Samantha instantly felt herself growing upwards. She watched as she slowly caught up to Tricia in height. A warm pressure developed in her chest, and she could tell it was her breasts starting to grow back. Her clothes became tighter and tighter, eventually popping the buttons on her vest and half the buttons on her shirt. The long sleeves didn't look so long on her anymore. They rode all the way up to her elbows. She squirmed to get her feet out of her shoes as several holes tore in her leggings. The collar with her name tag snapped and fell to the ground. She could feel her girl's panties constricting her painfully.
"Where are my clothes?" Sam gasped under the pressure her tiny clothes were imposing on her growing body. Her breasts were causing more buttons to pop, now quite visible in the gap. In a few more seconds, her nipples would be in sight.
"They should be coming soon," Tricia reassured. She respectfully turned around in case they didn't arrive soon enough. "Let me know when they start to appear."
Samantha was in too much pain and panic to worry about feeling embarrassed that her friend was close to witnessing a scene of full-frontal nudity. She just wanted it to be over, and be herself again.
At last, her clothes relaxed and started to deform. She gasped for air. The shapeless mass of clothing was now spinning around her body in a tornado-like fashion, obscuring her from the neck down. The commotion caused her hair, which had lost its braids and was now completely loose, to blow upward and flap around in the air. It sustained this position all the while her clothes were morphing.
"Okay, it's safe to look," Samantha said. As Tricia turned around she was happy to see that they were now eye-to-eye with each other once again.
Samantha looked down at her eighteen-year-old body. It had only been an hour, but she had sorely missed it. From her perspective, she could look down and see her bare flesh within the swirling vortex of clothes, even though Trish couldn't. She watched as her undergarments formed...but they weren't the bra and panties she had put on that morning. This bra was black, and so were the panties that strapped themselves to her privates. Both pieces of underwear had lace trim.
"What's going on? This isn't--" Sam stopped herself short as she watched a pair of black leggings roll up her legs, halting at mid-thigh and securing themselves to an ornate, black, laced garter belt.
Her head shot up to Trish accusingly. "What did you do?"
"I made you eighteen, just like you wanted," Trish shrugged. "But I figured this was as good a time as any to try out some more of the remote's clothing options.
"Stop this right now! Give me my old clothes back!" Sam tried to take a step forward, but the whirling, formless mass of clothing around her body kept her from doing anything more than fidgeting.
"Just relax, it'll be over soon," Trish said calmly.
"I liked you a lot better before that remote came along!" Sam snapped.
Something split off from the clothes swirling around her, and attached itself to her torso. It was a black undershirt with spaghetti straps, covering everything between her breasts and her upper thighs. It was a size too small and hugged her body snugly, though not uncomfortably so.
At first Samantha was afraid that was all Tricia had programmed her to wear above the waist, but just then two more dark masses separated from the vortex and covered her hands. They spread up her arms almost to the shoulders, and became a pair of very long black gloves. They clung to her arms so well there was little chance of them riding down. The fabric felt smooth and barely itched at all, contrary to Sam's expectations.
During this time, Sam started to realize that her skin was changing color. Her faint tan was now only a memory. She now looked so pale that it seemed like she hadn't been outdoors in months, maybe years.
The next new item to appear was a pair of black leather boots. These boots had rounded toes and they reached up to just below her knees. They magically laced themselves all the way up. Then Sam felt the familiar sensation of being thrust upward. The mass encircling her helped to keep her balanced as the boots grew platform heels. Tricia looked them over and saw that, unlike her younger body's school-type shoes, these boots had a high heel that was separate from the slightly less-high toe of the toe. She glanced up at Trish to gauge her new height and estimated they added about five inches.
"At least I'm taller for once," she joked, hoping it would help ease the tension of what was happening to her. It didn't.
The strange midair dance of the clothes around her was coming to an end. As the final vestiges of the incoherent fabric took up a tangible form, it wrapped around her torso and legs. Her chest tightened, causing her to exhale suddenly as an unbelievably ornate dress with a built-in bodice constricted around her. The dress had layers upon layers of frills in the skirt, while the bodice was tied tightly to her chest and made her curvy breasts and waistline very pronounced. The dress fell about her ankles in a dazzling array of frills, pleats, draperies and ribbons. Sam lifted one edge of the skirt up and saw that there were five or six other layers within it, all pleated and frilly. They helped to puff the dress out in a wide cone that was more than three feet in diameter at its base.
The upper part of the dress had puffy shoulders that tapered to thin sleeves. The parts of the sleeves between the elbow and wrist were segmented in three layers, each one terminating in lace as the next layer emerged from under it. The final, wide cone of fabric ended just over her hands so that, if she held them at her sides, half of her hands would be covered by them. The collar of the dress was so high, her chin was brushing it. It too was laced quite fancily, with a black cloth choker keeping it tight. A black satin scarf floated out of nowhere and attached itself to hooks on the dress' shoulders, falling behind her elegantly like a valance above a window. This seemed to complete the piece.
The entire dress was strange, but one thing in particular Samantha noticed was that everything was black. Despite all the many layers of fabric, all the frills, all the lace, all the string, every single thing was black.
Her hair, no longer being suspended in midair by the tornado of morphing clothes, fell softly around her. It was an oily black, having lost all of its waves and body, but gaining an elegant shine. The strands were perfectly straight and smooth, like silk strings. They reached down to her tightly compacted waist. Some hair fell in front of Sam's right eye.
A top hat dropped onto her head, crooking to the right. She reached a gloved hand up to examine it. It was clearly too small to actually fit, rather it was one of those little felt hats with a hint of lace and a bow. She tugged at it and felt her hair being pulled along with it. It seemed to be pinned to her hair to keep it in place. Right next to it, tucked behind her right ear, she felt a flower with petals made entirely of lace. She could only assume these new additions to her head were completely black as well. What's more, their presence was preventing her from moving the hair in front of her eye and tucking it behind her ear. She was forced to leave it perpetually covering the right side of her face in a seductive manner.
Something strapped itself around her shoulder. Sam looked down and saw a dainty black purse, unsurprisingly trimmed with black lace and a black cloth buckle.
"It should have most everything from your old purse in it," Trish piped up. "And I took the liberty of giving you a few more things, including a mirror."
Samantha was only slightly relieved to hear that. She felt incredibly alienated by this new outfit, and the comfort of knowing she still had her ID and debit card was hardly enough to overcome that feeling. Still, she wanted to be able to see herself in a mirror, and now they wouldn't need to find another department store. She opened the purse and rummaged through her things until she procured the pocket mirror. Her glove didn't have very good traction, and she had to clutch it very carefully to keep it from slipping between her fingers.
In the mirror, she saw her familiar face, half obscured by hair, and pathetically pale. Her eyebrows and lips seemed daintier, though, and her cheeks looked a bit narrower. A pinch and sudden tugging on both ears alerted her to a new development, and she tilted her head slightly to see what had appeared. An earring dangled from her left lobe; a little black chain with a black one-and-a-half-inch cross hanging from it. She felt her other ear to confirm a matching earring had appeared there.
Something changed on her face. She noticed a heavy amount of black eyeshadow had formed around her eyes. Her lips had also turned black. It wasn't just lipstick, either, as rubbing a finger against them had no smudging effect. The same was true for her eyeshadow.
Her eyes then turned from their normal light blue to a rich cherry red. She assumed that this was also a change of their natural pigmentation, not simply achieved by contact lenses.
Black shapes began to appear on her face. It looked like several invisible brushes were all drawing on her at once. She stared aghast as an intricate array of swirling patterns formed around her eye, on her temple, and on her cheek. They created a beautiful vine-like design with swirling branches, petals, and dots, framing her face and drawing attention to her deep red eye. Three little teardrop shapes were placed in a curved row below the eye. A single small black dot also appeared just below her mouth. She lifted up the hair covering the other side of her face again, and was surprised to find that the tattoos--or whatever they were--on the left side were not repeated on the right. Sam frowned at the omission. She would have preferred if her hair would cover up the tattooed side instead, but obviously that wasn't what Tricia had intended when she designed this look.
A strange weight manifested on the arm holding the mirror, which turned out to be a black umbrella whose handle was hooked on her forearm. It was closed at the moment, but from what she could see of it, she knew it was the lacy fashion kind, not the practical kind.
Samantha stared for a long time at the strange but hauntingly familiar face in the mirror. Underneath the hair, the tattoos, and the makeup, she could see the vestiges of her original self. That girl was now being swallowed by the elaborately fashioned Gothic dress and the accessories that came with it. The overabundance of black was hauntingly morbid, but it also held a sense of intrigue. She was clothed from neck-to-toe in an insane assortment of overcompensating attire, yet it all seemed to blend together in a satisfying way. It was clear that any onlooker's eye would be instantly drawn to her face, that being the only part unclothed and the only part with any real color. Even her face was so creepily pale that her alluringly saturated red eye would end up being the ultimate focal point of her entire figure.
Finally forcing herself to tear her gaze away from the mirror, she looked at the source of her newfound darkness. Trish appeared to be entranced by her appearance. Even she, the architect of Sam's Gothic conversion, was mesmerized by the majestic figure that stood before her. Sam found Trish's stare deeply unsettling.
Sam's lips quivered as she attempted to speak. It was as if her mouth and tongue wanted to be sure they were in exactly the right position before making a sound.
"Trish?" she spoke gently. Her voice was strange. She decided to speak again, in a longer sentence. "Trish, what have you done to me?" Her voice was deeper than it should have been, with an alluring sensuality just beneath the surface. A deceptively subtle voice, carefully crafted as if every word she spoke was rich in meaning and purpose.
Trish didn't break the stare, but she did find the ability to respond. "Wow, you look amazing. Really amazing."
"What made you think to do this?" Sam questioned. "How did you program all of this in such a short time?"
"Actually, it was a preset in the remote. 'Neo-Victorian Gothic.' I thought I'd give you a little surprise, but I hardly expected this."
Sam wanted to get closer and examine the remote. She carefully lifted one boot-laden foot and set it down half a step forward. The six inches of platform heels would require some getting used to.
"Can you look up specific aspects of the change?" she asked in her heavy voice.
"I think so," Trish said as she lifted the remote to look at it. Sam moved into a position at her side. The skirt of her dress flattened against Trish's legs.
"My voice is different," she explained. She peered at the remote's LCD screen, which displayed a graphical outline of her body and dress. "Did you know it could change voices?"
"Not until now," Trish confessed. "I'd hate to say it, but you actually sound a lot nicer."
"Well thanks for that," Sam muttered. Even talking in a disgruntled way, her voice sounded oddly pleasing. There might be no way to speak otherwise.
"This is amazing. The remote even has a way to change your 'Personality Profile.' Like, I can change your preferences and your behavior."
"Did any of that change with this Gothic preset?"