The last shattered fragment of a plate skittered across the kitchen floor, stopping just short of the refrigerator. The house was thick with tension, the acrid smell of overcooked pasta and burnt food lingering in the air. Sarah’s chest heaved, her six swollen breasts rising and falling as she stood barefoot in the wreckage, her giraffe-like tail lashing the air behind her. Kimberly, standing across the kitchen island, clenched her fists—all six of them—her extra set of eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed with frustration. Her towering frame, now bulkier and more solid than her former self, radiated tension.
The evening had begun with a sharp remark, a subtle jab about grades or cooking, but like a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite, it quickly escalated into an all-consuming inferno.
"For God's sake, Sarah, would you at least try to cover up?" Kimberly snapped, arms crossed over her chest. Her six fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeves as she tried to rein in her frustration. "I swear, every time you step out of this house, you look like you’re auditioning for some low-budget porno."
Sarah rolled her eyes, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a smirk, her long tail swaying behind her. The dim lighting caught the sheen of her exposed curves, the extra rows of breasts straining against a barely-there crop top. "Oh, lighten up, Kimmy. What, jealous?" She flicked her unnaturally long tongue at her daughter with an infuriating chuckle.
The house trembled under the weight of their voices, a war of sound ricocheting off the walls. The dinner table sat between them, an abandoned battlefield strewn with untouched plates of food, their contents cooling under the weight of unresolved fury.
“It wouldn’t kill you to wear something that actually covers your ass,” Kimberly snapped, her voice sharp as the edge of a carving knife. Her four arms were crossed tightly, her six fingers digging into her own flesh. The tension in her shoulders was a stark contrast to the neutral expression she strained to keep.
Sarah let out a scoff, rolling her eyes in exaggerated fashion. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mother,” she mocked, tossing her giraffe-like tail over her shoulder with a flick. “Didn’t realize we lived in a convent now. Maybe I should just start dressing like you, all stiff collars and prudish slacks. God, Kim, you’re such a buzzkill."
Sarah scoffed as she leaned against the counter, one hand resting on her wide, curvy hip. She flicking her tail with that impatient, sultry, cocky air that her daughter couldn't stand. Ironic, as it was what her daughter did just a few months ago, and what she herself couldn't stand. "Just because you walk around like some kind of six-armed nun doesn’t mean I have to."
Kimberly’s jaw tightened, a sharp breath hissing between her teeth. "You’re forty years old. Act like it."
"And you’re sixteen, not sixty! You should be out with friends, not holed up here playing house like some puritanical weirdo. Maybe if you weren’t such a—"
"A what?" Kimberly’s four eyes narrowed, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. "Go on, say it. Say whatever disgusting, thoughtless thing is rattling around in that empty head of yours."
Sarah's expression darkened. "You know what? Fine. You’re a goddamn control freak. You act like you're so mature now, but all you’ve done is swing the pendulum so far in the other direction it’s pathetic. I liked you better when you weren’t a self-righteous prude. At least you knew how to have fun."
"Fun?" Kimberly barked a humorless laugh. "You mean running around like some hormone-addled delinquent? Coming home drunk, skipping school, blowing off every responsibility? You’re failing, Sarah! You’re failing high school!" Her voice cracked, the weight of her anger pressing against her ribs. You're blowing off work. You barely even come home before midnight! And every time I try to talk to you, you just smirk and act like none of it matters!"
Her mother sneered. But she knew these words were true.
To think that, disregarding all the further minor transformations, that a simple personality swap was capable of intensifying this already caustic mother-daughter relationship . . .