I'm still me, and then and you can
	punch me for being unfairly pretty. -

	- Whatever. You're even less funny than usual.
	- Get sober before you come home.​

This is not how I wanted this to proceed. Fuck. I eye the pile of clothing. This is going to be awkward as shit. I start dressing myself and promptly get in a fight with the bra. I can't properly get the hooks in, and after fuming for a few moments I duplicate my earlier maneuver and treat it like an annoyingly elastic shirt. Fucking devil underwear. I know they make bras that clasp in front, and this stupid hell garment is frustrating beyond...

My thoughts derail as my magic 'pings' while I don the rumpled clothing. The uncomfortable, twisted straps are suddenly righted. The skirt and top smooth themselves into a perfect, pressed state. The clothes smell freshly laundered. Come to think of it, I raise an arm and take an experimental sniff. No body odor at all. If anything it smells slightly of jasmine and sandalwood. I walk back to the master bedroom and check my hair again. I didn't notice it when I was checking myself out earlier, but it's perfect. Its slightly curled, no trace of the sort of bedhead I ought to have after sweating the morning away in a hot closet. Well, I guess that's a small benefit. Magic effect of 'I always look good?' I guess I can't fuck up my appearance.

I gather up my bag and re-wrap the sword in the now damp blanket. I guess I better head over. I exit the back door of the house, hop over a wall with surprising ease and start walking. Time to face the music, I suppose.