Bridesmaid (Patreon)

"Ugh, I just wish there was some way I could keep an eye on Emily for tonight, to keep her from doing anything she'll regret."

The necklace went cold in my hand, and I dropped it in surpise. As I let it fall, I saw that the gem in the center had gone from dark red to solid black. 

I raised my hands in front of me and looked on in horror as they began to change in front of my eyes. First the hair on the backs of them drew inwards, leaving my skin looking as if puberty had never happened. Then my arms began to change, strong muscles melting away as I watched. I despaired for a second about the months of wasted gym visits, before reminding myself that I had more immediate problems than that to worry about. The entire length of my arms started to shorten, and as I opened my hands I saw them shrink down and my fingers narrow.

All over my body, I felt the same sort of changes occurring. My legs, my back, my chest, my face. I raced towards the floor-length mirror to try to see what was happening to me, and nearly stumbled on legs that felt weak, wobbly, and improperly attached. I caught sight of my reflection, and gasped. The face in the mirror looked like one I had not seen since I was twelve. My stubble had disappeared, and so had the strong chin beneath it. I was now drowning in the polo shirt and jeans I had on; I must have lost at least half a foot in height, and a significant amount of weight.

I'd hardly had time to process this bombshell, before the buzzing feeling started up again, this time in my face. I scrunched it up as if I needed to sneeze. The feeling passed and I opened my eyes again. Was my face different? Yes, subtly, I decided. My lips were fuller, and my cheeks seemed plumper. I looked... cute. At this realisation tears came to my eyes, and as they welled up they only made me look more girlish and vulnerable.

As I tried to swallow back the tears, I felt my throat seizing up. I grabbed at my neck in panic, and tried to cry out, but no noise came out. My throat continued to spasm violently for another second or two, before my cry eventually came out in a strangled squeak.

"Wha..." I pulled back the question, as my voice came out all high-pitched and wavering. I lowered my voice by an octave; "what...?". I still didn't sound like myself, but rather like a girl imitating a man's voice.

"No... no..." I cried out in a soft, high plea, grasping at my already-swelling chest with both hands as if I could physically restrain it from changing. But the soft growths beneath my hands only pooled out below and around my fingers as I tried to push them inwards. With a cry of annoyance I let go, and my new breasts swung free beneath my polo shirt. I could only glare at them as they continued to grow, from small peaks into good-sized handfuls, until they sat full and round atop my chest.

They were huge, I decided, as I looked down at them. They filled my vision, pushing out my shirt, stretching its neckline to display my newfound cleavage. I turned away from the mirror in despair and caught a glimpse of myself from the side, then immediately felt stupid. They weren't that big at all. About average for a grown woman.

I waddled awkwardly in the too-long jeans back over to where I had dropped the necklace. I reached down to pick it up and swore under my breath at the increasingly tiresome feeling of my breasts swinging free. How did women put up with this? Oh yes, bras.

I looked over at my reflection in the mirror. How much longer was I going to be stuck like this? I had my wedding to go to in less than two weeks. And for sure I'd be missed before then.

I scratched distractedly at an itch at the top of my scalp. The itch only spread outwards, and I frowned. Then I realised with a sinking feeling that the magic was not done with me yet.

I stood up and walked back to the mirror, trying, and failing, to ignore how empty the juncture between my legs now felt. I brushed hair out of my eyes as I peered at my reflection, and then grabbed a handful of the offending hair.

I looked down at the necklace and frowned. Still no change? Suddenly something seemed to grab my hair from behind, and I shrieked. I spun round but was rewarded only with the sight of an empty room and the now familiar swing of my bosom. I reached for the top of my head and felt an unexpected cushion of hair. Had my hair been... put up?

I turned back to the mirror and confirmed the change. My hair was now swept back into some sort of fancy bun, leaving only a couple of bangs free at the front. I stared at it. Was it changing colour now? Yes, slowly it deepened from a mousy brown to a rich chestnut colour.

I stared perplexed at the decidedly fancy hairdo I now sported. Then something clicked, and I remembered what exactly I'd said that had triggered this whole thing — I had wished to be able to keep an eye on Emily at her hen do. The magic wasn't punishing me, but simply obliging my request. It had already made me the correct gender to be on a hen night, now it just needed to fancy me up a bit. I swore at myself. Serves me bloody right!

My face tickled all over for a second time and I closed my eyes again. Hadn't my face already changed? I felt something brush my lips and my eyes flew back open. I gasped. My face looked completely different again. My eyes looked bigger and darker somehow, and my lips were a deep shade of red. I blinked in confusion, and noted my long dark lashes fluttering. My face had been expertly made up, was all. But what a change! I looked... well, I looked beautiful.

I blushed at the thought, under my foundation. "Beautiful" was a word I should be using to describe my fiancée, not myself. I frowned at my reflection, and my makeup exaggerated the expression.

I glanced down and noticed yet more changes were happening at that very moment. My shirt had already changed colour from white to a light pink, and was now slowly changing shape; the sleeves crawling up my arms and the waist pulling in to hug my curves. I grabbed a handful of the fabric, and noticed how the coarse cotton had become softer and stretchier.

A disturbing sensation of something shifting around my bottom caught my attention, and I hiked up my shirt to see what was going on. Pulling my jeans away from my waist, I watched my boxer shorts shrinking into a far briefer shape, and then tightening, until they rested softly against my new anatomy. The top edge exploded into a lacy hem, finished off by a tiny bow at the top. The bottom edge underwent a similar transformation, and I noted with annoyance that it now came halfway up my butt cheeks at the back.

The waistband of my jeans started to soften in my fingers, and I felt the fabric tightening against my thighs, then calves, and finally around my feet. I lifted one foot and saw the leg hole of the jeans close up around my toes. My hands went to my waist button as if to escape, but it had long since disappeared. I let go of the waistband and felt it snap back not to my hips, but my waist proper.

As I watched them change colour to a translucent black, I realised that they were turning into tights. In shocked wonder, I ran a fingertip along the unfamiliar fabric, heard the faint hiss of long nails against nylon, and felt the tickle of it against bare skin beneath.

I looked in the mirror, and the picture that presented itself took my breath away. A young woman stood there, attractive and partially dressed.