TTW - 29 (Patreon)

Thomas trudged towards the bathroom, each step an arduous journey in itself. His body felt like it had been through a wringer, beaten and battered from the inside out. He glanced down at himself, his skin coated with a viscous, tar-like substance that clung stubbornly to him. It was a stark reminder of the grotesque transformation he had endured, a physical manifestation of the darkness that had almost consumed him.

Esmerelda accompanied him. With a wave of her hand, towels, clothes, soap, and other implements sorted themselves in their proper places.

"You had to do the…whatever rite, in order to save me, didn't you?"

"Ze infusion, Oui. Your wife, she was very brave."

"You are my wife."

Esmerelda patted his shoulder. "You take ze shower now? I fix ze food. We talk later, oui?"

"Sure," Thomas said, feeling a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The warm steam from the shower beckoned him, promising a semblance of normalcy, a chance to wash away the physical reminders of his ordeal. He turned on the tap, letting the water heat up to a temperature that bordered on scalding. He needed to feel something, anything, that would anchor him back to reality.

He gingerly stepped into the shower, the height of the showerhead now oddly high. He reached up to adjust it, his hand moving through the empty space where his previous height would have easily bridged the gap.  As he showered, he realized that it was more than just his height that had changed. As the tar like substance drained away, it left skin that was smooth and unblemished.

And hairless.

His beard had always been a part of his identity. He'd worn a beard since he'd been 18 years old and could grow one. To feel smooth skin there, not just smooth but soft was disorienting. His muscles had also evaporated, apparently. He flexed his bicep and could wrap his hand around the small muscle there.

"I gotta work out," he said, noticing his voice for the first time. It was a young boy's voice, and he wondered if somehow he'd regressed in age.

As the last of the tar swirled down the drain, Thomas stood there for a few more moments, letting the water soothe his weary soul. It was hard to believe what had transpired, harder still to grasp the reality of his existence now. He was back, but everything had changed.

Turning off the shower, he reached out for a towel, only to find that there wasn’t one. The door opened, and Esmerelda stepped in, her eyes averted as she held out a fluffy towel. Her cheeks were tinged with a faint blush, and there was a hesitancy in her movements that Thomas hadn’t seen before.

"Thank you," he said, his voice raspy.

Esmerelda nodded, still not looking at him. "Tres Bien. I... I will leave you to it," she stammered, quickly turning to leave.

Thomas wrapped the towel around his waist, puzzled by her sudden embarrassment. It was a stark contrast to the confident, powerful witch he had seen in the basement. He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in her mind.

He moved to the mirror, studying his reflection. The face staring back at him a reflection he scarcely recognized. The once familiar rugged features had given way to a softer, more delicate visage. His once prominent jawline had receded, leaving a more oval-shaped face, with high cheekbones that lent him an almost elfin appearance. The absence of any facial hair accentuated his youthful, unblemished skin, which seemed to glow with an unnatural smoothness under the bathroom lights.

He stood at a modest 5'5", a stark contrast to his former 6-foot stature. His body, once muscular and broad-shouldered, now appeared slender and petite, with graceful curves where hard lines used to be. His arms and chest, previously adorned with a light dusting of hair, were now completely hairless, enhancing the sense of unfamiliarity.

As he continued to examine himself, he noted the absence of the rugged hands that used to tackle woodworking projects with ease; in their place were now slender, delicate fingers, soft to the touch and unmarred by calluses or scars.

His eyes, once a piercing blue, seemed to have softened in hue, now reflecting a gentler sky-blue shade that contrasted starkly with his hairless head. The overall effect was disorienting, a stark departure from the man he used to see in the mirror every day.

Wrapped in a towel, Thomas stood there for a moment longer, trying to reconcile this new image with his sense of self, a mix of confusion and wonder etched onto his newly softened features.

He was still processing this new reality, the stark contrast between his past and present self. As he dressed in the clothes Esmerelda had left for him – which now fit his smaller frame perfectly – he felt a sense of detachment, as if he were dressing a doll rather than himself.

Descending the stairs, Thomas entered the kitchen where Esmerelda was preparing something. Her back was to him, her movements graceful yet tinged with a palpable tension. He paused at the doorway, observing her, the dynamics between them shifted in a way he couldn’t yet define.

"Esmerelda?" he called out softly.

She turned, offering a small, uncertain smile. "Ah, Thomas. Feeling better?"

He nodded, stepping into the kitchen. "Yeah, a bit. But everything's different now."

She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a complex tapestry of emotions. "We are both different, Thomas. But we will navigate zis... together."

There was a pause, a silence filled with unspoken questions and fears.

He took a seat at the kitchen table, watching Esmerelda move about the kitchen. In this new form, he felt vulnerable, exposed in a way that was both frightening and liberating. He was no longer the Thomas he knew, but he was still Thomas – just a different version.

As they ate in silence, Thomas contemplated his new existence. It was a rebirth of sorts, an unexpected second chance at life. And while the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, he was determined to walk it with courage and an open heart.