*** Chapter found on CYOC by baudrie ***
Steve stared at the old curtains hanging on the tall, narrow window. They stood menacingly, like towering specters. In fact, everything seemed larger than it should, and that seemed to put a pit in Steve’s stomach. He pulled the fraying covers off his body and looked at his much smaller body. ‘That’s right,’ he thought, ‘my body.’ Steve looked down, he could see his now frail and feminine frame under the ash-colored robe he’d woken up in. He pulled the robe tighter as a chill ran down his spine. It felt as if the robe was the only thing he was wearing. Steve looked at his tiny hands, soft and delicate, clutching the fabric. He swung his legs over the bed, they hung inches above the floorboards, this made Steve’s stomach churn. He hopped off, landing with a soft thud, and walked over to the steaming bowl, his little feet slapping against the cool wooden boards.
Every step closer to the mirror made his heart beat faster and the bitter taste of fear in his mouth grow stronger. He reached the white ceramic basin, his knuckles turned white as he clutched the edges. He picked up the towel that hung on the rim and wiped the fog off the gold-framed mirror.
Tears started streaming down Steve’s face, and they wouldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. He felt sorry for the little girl in the glass. She looked scared and confused. He was terrified and disoriented. His narrow shoulders shook as he sobbed.
“Now, my dear, there’s no need to cry.” Steve whipped around as his heart jumped out his throat. The witch stood in front of him, a kind smile on her thin, dry lips, but malice gleaming in her dark eyes. “Why don’t you get dressed? I’ve laid out a pretty little dress for you on the dresser. I’ll have a nice, warm breakfast ready by the time you’re ready.”
Steve looked over, a white dress with blue ribbons that hadn’t been there when he woke up sat folded neatly on top of the cracked oak dresser. “No.” He’d meant to sound commanding, defying. But his voice had come out a scared squeaking.
“That’s no way to speak to your elders,” the witch said and put a ringed, bony hand on Steve’s thin forearm. He felt a strange pressure come over him. “Now do as I said, and get dressed.”
This time, Steve couldn’t even open his mouth. Almost involuntarily, he walked over to the dresser, pulled out a pair of bloomers out of the creaky drawers and got into the lacy dress. He felt the pressure loft as suddenly as it had come over him.
“Don’t you look pretty!” the witch cackled, “Now come downstairs, I’m sure the rest of your family will join us soon.” Steve looked down at the polished Mary-Jane shoes on his feet, his fingers crumpling the ruffles of his skirt. He felt defeated and humiliated as he realized he had become that wicked crone’s plaything. However, when he looked back up, the witch had disappeared.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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