"I told you bad things would happen if you kept smoking weed." your mother says.
"Oh god mom, its not weed. Weed is perfectly safe. Safer then cigarettes, which -you- smoke, safer even then wine. Hell, its safer then driving!" You roll your eyes, and immediately notice that your voice is now melodic, soft and lyrical.
"Yes, but weed now isn't all the same. Its stronger then it was when I was a kid - and they often put other things into it. Do you really want to tell me you know everything they've been putting into your drugs?"
You pause. This is true. Your friends have gotten you weed suspiciously cheap. On the other hand, no matter what your mother thinks, your not a pot head, and your not even that fond of the stuff. You've smoked it once every few months at best. Usually, its other people smoking it.
"That wouldn't explain my room." you point out, quite logically. She takes a long, thoughtful look around, walking over towards your oak vanity, and peering at a pair of decorative point shoes hanging from it, opening the drawers and looking through at the clothing. "You have a point." she admits. "Still, this sort of thing has happened before."
You look at her in shock. "It has? When?"
"Well, not in modern times; but medieval Europe was filled with stories of young girls sneaking off to war and becoming boys by exercising too much, or overly feminine men going on trips, and coming back as daughters. The Catholic church even did an investigation into it, in the 16th century, and concluded it was real."
"You have got to be kidding me. That's the best you've got, really?" Your entire room turns feminine, you wake up as a girl, and your nerdy mother is spouting off some stuff about comedic English literature and tall tales from half a millenium ago?
"Alright then, what's your name?" she asks, accusingly.
"You know my name is Victoria." you say reasonably. You pause. Wait, that's not right. "My name is Victoria." You try to curse and say it again. "Golly gee, my name is really Victoria!" You wrinkle your nose up and pout. Or at least, it comes out as a pout. You were going more for intense anger. "Gadzooks, I'm a girl! I love being a girl!" you say. That wasn't what you were trying to say at all!"
Your mother bursts out laughing. "Victoria? Well, its a pleasure to meet you, my demure young daughter. I can't say I'll be very sorry to see Miles go. He was a bit of a pain. Victoria Johnson, however, sounds like a very proper, refined young lady."
"Thank you, ma'am." you instinctively say. Wait, no, you didn't want to say that either. You try to say 'I fucking hate this, comon mom, help me!' but instead it comes out as, "Golly gee, this is really going to take some getting used to. You'll help me, right mommy?"
Your mother smiles. "We'll figure it out together, hun."
She then takes you...
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