----Transformation Tracker ----
Amelia Harper -
Stacey Whitmore - Has to accept and complete any dare (mental),
Ryan Carter - Enlarged Manhood (12inch).
Clarissa Bennett -
(Clarissa's POV)
The dice tumbled across the board, bouncing against the edge before settling on a solid 4. My piece moved forward on its own, gliding eerily across the path until it landed on a blue space—Mental Change. My stomach twisted.
The crystal ball flickered ominously, swirling with deep blue light before text scrawled across the board in jagged, glowing script. The words seemed to pulse, shifting and flickering, forcing me to squint as I read them aloud:
"Embrace the bold, the crude, the free,
Forget what was, and what should be.
Speak your mind, take up your space,
Let their words fall out of place.
What once was grace will turn askew,
A different style, a different you."
A heavy silence settled over the room. I stared at the words, my pulse hammering in my ears. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Ryan shifted uneasily beside me. “That... doesn’t sound good.”
(Clarissa's POV)
A strange warmth spread through me, starting from my chest and radiating outward in lazy waves. It wasn’t an immediate jolt like Stacey’s forced movements. It was subtler—an unsettling disconnect, like my body was listening to something else, something outside of me. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on shifting my position to something more comfortable. I meant to tuck my legs up like I always did, folding them neatly beneath me or crossing one ankle over the other—the way I always sat. But instead, my knees fell apart in an uncharacteristic sprawl.
My thighs pressed awkwardly against the mattress, my hips sinking heavily, and I felt a weird weight in my lower half. My body didn’t hold itself the way it should. My usual instinct to keep myself compact, to tuck in, was just... gone. Instead, I was taking up space, lounging without a care, my arms lazily draped over my thighs, fingers tapping idly. It felt off—wrong—in a way that made my skin crawl.
I frowned, shifting in place. That wasn’t how I’d meant to sit.
“Uh... Clarissa?” Amelia’s voice was hesitant, her eyes darting downward.
I followed her gaze and felt a sharp prickle of embarrassment creep up my neck. My legs were spread wide, open in a way that made me want to clamp them shut immediately. But when I tried, my muscles resisted, like my body had decided it belonged this way now. Girls—we don’t sit like this. It’s too exposed, too... vulnerable. There’s always that little voice in your head, telling you to keep your knees together, to sit with a bit of grace, a bit of care. And yet, here I was, sprawled out like I owned the room, like I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing.
I clenched my jaw and shifted my legs back together, pressing my knees tight, forcing control back into them. But almost immediately, they drifted apart again, widening on their own, like the message wasn’t getting from my brain to my muscles correctly.
My hands slid absently over my thighs, fingers tracing lazy, thoughtless patterns against my skin. I wasn’t even thinking about it—just resting there, sprawled out without a care. No tension, no second-guessing, none of the usual self-awareness that always hummed in the back of my mind. It felt... easy. Indifferent. Like I didn’t care. Like it didn’t matter.
But deep down, I knew it did. I never sat like this. My usual instinct was to keep my legs tucked close, my posture controlled, neat. But now, my knees had fallen apart into an uncharacteristic sprawl, my thighs pressing into the mattress with a lazy openness that I should have corrected. This isn’t right, whispered the voice in my head. But my body wasn’t listening.
I cleared my throat, my face burning, trying to shake the feeling. “Weird,” I muttered, but as soon as I spoke, I froze. My voice—it was... different. Not drastically, but just enough. A little lower, a little rougher. It didn't carry the same sharp, commanding tone I was used to. It was casual, almost cocky in a way I didn't intend.
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”
I opened my mouth to respond, to tell him that yeah, of course I was fine, but what came out instead was, “Yeah, yeah, chill, dude.”
The second the words left my mouth, I winced. That wasn’t what I meant to say. In my head, I’d pictured something sarcastic, clipped, but instead, it came out too relaxed, too guyish. Like I wasn’t taking anything seriously. Like I didn’t care.
Amelia let out a nervous laugh. “Did you just call him ‘dude?’”
I blinked, running a hand through my hair, trying to reset, to ground myself. “I mean... whatever.” The words left my lips before I could filter them, the cool indifference carrying an edge I hadn’t meant to include. My own voice didn’t feel like mine anymore. The weight of my body, the casual sprawl, the lazy way my hands moved—it all felt disconnected from the way I saw myself in my head.
Something was changing. Something was wrong.
Then, before I even realized it, my fingers drifted inward, grazing against the soft skin of my butt. The sensation registered a moment too late, the dull scrape of my nails leaving faint trails of pressure behind. There was a vague relief in it, like scratching an itch I hadn’t even noticed until now.
And without thinking, I shifted again, my hand sliding up under the loose leg of my shorts. My fingertips brushed against the bottom elastic band of my underwear, and without a second thought, I hooked a finger beneath it, tugging the fabric down and free where it had ridden up my pussy lips. The movement was quick, automatic—something I should’ve done in private, something I should have at least tried to hide.
Instead, I just did it. No hesitation, no shame, just a thoughtless adjustment like it was the most normal thing in the world. The snug band snapped back into place, and I let out a slow breath, leaning back onto my elbows, stretching out further, feeling... comfortable.
And that was when I noticed them staring.
Amelia shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting down for a second before snapping back to my face, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and awkward embarrassment. Stacey’s eyebrows shot up, and Ryan—who usually brushed things off—was staring, his hand frozen mid-rub at the back of his neck.
A flicker of heat crept up my face. This isn’t normal. What the hell are you doing?
Amelia cleared her throat, her voice cautious but edged with disbelief. “Did you... um... just reach under your shorts and—uh—?”
Her eyes flickered downward again, as if verifying what she'd just seen, before locking back on me, lips pressed into a tight line.
I blinked, a small frown tugging at my lips. In my head, I knew I should be scrambling for an excuse, brushing it off with a joke, something. But when I opened my mouth, the words that came out weren’t what I expected.
I shrugged, still resting on my elbows. “Yeah? What?” My voice was lower than I intended, too casual, too unconcerned.
Amelia’s brows knitted together. “Like... you just straight-up yanked your underwear out, in front of us,” she said slowly, her face pinking. “Like... like a guy would.”
Stacey, shaking her head in disbelief. “Wow. Okay."
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out right away. I did do that. I’d felt the annoying bunching of fabric and just... fixed it, no subtle adjusting, no careful shifting under a blanket, just a quick grab and pull like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And the worst part? It felt fine. Normal.
I leaned back a little more, my legs stretching further apart on their own. “Come on, you guys act like you don’t do it.” The words slipped out smoothly, too easily, and I barely registered that I’d said them until Amelia’s eyes widened.
She shook her head, clearly unsettled. “Yeah, not like that,” she shot back.
I knew she was right. I hadn’t thought about it, not the way I usually would have. But instead of feeling embarrassed, I felt... indifferent. Relaxed. My fingers drummed lightly against my thigh, and for the first time, I noticed how easily I was taking up space, sprawled out, unbothered, like I belonged here, like I didn’t need to shrink or tuck myself away.
(Amelia's POV)
Clarissa wasn’t just acting different—she was being different. Every little movement, every response felt... off. Like she was watching herself from the outside, reacting a split second behind her own words. It was like she was being fed her own personality through a warped funhouse mirror, and the worst part? I don’t think she even realized it.
She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her legs spread wide in a way that felt so unnatural for her usual composed posture. I felt my stomach twist. Clarissa always sat with a kind of controlled ease, her presence commanding without having to demand attention. But now? Now she took up too much space, sprawling like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“You guys are acting like im acting like a different person,” she said, flashing a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Stacey’s brows knit together, her gaze bouncing between Clarissa’s slouched posture and the odd, offhanded way she spoke. “Clarissa... You are though…,” she said slowly, a hint of concern slipping through.
Clarissa snorted and waved a hand dismissively, but there was a flicker of something in her expression—confusion, hesitation. “Nah, Ive always been this way.” But as soon as she said it, I saw it. That tiny twitch of her brow, the way her lips parted slightly, like she wasn’t sure why she’d said it like that.
Ryan shifted in his seat, watching her carefully. “No, seriously,” he said, voice cautious. “What’s going on with you?”
Clarissa rolled her shoulders in a slow, exaggerated stretch, letting her arms drop lazily across her lap. Then, without a second thought, she grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand, tilted her head back, and downed it in one go. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand—not with the quick dab she’d usually do, but with the casual indifference of someone who didn't care. The motion was so jarring in its carelessness that it made my skin crawl.
She blinked at the empty bottle in her hand, staring at it like it wasn’t something she’d meant to do. A small frown crept onto her lips before she quickly masked it with a grin. “I’m just thirsty, relax.” The words came out light, flippant—but I saw the way her fingers tensed against her knee, digging in just a little too hard.
“Man, you guys are so tense,” Clarissa said with a laugh, tossing the bottle aside. “Maybe we should just quit and play strip poker or something.”
My heart skipped a beat.
The second the words left her mouth, her eyes widened, and for a split second, she looked horrified—like she hadn’t meant to say it at all. But instead of backtracking, she forced a chuckle, trying to brush it off with another wave of her hand. “What? Lighten up.”
Stacey’s jaw dropped. “Did you seriously just say that?”
Clarissa shifted awkwardly, her leg bouncing with a nervous energy that didn’t quite match her laid-back posture. “I mean... yeah?” But even she sounded unsure now, her voice slipping into that lower, rougher tone again.
Ryan rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “Okay, this... this is weird.” He looked at me, like I might have some kind of answer. “Is it just me, or does she seem—”
“Different?” I cut in, hugging my knees to my chest. “No, it’s not just you.”
Clarissa scoffed, leaning back and throwing her arms behind her head, stretching out even more across the bed. “You guys are acting like I’ve changed overnight or something,” she said, her tone light, but I could see the tension creeping into her jaw.
But she had changed. The way she sat, the way she spoke—it wasn’t Clarissa anymore. It was something else, something that didn’t belong.
Amelia bit her lip. “Clarissa, I think the game... did something to you.”
Clarissa snorted again, but it lacked conviction. “Pfft, yeah, right. What, made me more fun?”
“No,” Stacey shot back, her voice sharp. “It’s like... you’re not thinking before you speak. Or move.”
Clarissa went quiet for a second, her hand absentmindedly tapping against her knee. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, like she was struggling to put something into words.
Finally, she spoke, her voice softer. “I... I dunno, I just... it’s like I know what I wanna say, but it doesn’t come out right. Or... it comes out too easy. And the way I’m sitting? It’s not how I’d usually sit, I know that, but...” She trailed off, blinking like she was realizing it in real time.
A heavy silence settled between us.
Ryan exhaled. “We need to figure out what’s happening before it gets worse.”
Clarissa laughed, but it sounded forced. “Guys, come on. You're all freaking out over nothing.”
But none of us were buying it.
I saw it in the way her fingers fidgeted against the blanket, the way her foot tapped anxiously against the floor. She was trying to play it cool, but deep down, I knew she felt it too—something was off, and we didn’t have a clue how to stop it.
(Stacey's POV)
A thick silence settled in the room, and I could feel it pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe. The unease that had been buzzing at the edges of my mind finally took full shape. Clarissa sat there, sprawled across the bed like she didn’t have a single care in the world, but the tension in her jaw, the flicker of confusion in her eyes, told me she felt it too.
The game wasn’t just messing with our actions anymore. It was inside our heads.
Ryan’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady. “Okay... this is bad.”
Amelia hugged her knees, her eyes darting between Clarissa and the still-glowing board. “Really bad,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, and the pure fear in it sent a shiver down my spine.
Clarissa’s grin faltered for a second, her eyes flicking to the board like she was afraid to look too long. “Guys, come on. It’s not—”
“It is,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. “Clarissa, you don’t act like this. You don’t sit like that. You don’t... say stuff like that.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again, like she couldn’t even argue.
Ryan raked a hand through his hair, standing up and pacing the room. “First it forced Stacey to do something she swore she wouldn’t, and now...” He gestured at Clarissa, exhaling shakily. “What’s next? What if it keeps going? What if we don’t stop changing?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What if we... forget who we even are?” The words tasted wrong coming out, but the possibility was too terrifying to ignore.
Amelia’s face paled. “What if we get back, and we’re not... us? What if no one even knows who we are anymore?”
Clarissa’s smirk faded completely now. She shifted, her legs drawing in slightly like she was trying to fight off the casual sprawl she’d fallen into. “We’re... we’re overthinking this.” Her voice was trying for reassurance, but there was a thin edge of doubt underneath it.
But Ryan wasn’t letting it go. “Are we? Really? Think about it—what if the game changes us so much that we don’t even recognize ourselves?”
The thought hit me like a ton of bricks, and suddenly the air in the room felt too thick, too heavy.
Clarissa laughed, but it came out hollow. “Okay, yeah, that would suck, but... we’d still be, you know, us. Right?”
“Would we?” Amelia shot back, her voice rising. “You didn’t even realize you sat like that until we pointed it out. What happens when we stop noticing altogether?”
No one had an answer for that.
I felt the dread building in my stomach, cold and thick. “This thing... it’s not just making us do stuff. It’s changing us. In ways we might not even realize until it’s too late.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened. “What if... we can’t undo it? What if one of us rolls something that sticks? What if we go home and we’re—”
“—someone else,” Amelia finished softly, her arms tightening around herself. “God, what if it changes our memories too? Like, what if we forget we were ever different?”
The possibility made my skin crawl. I tried to imagine walking back into my normal life, feeling like myself but... not. Laughing at jokes I wouldn’t normally laugh at. Thinking things I wouldn’t normally think. Looking in the mirror and not recognizing the way I smiled, the way I stood, the way I felt.
Clarissa’s fingers drummed anxiously against her thigh, that casual, guyish sprawl creeping back in even as she fought it. “We’ll just... finish the game,” she said, but she didn’t sound so sure anymore. “Right? We just keep going, and it’ll fix itself. It has to.”
Ryan didn’t look convinced. Neither did Amelia. And I definitely didn’t feel it.
(Clarissa's POV)
Inside my head, everything still made sense. I knew how I wanted to respond, how I wanted to carry myself, but it just wasn’t... happening. My thoughts were sharp, panicked even, running through all the things I wanted to say—This isn’t me. I don’t feel right. We need to figure this out—but the second I opened my mouth, it came out slower, too casual, too easygoing.
I shifted, trying to sit straighter, to reclaim myself, but my body resisted, falling back into that wide-legged sprawl like it was the most natural thing in the world. My hands flopped lazily over my thighs, fingers tapping an aimless rhythm against my skin. A spike of frustration burned in my chest. No. No, this isn’t me.
“Okay, guys, seriously. Quit looking at me like that.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice carrying a lazy, almost amused drawl. It sounded so... not me. Too dismissive, like I wasn’t taking any of this seriously, when inside I was screaming.
Stacey smirked, shaking her head. “You’re acting so weird right now.”
My chest tightened, panic bubbling just beneath the surface, but when I opened my mouth to explain—to tell them that I was freaking out, that this wasn’t me—what came out instead was a snort, a careless shrug. “Whatever, you’re all just uptight.”
No, no, no, I thought, clenching my jaw so hard it ached. That’s not what I wanted to say. But it was what the game let me say. The words sat heavy on my tongue, like they weren’t mine at all.
Ryan exhaled, rubbing his face. “Yeah... you’re definitely not yourself.”
His words should have hit harder, should have made me snap out of it, but instead, I felt an odd surge of irritation—blunt, instinctive. “Dude, it’s fine.”
Dude? My stomach twisted. Seriously? I was fighting myself with everything I had, trying to find the right words, the right way to just be me again, but it was like my body and mouth had their own agenda.
I wanted to tell them I was scared. That I didn’t feel in control anymore. That the thoughts in my head weren’t matching what my body was doing. I could feel the words trying to claw their way out of my throat, but they stuck there, tangled and muted. Instead, what came out was the opposite of everything I wanted to express.
The board pulsed again, casting that eerie glow over the room.
"The game is in control. Next player, roll."
I sighed, leaning back instinctively, my arms crossing behind my head as I slumped against the pillows. The weight of my body settled in too comfortably, and I hated how easy it felt. My mind screamed at me to sit up, to fix this, to do something—anything—but I stayed put, staring at the ceiling, my lips curving into a smirk that felt foreign on my face.
“Guess I’ll just enjoy the ride.”
No! That’s not what I meant!
My heart pounded in my chest, but outwardly, I looked cool, collected, like I didn’t have a single worry in the world. I wanted to tell them, I’m scared too. I wanted to say, What if I can’t change back? What if I lose myself completely? But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, I heard myself chuckle lightly, my voice dipping into that easy, boyish tone again. “C’mon, let’s not turn this into a whole thing.”
Stacey’s face fell, and I could see Amelia’s fingers tightening around the fabric of her hoodie. They were worried. I knew they were worried. I wanted to reach out, to reassure them that I was still me.
But the more I tried to push against it, the more my body ignored me, settling deeper into that slouch, falling back into that relaxed, careless persona the game had shoved into me. My mouth kept moving, saying things I didn’t mean. “Seriously, it's not a big deal. I feel fine.”
But I didn’t feel fine.
I felt trapped.
The panic inside me was thrashing, but I was helpless to show it. Every instinct I had—the urge to fix my posture, to put distance between me and the others, to control the situation—was slipping through my fingers like sand.
My mind raced with terrifying thoughts. What if the game keeps going? What if it strips away more of me? What if I wake up tomorrow and don’t remember who I was? What if we finish this game and I never go back to normal?
I swallowed hard, trying to force something real out of my mouth, but all I got was another nonchalant grin. “I mean, hey, could be worse.”
Amelia’s eyes locked onto mine, searching. “Clarissa... you’re still in there, right?”
I wanted to scream. Yes! I’m still in here! But instead, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, spreading my legs just a little wider, my smile lazy and easy. “Relax, Ames. You’re stressing out way too much.”
I saw the doubt in her face, the hesitation in Stacey’s expression. Even Ryan was looking at me differently.
I wasn’t Clarissa anymore. Not the way they knew me.
Not the way I knew me.
And the scariest part?
I could feel the game digging deeper, making it harder and harder to care.