Thomas opened his eyes as slowly as possible. It didn't seem possible he could have survived whatever it was that had happened. For a while, he just laid on the carpet and breathed, ignoring urgent messages from various bits of his body that were telling him that some things were desperately wrong. He jerked a little when he heard a voice he didn't recognize, though.
"Not bad. I could have done a lot worse."
The voice was clipped, precise, and female, and didn't seem to be coming from any direction he knew about. Furthermore, he thought with a groan, it meant he would have to get up. So, with an incredible amount of self-control, he sat up and looked around. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the room with him. He started to focus on the thing that seemed to be attached to his face and was blocking his lower peripheral vision, when the voice spoke again.
"Oh yes, a lot worse. Could have been better, but a lot, lot worse."
It was, he thought, a voice with a lot of laughter in it. And he still couldn't figure out where it was coming from. So he looked down to see what all the fuss his body was making was about.
Ah.
Thomas gingerly pulled the neckline of his T-shirt away from his throat, staring down the front of his body. His gaze did not travel very far. He tried very hard not to look at the hand he had to assume was now his by the fact that it seemed to move when he wanted it too.
It had small, sharp black claws, and soft pads on the palm side, and short velvety black fur that ran up to just before his elbow, where it faded into longer, russet fur.
He stood up and wobbled over to the mirror and nearly passed out again. A vixen stared out of the mirror at him. She was wearing his clothes and copying his movements, that fox on two legs! She had long hair of a rich brown color, two black-tipped russet ears poking out of it, and intelligent gray-green eyes resting over an expressive muzzle. When he blinked, so did she. He let his gaze travel down the stripe of fluffy white fur that began on the underside of her muzzle and disappeared down her shirt, where he had seen it rise over his two... his... her...
Pronouns clashed. One of them won by the fact that it had a lot more evidence on it's side, despite whatever had gone on before.
Thomas let out a high pitched squeak, and then she sat down heavily. For a moment it occurred to her that this must be a dream, but a logical mind like hers wouldn't accept that.
"You're doing very well, I must say. I've seen people take it much, much worse."
The newly made vixen cleared her throat several times before she had the courage to say something. When she did, she felt momentarily proud that there was barely a quaver or pause in her words, but the high pitch of them startled her so much that she jumped, quite spoiling the brave effect. "Who are you?"
The voice Thomas had just spoken in was the same one she had heard before. And her own voice replied...