Maya stirred under the blanket, shifting with a quiet rustle of crinkling plastic. The soft dawn glow filtered through the living room window, glinting off the pastel glitter on her frilly skirt. Her face twitched with the first signs of waking—then her eyes fluttered open.
She felt it immediately.
She sat up with a soft grunt, blinking down at her body—and frowned.
Her arms looked thinner than they had the night before, the toned definition she’d once carried now blurred by a soft layer of pudge. Her midsection pushed slightly against the waistband of her skirt, her tummy gently rounded. Her thighs looked fuller too, pressing together a bit more than she remembered. Even her face felt softer, a little puffier, with a faint crease forming under her chin when she looked down.
Maya tossed the blanket aside and stood, wobbling a little. She wasn’t as steady as she used to be. Everything felt a little smaller, too—like the room had subtly shifted dimensions around her.
She walked toward the hallway mirror and stopped.
She was shorter.
She stepped closer, face paling as she took it in.
No way.
Five foot one. She used to be five six. Easily.
The realization hit her just as a warm squish reminded her of something else.
She looked down—and groaned.
“Ugh, no.” Her diaper was fully soaked, slightly sagging beneath her skirt. “Again?!”
She huffed, trying to ignore the humiliation, and turned toward the bathroom, grabbing her small makeup bag on the way. Her hands were a little clumsier now—less precise, less coordinated. Still, she stood in front of the mirror and tried to reclaim something that looked like her.
Foundation. Smudged.
Blush. Too much on one side.
Eyeliner. Shaky. Uneven.
She dabbed at her face, growing more frantic, more frustrated with each mistake. Her hand slipped, and she stabbed herself in the eye with the mascara wand.
“Ow! Dammit—thtupid—ugh!”
The brush clattered into the sink as she gripped the edge of the counter, panting. Her reflection stared back at her—shorter, softer, in a soaked princess diaper and smeared makeup.
“Thith ith a joke,” she muttered, voice thick with that cursed lisp. “It hath to be.”
Behind her, the door creaked open.
Jennifer stood in the doorway, her expression caught somewhere between concern and quiet heartbreak.
“You’re up,” Jennifer said gently.
Maya froze. Her shoulders slumped. “…Yeah.”
Jennifer walked in slowly, her arms crossed over her loose shirt, her still-wide hips swaying slightly with each step. “You okay?”
Maya sniffed. “No.”
Jennifer nodded, stepping in close. “Let me help you get cleaned up.”
Maya didn’t resist. She just looked down, voice small.
“Do I look like me?”
Jennifer smiled sadly. “Not exactly.”
Then she put a hand on Maya’s shoulder.
“But you still feel like you.”