Up in the bedroom, you are dismayed to see that your clothes aren't dry yet. If they were, Harriet would have put them on the bed. You lie down on the soft mattress, staring up at the top of the four-poster bed. You try to make sense of the bizarre things in this house, the changes that have happened to you, and the strange man who apparently knows magic but can't--or won't--directly help you back to your normal form.
You lose yourself in your thoughts for some time, until a knock on the door jolts you back to reality. "Come in," you call.
Harriet enters carrying some laundry. "Your clothes are finished, miss," she says.
You shift over to sit up at the edge of the bed and allow Harriet to place the pile of clothes in your hand, however, it is definitely not yours.
"This isn't what I was wearing last night," you say before she can turn to leave the room. "I had a tee-shirt and a skirt. This isn't my dress."
"Early this morning I found those clothes right there in a pile," she said, pointing to the place you ditched your clothes last night. "They're definitely yours. I'm sorry, but it looks like the magics in this house are having quite a lot of fun with you." She has an entertained little smile on her face, which you find insulting. This might be funny to her, but you're not amused.
"Fine," you say, looking the dress over. "I guess I'll have to take it."
Harriet leaves you alone once more. You throw the black and red dress onto the bed. It's even more ruffled than your maid outfit, but much less degrading to wear. You stand up to take off the maid's dress and your thong slips down your legs.
"Odd," you say to yourself. The dress doesn't fit well at all. It's several sizes too large. Your feet slip a little in your platform shoes, and the fishnet stockings have crumpled up in bunches around your ankles. You disrobe completely. Even your bra isn't able to support your breasts, though they remain quite bountiful in proportion to your body.
You've shrunk again. That must be it. Mr. Archblack's spell wasn't cast properly, and now you've got to get him to fix it. But how, when you have no fitting clothes? You glance at the black and red Victorian dress. It actually looks the right size for your smaller frame. You step into it and it's a perfect fit. Unfortunately there is no bra or panties, but the dress covers your chest with a supportive bodice, and the skirt hangs to your knees. You think it will be safe. You slip your feet back into the loose platform shoes and head out the door to confront Mr. Archblack. The large collar hanging from your neck jingling as you descend the staircase and shuffle toward the study.