Jess’s mother stood in the center of the living room, the sleek, glowing device resting lightly in her palm like a judge's gavel. Jess and Macy stood nearby—two odd portraits of contrast: Jess in her frilly debutante ensemble, every inch of her clothes whispering refinement, while Macy lounged casually in fur and bone like she’d just raided a Ren Faire.
With a few quick inputs, Jess's mother murmured, “Let’s strip away the behavioral imprints. The clothes can stay, but not what they’ve been doing to you.”
A soft whrrr sounded from the device followed by a pulsing chime. In that instant, both girls blinked, their posture shifting as if invisible weights had been lifted—or shuffled.
Jess staggered slightly, her knees nearly knocking together under the skirt as she awkwardly caught herself. “Ugh—why does this thing have to be so damn tight?” she snapped, tugging at the hem of her white skirt. “I feel like I’m wearing a doily on a leash.”
Gone was the elegant poise. Her hands now moved with frustration, pulling at the lace cuffs of her hoodie, brushing a loose strand of brown hair from her cheek in a careless flick. “Seriously, I look like a tea party threw up on me. This is humiliating.”
Jess's mother raised an eyebrow. “Better?”
“Not really!” Jess snapped, her voice low and irritated. “Still stuck like this—still me, I guess—but yeah, at least I don’t feel like I have to say 'Mother, may I?' before breathing.”
Macy, meanwhile, blinked a few times. Her wild grin softened into a lopsided smile. “Huh…” she muttered, glancing down at her own attire—fur-lined shoulder plates, leather straps, bones adorning her wrists like trophies. “This... is a look, huh?” She giggled lightly. “Did we go to Comic-Con or something?”
Jess groaned. “You’ve been talking like a berserker for hours. You made me hold your axe while you chugged a slushie.”
“I had an axe?” Macy blinked again, her voice much more like a regular girl now—perky, curious, a little embarrassed. “That’s kinda cool, actually.” She adjusted one of the straps on her leather chest piece and shrugged. “Feels comfy in a weird way.”
Jess crossed her arms beneath her modest bust, glaring down at her thigh-high socks. “I’m still in pastel prison over here. And what the hell are these heels even doing? They’re like... not even trying to be shoes.”
Her mother smirked faintly. “Well, you’re both back to baseline… more or less. Personalities reset—no clothes controlling your behavior anymore.”
Jess flopped onto the couch with a groan, fluffing her skirt out of the way with one hand. “Great. So I’m stuck being a chick without the posh brainwashing to get me through it.”
Macy plopped beside her, stretching her fur-covered arms over her head. “Honestly, I thought this was all just a weird mall trip. You’re telling me I used to be—what, a boy?”
Jess didn’t answer. She just stared ahead, jaw clenched, hating how every shift of her legs reminded her of the soft brush of fabric, of the lightness of her body. “I just want to go back,” she muttered.
Jess’s mom glanced at the device again but didn’t move. “Maybe. When I think you’re ready.”
Jess glared. “You promised.”
Her mom just smiled calmly. “I said when the day was done. It’s not done yet.”
Jess groaned and dropped her head back against the cushions.
Macy, meanwhile, had pulled out her phone and was taking selfies in her barbarian armor. “Okay, but like… if I used to be a guy, I was missing out. This look slays.”
Jess muttered under her breath. “Kill me.”
But her mother was already walking away, the device safely tucked under her arm.
The clothes didn’t change—but everything inside had. And the day wasn’t over yet.