Thankfully for Amy, the store was right where she left it, the girl racing inside and looking for help. Her clothing was getting intolerable and it was all she could do to not itch herself to death...or remove them entirely. The snoring man was still at his post. Unlike the day before, Amy had no time for pleasantries or politeness. "Hey! Something I bought here is doing weird things! Hey! Wake up! I need help!" desperation in her voice, driven by fear and the sheer itchy from the clothing.
"Mmmm, the gothic socks?" the bald man yawning, without even looking up at Amy. Idly extending an arm, he points at a small door along the wall, "Changing room is that way. You can take your clothes off in there." before giving another yawn and going back to snoring.
"...." Anger and desperation and desire to get out of these clothes all were fighting against each other. The desire to get out of the clothes won out, Amy dashing to the changing room and throwing her clothes off. Blouse. Bra. Skirt. Panties. Shoes. Leaving only the socks. Socks that seem to have grown up to her mid thigh. Socks still radiating that calming chill, silk and lace providing a lovely feeling against her skin. "Aaaaaah..." relaxing, bare rear against the dressing room seat.
A few moments of peace...as the itching began to start again. This time against the parts of her body against the dressing room wall and seat. The more she sat, the itchier it was, until after a few moments she jumped up from her seat, looking at herself in the mirror. "Not again!" groaning, loudly. Not just from the itching but how her skin color, at least to her waist, was changing, visibly paling and losing all signs of imperfections or variations in color. An unwanted delightful chill falling over her lower body as the skin began to look like porcelain, at least the color and the smoothness. Looking down, she noticed the socks creeping up again, the feeling of containment against her skin almost too much to bear, the leg coverings finally stopping almost entirely up her thighs.
A rustling sound made Amy look up, her eyes widening at the sight of undergarments. Black. Unlike the ones before, these weren't racy. One was a set of black bloomers with lace frills, clearly designed, it seemed, to cover over some of the stockings she found herself wearing. The upper piece was similar. A tight black shirt of some kind, support for her chest visible and clearly intended to minimize her curves, designed to connect with the bloomers and leave her covered in nothing but black.
A resigned sigh on her lips, Amy pulled the bloomers on, noting with almost dull dread that the bottoms seemed to have become one with the stockings (though clearly bloomers) with the shirt doing the same thing to her lower undergarments, creating a once piece pitch black silk bodysuit almost. That sense of chill returning as she could feel the almost too perfect ice spreading up her arms and chest, turning her skin a uniform white and smooth color, stopping at her neck. "...damnit" muttering as she walked out, looking for the shopkeeper.
The "Back in 5 Minutes" sign wasn't encouraging. Nor was the almost too frilly white and black dress with a pair of built in gloves laid out on the counter. Layers and layers of petticoats, ribbons, and frills, all done in a monochromatic style. The white even matched her skin. And of course, as soon as she saw it, the itch began again, this time on her uncovered arms and hands, the feeling going from annoying to near agonizing within seconds. Yelping in pain, Amy ran over to the dress, finding it unzipped, and pulled herself in, sheathing her arms and hands inside the comforting silken embrace of the dress. Going behind to zip it up, Amy found that it was already closed, with no visible way to remove it.
"...fuck" muttering to herself as the dress slightly tightened around her neck, her face and head beginning to receive the tingling treatment. Skin bleaching like before, she watched in mute horror as her face became porcelain white, lips darkening to the black of the dress, eyeshadow appearing in black, tastefully done, along with a hint of black blush. Even her eyes had changed, perfect white on black irises and pupils, removing any color she might've kept. "I look like a freak" muttering. That wasn't her voice. Her voice wasn't that British sounding. And certainly wasn't that quiet, barely above a whisper. "GODDAMNIT?! WHAT"S GOING ON?!" trying to yell. Which came out, as she feared, quieter than her voice was before her change.
"A bad reaction to the Gothic Socks. Normally they make you a little paler. But it seems your body reacted rather extremely." the bald man, looking over Amy critically.
"C-Can...you can help, right?" begging. "Change me back..."
"I could. With the proper time and counterspell. That could take days, or even weeks." The man looking at the gothic girl, thoughtfully. "I could cast something to make people not notice and let you take off that dress to sleep. Or, I could work to change you back. But you'd need to mind the store." A moment, "Don't look at me like that, no one'll notice you're gone." smiling at Amy. "So, what'll it be?"