Imagine you wake up one day and find you’ve become the very thing you’ve spent your life chasing.
Confusion rattles your mind in that initial moment when your brain has stirred, but your body hasn’t. You notice the weight on your chest. Soft, heavy, foreign. Your eyes snap open to a ceiling you know, but the body beneath the sheets is all wrong.
Your hands fly up. Delicate wrists, manicured nails, breasts that spill over your palms. You scramble out of bed, legs too smooth, hips too wide. The mirror shows a stranger: pouty mouth, flushed cheeks, eyes wide with panic. Between your thighs, nothing. Just a slick, aching emptiness that clenches when you whisper the word whore.
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