Agony. Every part of Morgana's body felt pain. Her legs and arms were stretched on an invisible rack. Even her shoulders felt like they were being pulled apart by two teams of wild horses. It felt as if a heavy weight was squeezing her upper chest to the point of collapse while her hips were being squeezed together in a vise. Waves of intense nausea came from her abdomen. She heaved, although nothing came out of her mouth. (The brief prolegomena to the spell had recommended an empty stomach.) Her skin from her cheeks and jaw to her lower legs felt like it was being pierced from the inside by a million tiny knives.
Then all other pain was dwarfed as something closed and sealed between her legs while something else forced its way through her body to get out. One. Two. Morgana had not imagined that such pain was possible. Three. She was breathing in huge gasps.
Then, as suddenly as a candle being snuffed, the pain ended, and she felt a sense of strength and well-being. Morgana rolled to her feet, and, hardly daring, looked down at her new body.
A flat chest. Odd not to see the breasts that had adorned her since puberty. Hair everywhere--Morgana remembered that her father had been a hairy man. And below the chest a flat, muscular stomach, and below that.
There it was, surprisingly mundane for something she had fought so hard for. A penis, a little above average size, she figured. And a scrotum, with two testicles. That such an absurd, floppy, vulnerable piece of flesh would take her, no him, into the inner sanctums of magic seemed ridiculous. Come to think of it, it was ridiculous. He didn't feel any smarter or more talented than before the change. But all of his intelligence and magical talent--he was proud of pulling off the transformation--mattered less than the fact that he could now stand to urinate.