It didn’t all go back to normal. Not completely.
But they found something better than what they had before: balance.
Jennifer, in time, got used to her body—the way her belly stayed soft, how it folded slightly when she sat, how her thighs spread wide and warm beneath her. The weight of herself became less a burden, more a rhythm. The jiggle of her ass when she walked, the way it swayed in tight jeans or stretched yoga pants, started to make her smile. It was undeniably hers now, and she loved it for exactly what it was: bold, impossible to hide, and a little defiant.
Her breasts were harder to come around to.
Sagging, soft, slightly empty—she still wore push-up bras most days, more for confidence than shape. They gave her a little lift, a little armor. Not because she hated them, but because the vulnerability they showed made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t yet made peace with.
But she learned to hold her head high when she walked, no longer hiding behind hoodies or oversized tees. When she passed mirrors, she didn’t flinch anymore. Sometimes, she even winked at herself.
And Maya? Maya found her own rhythm too.
The transformation had left her looking like the quiet girl in the back of the class who surprised you with sharp comebacks and secret crushes. She was still a little tubby, still short, still nerdy in a way that somehow suited her. Glasses perched on her nose, soft belly poking out of hoodies, and a quiet confidence she didn’t know she had.
She still had accidents—once every few weeks, usually in her sleep or when she laughed too hard. They weren’t as embarrassing as they used to be. Jennifer always helped her laugh it off. It had become part of their bond, something that didn’t define her anymore.
And sometimes, when Maya tried to feel sexy—wearing a slightly-too-tight dress or trying on lipstick she wasn’t sure about—she’d fumble, blush, and do it all wrong.
But Jennifer always looked at her like she was beautiful anyway.
They never saw Kira again.
Not really.
But sometimes, on quiet nights, Jennifer swore she saw someone watching from across the street. A shimmer in the window of the bar. A shadow that left just before she turned her head.
The witch hadn’t reversed the curse.
She’d finished it.
And somehow, that felt right.
Because in the end, what they were left with wasn’t punishment.
It was a second version of themselves.
Softer.
Stronger.
Real.