You pause for a moment, weighing your options. Going home isn't really an option. Whoever took your body has your wallet and your keys, and you doubt your neighbors would turn a blind eye to some scrawny little goth girl breaking your windows and squatting in your apartment for a week.
You have a feeling offering to clean someone's mansion here would cost you your mind on top of your body, and asking one of these witches to transform you might be even worse. You also feel a bit cold. Heading back in, you try to cover your new naked body with your hands as best you can and see if you can't at least deal with that much. As you look around for where this girl might have left her clothes, you run into a woman who looks a bit out of place. In her sixties maybe, hunched over and pear shaped, with a big bulbous warted nose. You suppose you lucked out a little not ending up like that-
"My dear girl, I have worn this body for the last forty years, and plan to for at least forty more. Ultimately I find youth and beauty like yours simply a distraction."
Was your staring that obvious? You open your mouth to apologize, but before you get a single word out-
"Yes yes, new here, scared and confused, understandable. No, I can't help return you to your old body, yes I can get you something to wear, obviously without a curse. I do need an assistant. Have you ever driven a carriage? Any acting experience? Of course not but yes, I do appreciate the eagerness."
She stands revealing an impressively large trunk she'd apparently been sitting on, opening it and pulling out an elaborately layered dress, and a bundle of perfumed scarves, belts of coins, and a high heeled pair of boots. "Put these on," she says, tossing them haphazardly at you, and tipping the trunk up on it's side. You're more than eager enough to get dressed at least, and her continued habit of answering questions before they're asked certainly helps in figuring out how everything is supposed to go.
"Now get in," she says, opening the trunk. "You've seen magic acts where girls step in and disappear, they based it on these, and we have a busy day, yes I'll give you a minute to catch up on the other side." With that she shoves you in, following close behind, slamming the lid closed and opening it almost instantaneously, revealing a dirt trail through the trees at dusk, and an old horse-drawn carriage.
"Good, you've worked out that I'm a seer. The Great Madame Yvonka. I ride around in this, stop by little villages, pull out the crystal ball and make a difference in confused young people's lives. You're my mysterious young assistant. You drive the cart, look a bit sexy and perhaps a bit dangerous when you can manage to, and talk me up as wise and all-knowing." She pulls a small black flask from a pocket and hands it to you. "Pour some honey on your tongue before you say anything, it'll give you a properly foreign accent and pull the right words out, "she sighs, "and yes, it will make you a flirty little thing, but I didn't go to all this trouble to have a serviceable assistant run off with some scruffy young thug."
***
After a few more minutes of her answering questions as they come to mind with increasing exasperation, you eventually resign yourself to your fate and start ferrying her around. She only gives her predictions at dusk, but she also transports her cart to another abandoned stretch of road, much further west as soon as you're out of town and around a bend, so your days are surprisingly long and tiring, while your nights are are a bit uncomfortable, sleeping on the roof of a carriage in the middle of the woods under a pile of scented scarves. At mealtimes, when she mercifully pulls ready made dishes from her trunk for the both of you, she gives you a few pointers. Nothing as impressive as legitimately seeing the future, but you get a good handle on how to read people, at least as well as a half-decent con artist.
You have an extremely difficult time keeping track of what day it is given the schedule, but after a week in 'the Great Madame's' service you step out of her trunk in that same opulent mansion.
"Now's where you thank me for the tips and watching out for you, get blackout drunk, and yes I'll keep these warlocks from taking advantage. Tomorrow I'll have a new assistant who won't be quite such a headache and you'll no longer be this evergreen little goth girl, it's win win, and yes I'll leave the honey where you'll find it as a souvenir."
You thank her and collapse in an overstuffed chair, downing the goblet of wine someone hands you and breathing a sigh of relief. Spending a week with someone predicting your every thought like that really was exhausting, almost like you had no real free will. As you drink and celebrate, you look for your old body, but keep getting sidetracked by 'snack trays' full of hallucinogens and stronger drinks. Things start to get hazy, and after some fuzzy memories of pulling your dress off to cover an ice sculpture, and that 'light as a feather, stiff as a board' trick leaving you stuck on the roof for a while, you once again volunteer to shed your body and writhe around the floor as some amorphous glowing mass a while. The body you eventually slide into apparently started hitting the heavy stuff much harder than you did, and you don't wake up until well after noon when the sprinklers on the front lawn activate.
The flask of magic honey you'd been using has indeed been left right in front of you in the grass, along with more of those magic hangover tablets you quite desperately need, but you most certainly aren't back in your original body.