Chapter 2- The Awakening

Lucia stirred awake, her head heavy as though she had cried herself into exhaustion. The smell in the air was different—cleaner, faintly sweet, and nothing like her tiny apartment or the bookstore where she had fallen asleep.

Slowly, she sat up. The bed beneath her was soft, far too soft, and when her eyes adjusted, she realized—

“This… isn’t my room?”

The walls were pale ivory, the curtains a soft lavender. Neat furniture, polished floors… definitely not her home. Her heart thudded as she swung her legs out of the sheets. That was when it hit her.

A strange weight… down there.

Lucia froze. Her hand instinctively reached between her legs—and she went completely stiff.

“W-what the… is this—?!” Her voice cracked into a shout. “A… a dick?!”

She scrambled up, patting herself frantically, eyes wide and terrified. Her chest—flat. Completely flat. The soft curves that had always been there were gone. She pressed harder just to be sure, but no… there was nothing. Her trembling fingers grazed the waistband again and she nearly screamed.

“This can’t be real. No, no, no, this is a joke. This is—this is a dream!”

Her breathing quickened. She spun around the room desperately, searching for proof, for answers, for anything—until her gaze landed on a tall mirror near the wardrobe.

She staggered toward it. Her reflection came into view and her breath hitched.

The girl she knew—messy hair, tear-streaked cheeks, tired eyes—was gone.

Instead, staring back at her was a boy. A boy with delicate features, soft purple-tinted hair brushing over his forehead, and wide, innocent eyes that shimmered with confusion. His face was flawless, almost doll-like, but his jaw was sharper, his frame taller, leaner.

“No way…” she whispered, raising her hand. The boy in the mirror copied her. She tilted her head; so did he. Her knees went weak. “That… that’s me?”

She pressed her palm flat against the glass, trembling. The boy’s hand met hers.

“This isn’t possible. How did I… become a man?”

Her voice broke, and she collapsed onto the floor. Tears blurred her vision, hot and uncontrollable. She hugged herself tightly, curling into a ball, shaking.

“What should I do now? I don’t understand anything… Mom… Dad… why is this happening to me? Please, just let it be a dream… if I close my eyes, maybe—maybe everything will go back to normal.”

She crawled back into bed, pulling the sheets over her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen.

Nothing.

When she opened them again, the mirror still showed him—her—this stranger. This boy named… whoever he was.

Her panic rose again until her mind finally whispered a cruel truth: In my old life, I was already abandoned. I had no home, no parents, no one to turn to. But I can’t… I can’t give up. I need to get my parents’ belongings back. I have to survive.

Wiping her tears, she stood on shaky legs and glanced around. Her body still felt alien, heavy in new places, strangely empty in others. Every step reminded her of the foreign weight between her thighs. Her face flushed red.

“Ugh… how am I supposed to even walk like this?” she muttered, squirming.

Shaking her head, she dug through the wardrobe until she found clothes—simple, loose pants and a shirt. They fit… comfortably, though she couldn’t stop tugging awkwardly at the front.

Then something caught her eye: a slim leather wallet on the desk. Inside was an ID card.

Name: Ivor

Age: 19

She froze, staring at the neat letters printed there. Her lips parted.

“Ivor…” she mumbled softly, testing the name on her tongue. It felt foreign, but strangely warm.

Her reflection in the mirror smiled faintly, as if the boy—this Ivor—had been waiting for her all along.

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