Clarissa Bennett strolled down the dimly lit street, the crisp autumn air biting at her skin through the thin fabric of her hoodie. The oversized garment hung awkwardly on her frame, not quite accentuating her features the way she hoped it would. She pulled the hood up, tucking a few loose strands of her hair behind her ears, though the autumn breeze teased them free again. Her hair, constantly in flux between styles and colors, was currently a rich chestnut brown, worn in a choppy, shoulder-length cut that she had impulsively trimmed herself the week before. A few uneven strands framed her round face, accentuating the natural softness of her features—features that didn’t quite fit the conventional mold of beauty she wished they did.
Her skin was fair but prone to blemishes, and even now, in the flickering glow of the streetlights, she could feel the self-conscious flush creeping up her cheeks. Clarissa had tried makeup before—countless tutorials and half-hearted attempts—but she never quite got the hang of it, often opting for a bare face instead. She let out a small sigh, tugging at the sleeves of her hoodie, feeling the slightly frayed cuffs between her fingers, a habit she often reverted to when lost in thought. Beneath the baggy hoodie, her figure was average, with a somewhat larger chest that she never quite knew how to dress. Clothes always seemed to sit wrong on her, either too loose or too tight in all the wrong places, and she constantly struggled to find a balance that made her feel attractive but not overly exposed.
Tonight, she’d paired the hoodie with a pair of leggings that clung a little too tightly to her thighs, reminding her of the endless internal debate she had with herself every time she got dressed. Was she showing too much? Too little? The constant pressure to present herself in a way that felt right gnawed at her, and no matter how hard she tried, she never felt fully comfortable in her skin.
Her sneakers, scuffed and well-worn, slapped against the sidewalk with every step, the sound oddly comforting in the otherwise quiet night. She couldn’t help but glance at her reflection in the darkened shop windows she passed, catching glimpses of her uncertain posture and slightly hunched shoulders. She always wanted to look effortless—like the girls who seemed to know exactly how to dress, how to walk, how to be. Instead, she felt stuck somewhere between trying too hard and not trying enough.
The evening air carried a faint chill, and she hugged herself, shivering slightly, wishing she'd chosen something warmer. Her fingers tugged absentmindedly at the hem of her hoodie, a nervous tic she barely noticed anymore. She could already imagine Amelia teasing her about her constant fidgeting once she got back to their dorm—another reminder that no matter how much she tried to project confidence, it never quite stuck. Clarissa sighed, her breath curling in the crisp air, wishing, not for the first time, that she could step out of her head for just a little while.
It was the day before Halloween, and she was determined to find something fun for the group to do when Amelia's younger brother, Ethan, arrived. Their annual tradition of celebrating together had always been something Amelia looked forward to, and Clarissa figured a new game would spice things up.
The neon sign of "Curios & Oddities" flickered in and out as she approached the store, tucked between a closed bookstore and a boarded-up cafe. The dusty window displays showcased an assortment of antique dolls, tarot cards, and obscure board games with peeling covers. Clarissa pushed open the heavy wooden door, a small bell jingling above her head, and stepped inside.
The air smelled of old paper and something faintly metallic, and the dim lighting made it difficult to see much beyond the cluttered shelves. She wandered through the aisles, fingers grazing over strange trinkets and eerie-looking masks until she reached a section dedicated to board games. Most of them had faded artwork and titles in languages she didn't recognize, but one in particular caught her eye.
"Game of Changes," she read aloud, pulling the box off the shelf. The cover depicted four silhouetted figures standing at a crossroads, each path leading to bizarre transformations—some whimsical, some unsettling. "This could be fun," she muttered, turning the box over. The instructions on the back were vague, promising "a night of thrills, laughter, and unexpected twists."
"Good choice," a gravelly voice said behind her.
Clarissa jumped, nearly dropping the box. She turned to see an older man standing there, his thin frame wrapped in a long, tattered coat. His eyes, sunken and piercing, watched her with an unsettling intensity. "People usually don't notice that one," he continued, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "It's... unique."
Clarissa forced a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, well, unique is what I'm looking for. My friends and I love weird games."
The man nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving her face. "Just remember, the game doesn't play fair. It plays you." He tapped a bony finger on the box and shuffled away into the shadows of the store.
Swallowing her unease, Clarissa hurried to the register, paid for the game, and left the shop as quickly as she could. Once outside, she exhaled a shaky breath and glanced down at the box in her hands. "Creepy guy aside, this could be fun," she reassured herself, tucking it into her bag and heading back to the dorm.
Back in the cramped dorm room she shared with Amelia, Clarissa set the game box down on their small, slightly wobbly table, wedging it between the clutter that always seemed to accumulate no matter how often they tried to tidy up. The space was tight and lived-in, the kind of dorm room that barely fit two people, let alone all their stuff. Twin beds were crammed against opposite walls, separated only by a narrow strip of floor space cluttered with discarded clothes, open textbooks, and half-empty cups of forgotten coffee.
The faint hum of the old radiator filled the room, its heat mixing with the faint scent of Amelia’s vanilla-scented candles and Clarissa’s neglected perfume bottles. Posters of popular anime characters and K-pop idols clashed with Amelia’s ever-growing collection of plush Pokémon, which were stacked precariously on her bed, spilling onto Clarissa’s side more often than she liked to admit. A few stray Pikachus and Jigglypuffs stared up at her from the floor, their soft, round faces adding to the general feeling of organized chaos.
Clarissa sighed, nudging aside a sketchbook filled with Amelia’s animation doodles, some half-finished, others layered with notes and little heart-shaped post-its. The desk beneath it was just as chaotic—loose sheets of paper, open makeup containers, and Amelia’s phone charger coiled messily around a half-eaten bag of candy. She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror that hung above the desk, a small, smudged thing Amelia had insisted they keep for “cute outfit checks.”
Her fingers reached up, absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair as she debated whether to leave it down or try something a little more put-together—something that might, for once, make her feel less like the frazzled mess she felt inside.
The table creaked under the weight of the game box, and she gave it a wary look. The room suddenly felt smaller, the looming presence of the game making the walls press in just a little tighter. The fluorescent overhead light flickered slightly, casting awkward shadows over the mishmash of books, clothes, and stuffed animals scattered around.
It wasn’t much, but it was theirs—a cluttered, cozy little corner of the world where things were usually lighthearted and ridiculous. Tonight, though... the air felt heavier, the atmosphere thick with something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Ethan would be arriving tomorrow, and though she hated to admit it, she found him... attractive. He was younger, sure, but there was something about his easy confidence and the way he teased Amelia that made her stomach flutter in ways she didn't like to analyze too closely. Not that it mattered. He probably saw her as nothing more than his sister's awkward roommate.
"Ugh, get a grip," Clarissa muttered to herself, turning away from the mirror. She opened the game box, scanning its contents: a beautifully illustrated board featuring colorful spaces in red, blue, pink, white, and black, each corresponding to a different effect. There were a handful of unique spaces marked with symbols—wedding rings, baby rattles, astrological signs. The dice were ornate, glinting under the dorm's soft light.
The instructions inside were handwritten in elegant script:
Welcome to the Game of Changes. Each roll of the dice will take you on a journey of transformation, testing your limits and reshaping your identity. Be warned—change is inevitable.
Clarissa raised an eyebrow. "Okay, that's... weirdly ominous." She flipped through the rest of the materials, finding a deck of thick cards labeled "Fate," and another marked "Action." With a grin, she murmured, "This is going to be awesome."
The next evening, Amelia sat cross-legged on her bed, her oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, the sleeves extending past her fingertips as she absentmindedly tugged at the cuffs. The thick fabric pooled around her as she leaned into the sketchbook balanced on her lap, shading the fine details of a character design. Her sweatpants, faded and worn from countless cozy nights in, bunched around her ankles, her bare feet tucked beneath her thighs for warmth.
Her long blonde hair, soft and fine like willow tree branches, cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, a few stray strands falling across her face as she worked. She blew at them absentmindedly, the ends tickling her nose, but they stubbornly refused to move, clinging to the faint static of her hoodie. Her slightly longer, pointier nose wrinkled in mild frustration, a subconscious reaction as she pushed the hair behind her ear with a delicate, practiced motion.
The soft glow from the desk lamp highlighted the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, features delicate and sharp in the small room's lighting. Her lips, naturally full but often chewed raw from nervous habit, were caught between her teeth as she concentrated on the fine strokes of her pencil. The pressure of the day clung to her expression, a constant undercurrent of quiet self-doubt mixed with the intense focus she always poured into her work.
Despite the coziness of her hoodie, the subtle tension in her shoulders betrayed the ever-present feeling of being watched, judged, analyzed. She tried not to think about it too much—about how her appearance made her self-conscious, how she never quite felt comfortable in her own skin, especially around others. She was grateful for the shapeless comfort of the hoodie, the way it swallowed her frame and made her feel invisible, even if just for a little while.
The rhythmic scratching of her pencil filled the dorm room, a familiar sound that usually brought her comfort, but tonight, it couldn’t drown out the steady tapping of Clarissa’s foot against the floor. Amelia’s gaze flicked up from her sketchbook to her roommate, and a sigh slipped past her lips.
“So, I got this game for us to play when Ethan gets here,” Clarissa announced, holding up a box with an excited grin that didn’t quite mask the tension in her eyes.
Amelia glanced up, arching an eyebrow at the colorful packaging. “Game of Changes? Sounds like something you’d pick out,” she said with a smirk, stretching her legs out and nudging aside a few of her plush Pokémon scattered on the bed. She placed her sketchbook aside, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility pressing on her shoulders, but the idea of a game sounded like a good distraction.
Clarissa crossed her arms with a defensive huff, but Amelia could see the anticipation bubbling underneath. “Hey, I have impeccable taste,” Clarissa shot back. “Besides, I think it'll be fun. You know Ethan loves weird stuff.”
Amelia snorted, rolling onto her side and tapping her pencil against her lips thoughtfully. “True. He’ll probably think it’s the coolest thing ever.” She let the thought of Ethan linger for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips. “He should be here in an hour. Stacey’s bringing snacks, right?”
“Yep,” Clarissa replied, plopping down onto the couch and resting the game box on her lap. Amelia noticed the way her roommate’s fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the box. That wasn’t just excitement—it was something more. Something Amelia had started noticing more and more whenever Ethan was mentioned.
Amelia studied Clarissa for a beat, a knowing smirk forming. “You’re acting weird,” she said lightly, tilting her head.
Clarissa scoffed, a little too quickly. “What? No, I’m not.”
“Uh-huh,” Amelia muttered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She knew Clarissa had a thing for Ethan, even if she wouldn’t admit it. It was in the way she straightened up every time his name was mentioned, the way her eyes flicked to the door when Amelia’s phone buzzed.
And as if on cue, Amelia’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. She glanced at the screen and grinned. “Ethan’s here!”
Clarissa stiffened, smoothing her hair down instinctively, and Amelia had to bite back a laugh. “You know he’s younger than you, right?” she teased, standing up and heading toward the door.
“Shut up,” Clarissa muttered under her breath, shifting the game box nervously. Amelia rolled her eyes but couldn’t shake the small twinge of protectiveness she felt for her friend. Ethan had a way of charming people without even realizing it, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about Clarissa being caught up in that.
When Amelia opened the door, Ethan stepped in, taller than she remembered, his tousled hair damp from the evening mist. He grinned in that effortless way of his and dropped his duffel bag onto the floor. “Hey, losers,” he greeted, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Clarissa.
Amelia didn’t miss the way Clarissa shifted awkwardly under his gaze, nor the subtle flicker of recognition in Ethan’s expression. “Hey yourself,” Clarissa said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice a little too casual.
Amelia rolled her eyes, already unpacking the game components from the box. “Come on, we have a game to set up,” she said, cutting through the weird tension forming in the room. “And don’t even think about cheating, Ethan.”
Before Ethan could respond, a soft knock at the door broke the moment. “That’s probably Stacey,” Amelia said, standing up and making her way to the door.
When she opened the door, Stacey stood there with her usual composed expression, holding a grocery bag in one hand and a cup of iced coffee in the other. “Snacks and caffeine, as promised,” she said with a small smile, her voice steady and even, as always.
Her brown hair, neatly pulled back into a single braid that hung just past her shoulder blades, framed her soft features in a way that suited her practical, no-nonsense approach to life. The braid was a staple of hers—simple, reliable, and fuss-free—perfectly reflecting the kind of person she was. A few loose strands had escaped, brushing gently against her cheeks, giving her an unintentional touch of softness that contrasted with her usual structured demeanor.
Stacey’s features weren’t striking or bold, but they carried an understated charm, a quiet elegance that often went unnoticed until you really looked. Her face had a natural warmth to it, her eyes thoughtful and observant, always seeming to take in more than she let on. Her lips, usually pressed into a neutral line, curved slightly as she regarded Amelia and Clarissa with a knowing look, already anticipating their antics before they could even speak.
She was dressed, predictably, in her typical choice of practical comfort—a fitted navy-blue sweater that hugged her average frame in a way that wasn’t attention-grabbing but still presentable. It wasn’t meant to impress, just to function, like most of her wardrobe. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, exposing her fair skin, and a modest silver watch adorned her wrist, a small reflection of the structure she clung to in her otherwise chaotic friend group. Her jeans, well-worn and comfortably snug, emphasized her legs without drawing attention, while a pair of black sneakers peeked out from beneath the hems, scuffed slightly from constant use.
Even standing casually in the doorway, Stacey carried herself with a sense of quiet confidence, her posture straight but relaxed, her shoulders slightly squared in a way that suggested she was always ready to step in and take control if needed. Despite her efforts to blend into the background most of the time, there was an undeniable reliability in the way she stood, like an anchor in the midst of the room’s constant creative chaos.
The glow from the dorm’s overhead light cast a soft shadow on her face, highlighting the subtle creases of concern she often carried without realizing it. Though she tried not to let it show, the careful balance she maintained between responsibility and friendship often weighed on her, a tension that occasionally flickered behind her eyes when she thought no one was looking.
As she stepped inside, setting the grocery bag down on the small table already cluttered with sketchbooks and discarded wrappers, Stacey glanced around the tight space with a familiar, patient sigh. “You guys seriously need to clean up in here,” she murmured, her voice laced with amusement but also the unspoken offer to help if they needed it. She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder, habitually brushing a hand down the front of her sweater, smoothing out invisible creases that only she seemed to notice.
Even as she stood there, a part of her felt that quiet tug of being an outsider in the world of animation sketches and artistic ambition that surrounded her. She cared deeply for Amelia and Clarissa, but their vibrant, chaotic energy often left her feeling like the responsible one, the practical counterweight to their creative whirlwind. Still, she wouldn't trade it for anything—there was comfort in being the person they leaned on, even if she sometimes wished she could step out of that role and embrace something more uncertain, more exciting.
“You are an angel,” Amelia said, taking the cup and stepping aside to let Stacey in.
“Hey, Stacey,” Ethan greeted from his spot on Amelia’s bed, his voice just a little too casual.
Stacey gave him a polite nod. “Hey, Ethan. How was the drive?”
“Long,” he groaned, stretching. “Your snacks better be worth it.”
Clarissa snorted from the table. “Don’t worry, we have something even better.” She held up the Game of Changes box with a triumphant grin.
Ethan stared at it. “What even is that?”
Stacey took a seat, peering at the box skeptically. “Yeah, Clarissa. You always pick weird stuff, but this? It looks… I don’t even know. Sketchy?”
Amelia grabbed the rulebook and flipped through it, her brow furrowing. “Seriously, how are we even supposed to play this? ‘A journey of transformation awaits those who dare to roll’? What does that even mean?”
Ethan leaned over to look at the board as Clarissa laid it out. “Transformation? So, what, we pretend we’re turning into... what, different people?”
Clarissa shrugged. “It’s like role-playing, I guess? You roll, land on a space, and something about you changes. Like mentally or physically, according to the colors. Red spaces are for physical changes, blue ones are mental, pink ones are... uh, well, personal.” She smirked.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Personal? Like... emotionally personal? Or—?”
Clarissa wiggled her eyebrows. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Amelia groaned, flipping another page in the rulebook. “Okay, but seriously, there's no clear win condition. It just says, ‘The game ends when a player reaches the end, and the get one wish.’ That doesn’t make any sense.”
Stacey grabbed a handful of chips and frowned at the board. “It sounds more like a weird social experiment than a game. Are we supposed to act out whatever happens?”
Clarissa shrugged. “Maybe it’s more about the experience than the rules.”
Amelia shot her a look. “Clarissa, a game needs rules to actually be a game.”
Ethan chuckled. “I’m all for weird stuff, but this feels like one of those games where you end up sitting in awkward silence halfway through, realizing none of it makes sense.”
“Or,” Amelia added, “one of those games where we laugh for ten minutes, get bored, and never finish.”
Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Come on, don’t be such a buzzkill. It’s just for fun. Worst case, we make our own rules and turn it into something cool.”
Stacey eyed the board again, then sighed. “Alright, but I still don’t get how we’re supposed to ‘embrace’ changes. Is it, like... improv?”
Ethan smirked. “Hey, if I land on something that says I turn into a superhero, I’m all in.”
Clarissa grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”
Amelia shook her head, feeling the weight of the ridiculousness of it all. “Fine. But don’t blame me when we all end up staring at each other, trying to figure out what ‘random effect’ actually means.”
Ethan picked up the dice, turning them over in his hand. “I say we give it a shot. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Amelia shot him a warning look. “Famous last words.”
Clarissa clapped her hands together. “Okay, great! Let’s set it up and give it a go.”
As they began arranging the pieces, Amelia couldn't help but feel a nagging sense of curiosity. The game seemed ridiculous, sure, but there was something about it—something about the way the colors shifted on the board when the light hit them just right, or how the dice felt oddly heavy in her hands—that made her wonder.
Probably just a gimmick, she told herself, watching as Clarissa set up the board on the small, already overcrowded table between the two beds.
Clarissa, perched on the edge of her own bed, leaned forward, pushing aside a tangle of loose papers, empty snack wrappers, and a stray sketchbook that Amelia had left there earlier. With an exaggerated sigh, she flattened the creased rulebook, spreading the glossy board across the surface with a dramatic flair, like she was unveiling something grand. “Alright, let’s see what kind of weirdness we’re getting into,” she muttered, carefully placing the dice in the center, their glossy, darkened edges reflecting the dim dorm light.
The board itself seemed almost too big for the tiny table, forcing Clarissa to slide Amelia’s abandoned pencil case and Stacey’s forgotten iced coffee to the far edge to make room. The colored pathways spiraled outward in intricate, twisting patterns, each space marked with strange symbols and cryptic instructions. The game pieces—small, vaguely human figurines in various colors—clattered against the board as Clarissa poured them out, their polished surfaces feeling oddly cool against her fingers.
Amelia shifted on her bed, pulling her oversized hoodie tighter around herself as she watched Clarissa work. She sat cross-legged, knees tucked under her hoodie, her long hair spilling over her shoulder and partially obscuring her sketchbook, which now lay abandoned on the comforter beside her. Stacey, ever the practical one, sat beside Amelia, legs stretched out under the table, one ankle crossed over the other. She reached out occasionally, adjusting a piece here and there, but mostly watched with her usual quiet composure, her braid draped over her shoulder and her hands resting in her lap.
On the other side of the table, the lone chair sat with its back facing the dorm door—the only proper seating option in the cramped space. Ethan plopped into it unceremoniously, leaning back with a cocky grin and balancing the chair on two legs like he owned the room. “So, are we playing, or are you guys just gonna sit there staring at it all night?” he teased, drumming his fingers impatiently on the edge of the table.
Clarissa shot him an annoyed glance before grabbing the figurines and handing them out. "Patience, dude. We have to, like, set the mood or whatever," she said with a smirk, pushing the last of the clutter to the far edge of the table. “Besides, you know Amelia takes forever to overthink things.”
Amelia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she traced a finger over one of the swirling designs on the board, feeling the faint texture beneath her touch. It was weirdly... smooth. Almost like it was pulsing under her fingertips, though that was probably just her imagination running wild.
Stacey shifted beside her, adjusting her posture and nudging Amelia lightly with her elbow. “You’re staring,” she said, her voice low and teasing.
“Am not,” Amelia shot back, but her fingers lingered on the board for a second longer before pulling away. The colors beneath the surface seemed to shimmer, the deep reds and blues twisting together like they were alive.
Clarissa finished lining up the game pieces in their respective starting positions, sitting back with a satisfied nod. "Alright, ready?" she asked, looking around the group.
Ethan gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. Stacey offered a small, composed smile. Amelia, though hesitant, nodded too, shifting her weight and resting her hands on her knees.
Just another weird game night with her friends.
Nothing more.
Right?