Chapter Two

Victoria walked down the quiet, carpeted corridor of the Pearl Cove Community Center. The Wednesday night schedule always brought a bustling crowd of local residents to the facility, and she typically enjoyed walking the halls to greet the various clubs and support groups. Tonight, however, she felt a deep sense of dread building in her stomach with every step she took toward the meeting rooms. Her bare skin prickled under the cool air conditioning of the building. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her bare shoulders, wishing she could simply disappear into an office and hide from the world.

She wore a revealing white tube top that stretched taut across her breasts and left her shoulders, arms, and entire midriff exposed to the open air. A pair of tight, glossy black spandex shorts squeezed her hips and barely covered the tops of her thighs. She had paired the outfit with simple sandals, leaving her feeling underdressed. She had never worn anything so revealing in public before, let alone to the community center she directed, but she seemed to have no choice in the matter.

The morning had been an agonizing nightmare. She had woken up and attempted to put on her typical wool skirt and a modest, buttoned blouse to prepare for her day. The moment the fabric touched her skin, a searing, blistering pain erupted across her body. It felt as though she had wrapped herself in fiberglass and acid. She had tried three different conservative outfits, tearing each one off in a desperate panic as the burning sensation drove her to tears. She eventually discovered a pile of old clothes in the back of her closet from her more liberal college days. The moment she slipped into the exposing tube top and the tight spandex shorts, the pain vanished entirely, replaced by a soothing coolness. The curse had made its terms abundantly clear. If she wanted to exist without pain, she had to abandon her modesty and display her body to the world.

She stopped outside the door to the primary classroom. The women’s book club met inside this room every Wednesday, and Victoria usually spent ten minutes chatting with the ladies before they started their discussion. She took a deep breath and pushed the wooden door open, stepping into the room with her clipboard pressed against her bare stomach.

Martha and Sarah sat near the front of a circle of plastic chairs. Martha held a paperback novel in her hands, engaged in a conversation with the older volunteer, but the words died in her throat the moment Victoria walked into the room. The entire circle of women fell silent. Eight pairs of eyes locked onto the young director, scanning her exposed chest and bare legs with undisguised shock.

“Good evening, ladies,” Victoria said, forcing a bright smile onto her face to mask the intense humiliation burning in her chest. “I just wanted to drop by and make sure you have enough resources for your meeting.”

“Victoria, are you feeling alright?” Martha asked, setting her book down on the empty chair beside her.

“I’m fine,” Victoria replied. “We have the new schedule for the upcoming classes ready at the front desk if you want to grab one on your way out.”

“You are just dressed a little differently than we are used to seeing,” Sarah noted, offering a polite but deeply concerned expression. “It is quite chilly outside tonight. Did you forget your coat at home, or some pants?”

Victoria felt a rush of heat blush against her cheeks. She felt so embarrassed by the statement, but there was nothing she could do about it. “I… umm… decided I’ll try something fun today,” she lied smoothly. “You can’t wear boring, thick sweaters every day of the week.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Martha said, exchanging a highly skeptical glance with Sarah. “We just want to make sure everything is going well with you. You work so many hours for this town, and we worry about you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Victoria said. “I’m doing great. I’ll let you get back to your books. Have a good discussion tonight, ladies.”

Victoria turned around and walked out of the classroom. She closed the door and leaned her back against the corridor wall. The women respected her as the responsible head of the Blaire family, and she had just stood in front of them looking like a cheap corner escort. The shame threatened to swallow her whole.

You’re such a terrible liar, her own voice teased inside her head. It sounded exactly like her thoughts, filled with a cruel and mocking amusement. You gave up your precious modesty, and now you’re just begging for everyone to look at your skin. Admit it, you love parading around half-naked. Those boring sweaters were hiding what a complete slut you really are.

“Shut up,” Victoria whispered. She pressed her palms against her temples to push the intrusive thoughts away.

She hated the voice. She had no idea where it had come from, but she hated the twisted logic it offered and how it mocked her pain. She pushed herself away from the wall and walked across the hallway toward the secondary meeting room. The men’s book club met in this space. She needed to drop off their discussion guides before she could retreat to the safety of her office. She squared her shoulders and tried to project professional authority.

The woman pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Six men sat around a long folding table. They discussed a biography, but the conversation stopped the moment she entered. James sat near the head of the table. He wore his usual thick glasses and a worn denim jacket. His jaw dropped open.

“Good evening, guys,” Victoria said. “I brought the discussion guides you asked for.”

“Thanks, Victoria,” James replied. His voice caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto her exposed midriff.

Unlike the women, the men offered no polite inquiries about her well-being. They simply stared. Victoria watched James dart his eyes down to her bare stomach and back up to her face. A visible blush formed on his balding head. The other men at the table were far less discreet. She felt their gazes linger on her small breasts. One of the younger men in the corner stared at her exposed legs.

“I’ll leave the guides here,” she said. She placed the papers on the edge of the table. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

“We’re doing just fine right now,” a man named Arthur said. He shifted in his seat and kept his eyes fixed on her chest.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Victoria replied, desperate to escape their humiliating leers.

She turned around and walked back toward the door. She felt six pairs of eyes boring into her exposed rear. The tight shorts left nothing to the imagination, and she knew they watched the sway of her hips. The vulnerability of the moment made her want to scream. She had spent her entire adult life commanding the respect of these men through hard work. It only took a change of attire for them to look at her as if she were a piece of meat on display.

She stepped out of the room and closed the door, walking down the corridor to put a safe distance between herself and the meeting rooms. A deep flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks, but a secondary and much more terrifying sensation twisted in her stomach as a warm pool of arousal gathered between her thighs. Her body responded to the degrading stares of the men, sending a sickening thrill through her veins at the realization that she commanded their attention by existing in exposing clothes.

You’re such a good little exhibitionist, her own voice purred inside her head, the tone dripping with cruel amusement as she walked toward her office. You traded your precious modesty away for a little comfort, and now you’re getting wet just thinking about all those men staring at your skin. Naughty, naughty girl.

She wanted this hell to end.

❖

Victoria turned the key in the deadbolt of the community center’s glass doors, ensuring the lock clicked into place. She pulled the keys free and dropped them into her purse, letting out a long sigh as she faced the empty expanse of the parking lot. The cool night air brushed against her bare shoulders and exposed midriff, serving as a constant and unavoidable reminder of the highly revealing garments she was forced to wear. She crossed her arms over her chest in a futile attempt to cover her breasts, wishing she could wrap herself in a thick winter coat and forget about the embarrassment of the day.

She walked across the empty asphalt, the open space offering no cover or distraction as she made her way toward her vehicle. Every step forced her to feel the cool breeze against her bare stomach, a constant punishment for the theft she had committed the day before. The modesty she had spent her life cultivating was gone, stripped away by a supernatural force she could not begin to understand. She kept her eyes focused on the ground, wanting nothing more than to climb into the driver’s seat and drive back to the safety of her home, where she wouldn’t have to endure the judgmental or lustful stares of the people she knew. The sheer cognitive dissonance of her situation made her want to weep, but she knew tears would not solve her supernatural predicament.

As she neared her designated parking space, her steps faltered completely. A shiny, expensive Rolls-Royce sat parked directly beside her everyday car, occupying two spots with a brazen disregard for the painted lines. Anthony Musker leaned casually against the driver’s side door of his luxury vehicle, waiting in the darkness. He wore a smart suit with the collar of his dress shirt unbuttoned, looking entirely too comfortable standing in the empty lot.

The terror rooted her in place. The solid gold bar she took from the man’s hidden wall safe twenty-four hours ago sat wrapped in a bathroom towel at the bottom of her closet. She had spent her day agonizing over her inexplicable actions, wondering how she could return the valuable item without getting caught and destroying her family name. The billionaire stood waiting by her car in the middle of the night, long after the center had closed its doors to the public. Her mind raced through a dozen disastrous scenarios. She assumed he had returned from his business trip early, checked the secret compartment behind his oil painting, noticed the missing bullion, and tracked her down to have her arrested, or worse.

The thought of the police arriving to place the young woman in handcuffs made her stomach twist into painful knots. The ensuing scandal would ruin the Blaire family legacy, destroying the charitable trust she managed and handing the rival Vanders the ultimate victory on a silver platter. Her younger siblings, Alice and Jacob, relied on her to manage their college funds and maintain their social standing. She pictured the horror on their faces if they discovered she had stolen from a major donor.

She forced her legs to move, taking cautious, measured steps toward her car while her hands gripped the leather strap of her purse with nervous intensity. She prepared herself for a vicious confrontation, bracing for his accusations and the inevitable demands for police intervention. She stopped a few feet away from her car door, keeping a safe distance between herself and the wealthy financier to ensure she had room to run if she had to.

Tony stood up from his relaxed position against the luxury car and offered her a wide, charming smile.

“It’s a great evening tonight, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, his voice carrying a smooth, conversational tone that contradicted the late hour and the isolation of the parking lot.

Victoria blinked in confusion, derailed by the casual, polite nature of his question. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and tried to keep her voice steady, desperate to hide the guilt eating away at her conscience.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she replied, waiting for the trap to spring shut.

“I heard an interesting rumor passing through the country club earlier today,” Tony said, taking a slow step closer to her and letting his gaze drop to her exposed chest. “Someone mentioned that the prudish director of the community center decided to show up wearing next to nothing. When I heard about how you were dressed this evening, I had to come see for myself.”

A sickening wave of disgust rolled through Victoria’s stomach. The realization that he knew nothing about the stolen gold bar mixed with a different kind of horror. He had not driven down here in the middle of the night to confront a thief. He had gone out of his way to stare at her body. The arrogance of his actions made her want to slap his older, handsome face, realizing how disgusting his motives were. She felt objectified, understanding that the exposed clothes she was forced to wear had turned her into a spectacle for the man. People were gossiping about her new appearance behind her back, spreading rumors through the country club.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for the community over the years, Tony,” Victoria said, forcing her words to remain professional while fighting the urge to cover herself with her hands. “But what I’m wearing or how I look is none of your concern.”

“I’m sure you think so,” Tony replied with a wide grin, ignoring her verbal boundary as his gaze traced the tight fabric gripping her hips. “I sure hope you’re wearing something similar when you come by tomorrow to file the weekly wage paperwork. It would be a tragedy to hide all of that beautiful skin away again.”

“Goodnight, Tony,” Victoria snapped, refusing to engage with his degrading compliments as she reached for the handle of her car door.

She pulled the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. She shut the door and locked it, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she turned the key in the ignition. Tony chuckled to himself, offering her a mocking little wave through the glass before he turned around and opened the door to his luxury car. He shrugged his shoulders, looking entertained by the interaction, and slipped into the driver’s seat of his vehicle.

Victoria threw her car into reverse and backed out of the parking space. She drove out of the lot and merged onto the residential street, her hands shaking on the steering wheel as she processed the degrading encounter. She felt trapped, bound by a supernatural force that demanded her humiliation and stalked by a wealthy predator who found her suffering entertaining. She turned the radio on to drown out the silence of the vehicle, hoping the music would quiet her racing thoughts, but the image of Tony’s smug grin remained burned into her mind.

Far across the dark street, a polished black town car sat idling in the shadows of a large oak tree. Inside the spacious back seat of the vehicle, Elanor Vander sat with her hands folded in her lap. She watched the interaction unfold through the tinted passenger window, her eyes tracking the young director’s revealing outfit and the predatory posture of the Wall Street financier.

A sly, evil grin crossed the older woman’s wrinkled face as she witnessed the unmistakable signs of her magic taking hold. The pure matriarch of the Blaire family was reduced to wearing spandex in a parking lot while men focused on her body, confirming the curse was working to dismantle her rival’s pristine reputation. Elanor thought back to the stories of her ancestor, Viktor Vander, and the betrayal he suffered at the hands of the Blaire family over a century ago. The vengeance she had planned for so many decades was coming to fruition, and she didn’t need to lift a finger to execute the destruction. Victoria was going to destroy her own life, alienating her supporters and humiliating her family name, and the witch intended to enjoy every second of the spectacle.

❖

Victoria sat at the large desk inside the private office of the Blaire family manor. The large house remained quiet at this hour of the night, giving her the isolation she needed to focus on the financial problems threatening her charity. She still wore the revealing tube top and glossy black spandex shorts from earlier in the evening. She had driven straight back to the estate after her degrading encounter in the parking lot, desperate to bury herself in administrative work and forget the humiliation of the day. The tight garments gripped her thighs and left her midriff bare, but she knew attempting to change into modest attire would only invite the blistering pain back to her skin.

She opened her laptop and navigated to her email inbox, looking for any updates from local sponsors or charitable organizations. The community center required an influx of cash to finish the construction of the new east wing, and she spent most of her evenings searching for viable funding options. She scrolled past dozens of unread messages and newsletters before a specific subject line caught her attention. A regional government agency had sent out a mass email detailing a new federal grant designed to help small towns repair aging infrastructure and expand their facilities.

She clicked on the message and read the details of the initiative. The federal government offered substantial financial packages to community programs aiming to revitalize their neighborhoods. The grant would provide enough money to replace the worn-down flooring in the main hall, purchase new equipment for the adult education classes, and guarantee the completion of the east wing without requiring matching donations from local residents. It was the exact piece of the puzzle she was looking for.

She followed the link in the email and opened the official application portal on her web browser. She navigated to the prerequisite requirements page to ensure the facility qualified for the funds before she wasted time filling out the extensive paperwork. Her eyes scanned the bulleted list of conditions, checking off the facility age and the non-profit status with ease. She reached the final requirement at the bottom of the page, and her heart sank into her stomach.

The text stated that to be approved for the infrastructure grant, the applying community center needed to prove a minimum of one thousand five hundred unique monthly visitors over the trailing twelve months.

Victoria knew the attendance figures for her facility flawlessly. She pulled up her digital tracking spreadsheet and verified the data, staring at the final column with a deep sense of despair. The community center only averaged around one thousand two hundred monthly visitors over the last year. That singular metric meant she fell short of the federal requirement by three hundred people.

She rested her elbows on the edge of the desk and buried her face in her hands, letting out a long sigh of defeat. The rigid parameters of the government grant meant she could not submit the application. That statistical detail was going to cost her community tens of thousands of dollars, killing her plans for the east wing. She felt like a failure, knowing the people of Pearl Cove relied on her to find solutions and keep the doors open.

You have all the data right there on your screen, her own voice returned inside her mind, carrying a soothing and rational tone. Nobody from the government is going to drive down here to count the people walking through those doors. You can just change the figures, and the money is yours.

Victoria lowered her hands and stared at the monitor, her eyes locked on the cell containing the true average attendance figure. She shook her head to reject the intrusive suggestion.

“I can’t do that,” Victoria muttered aloud to the empty office. “It’s fraud. It’s a lie, and lying is wrong. My parents built this trust on honesty and integrity, and I’m not going to turn into a criminal just to get a grant.”

It’s a harmless white lie to protect the greater good, the voice argued, seamlessly blending into her own internal monologue. There was something about her own voice saying it that made the words difficult to disagree with. You need that money to finish the east wing. Think about the programs you can run once the construction is done. You’ll hit those attendance numbers eventually anyway.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her fingers tightening around the computer mouse. “It’s immoral, and I won’t do it.”

You’ll have failed if the center falls apart, the voice countered, pressing against her moral boundaries with seductive logic. You’re the one in charge now. You have to make the hard choices to benefit your people. Are you really going to let the volunteers suffer just because you’re too stubborn to tweak a few numbers? You are Victoria Blaire. Nobody will ever suspect you of lying on an application.

Victoria stared at the portal as the internal battle waged within her mind. She prided herself on her unwavering morals, having dedicated her life to doing things the right way. She knew manipulating a federal document was a violation of the law. The voice presented a devastatingly convincing argument, reminding her that the money would go directly to the people who desperately needed it. She weighed the purity of her soul against the survival of the community center, feeling the burden of leadership crushing her resistance.

She took a deep breath, rationalizing that taking on the burden of a lie was a worthy sacrifice if it meant helping her town. She clicked on the first cell of the spreadsheet and highlighted the attendance data from January. She changed the figure from one thousand two hundred to one thousand five hundred and fifty. The keystrokes sounded loud in the room, each click hammering another nail into the coffin of her integrity.

She moved down the column, altering the data for February, March, and April. She carefully varied the false numbers to ensure the final average looked organic and realistic. She clicked on the cell for May and deleted the original number, typing in one thousand six hundred. She moved to June and typed one thousand four hundred and ninety. She watched the honest data vanish from the screen, replaced by a fabricated reality that secured her funding. She adjusted July and August, pushing the numbers higher to compensate for the slower winter months. She justified each keystroke, telling herself the new extension would eventually bring in these numbers, making the lie a temporary placeholder for the truth. She adjusted the formulas to calculate the new totals, watching the final average climb steadily until it rested at one thousand five hundred and twelve monthly visitors.

She saved the manipulated document and uploaded the altered spreadsheet into the grant application portal. She filled out the remaining text fields, attached her electronic signature to the bottom of the page, and hovered her cursor over the final submission button. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her conscience urging her to delete the fake data and walk away from the temptation.

She pressed her finger down on the mouse and clicked Apply.

The webpage refreshed, displaying a green confirmation banner acknowledging the receipt of her application. A sudden shudder ran down her spine, causing her body to tense in the office chair.

You’re such a terrible liar, her voice chuckled darkly inside her head, abandoning the soothing tone for a vicious and taunting sneer. You tried to convince yourself you were doing a noble deed, but a lie is immoral regardless of the outcome. You committed fraud, and you know what happened last time you broke the rules.

Victoria gasped, her hands gripping the edges of her desk as a second shudder ripped through her nervous system. She felt a strange, invisible force wash over her muscles, altering the core of her physical presence. She had no idea what the voice meant, but she knew something was deeply wrong with her body.

Your professional composure is gone, the voice teased, the cruel amusement echoing through her skull. You traded your grace away for a pile of government cash. I hope you enjoy your new reality, as I think it will go well with your upgraded wardrobe choice.

Victoria released her grip on the desk and let her hands fall into her lap, her breathing shallow and uneven as she tried to process the cryptic warning. She felt different, though she couldn’t pinpoint the exact source of the shift while sitting alone in the office. She stared blankly at the confirmation screen on her laptop, unaware of how her posture had already adjusted itself. Her spine had arched on its own, pushing her breasts forward and spreading her legs slightly under the desk, leaving her unprepared for the humiliating transformation she would discover the moment she stood up from her chair.

❖

Victoria pulled her sedan into the circular driveway of the Musker estate the following afternoon. She parked the car near the grand entrance and turned off the engine, taking a deep breath to steel herself for the tasks ahead. She sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she mentally prepared to face the Wall Street financier. She wore a midriff-baring halter top and a tight skirt paired with four-inch sandals. The curse dictated her wardrobe choices, punishing any attempt at modesty, and she resigned herself to the exposing garments just to function through the day. She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and opened the car door, hoping to process the payroll and leave before the older man noticed her arrival.

She stepped out, closed the door, and took her first step toward the front doors of the manor. The moment her sandal struck the pavement, a sudden and undeniable force seized control of her musculature. Her spine arched backward against her will, thrusting her breasts forward and forcing her shoulders down to present her chest to the world. She tried to correct her stance and stand up straight, but her body refused the command, locking her into a provocative and submissive pose.

She took another step, and her hips swung outward in an exaggerated, sensual sway. She felt her pelvis tilt and roll with an unnatural fluidity, turning her simple walk into a seductive strut designed to draw attention to her body. She fought against the compulsion, willing her legs to move normally, but her limbs acted as a separate entity following a corrupted set of instructions. The tall sandals amplified the sway of her hips, forcing her to teeter on the heels while she paraded up the walkway like a runway model. The halter top pulled tight across her bust with every exaggerated movement, putting her figure on display for anyone who happened to look out the windows of the estate.

You look like a proper little bimbo today, her own voice teased inside her mind, filled with cruel amusement as she strutted up the stone steps. You lied on a government document, and now you’re paying the price. You traded away your composure for some funding. I bet the men are going to love watching you walk around town.

“Shut up,” Victoria muttered, gripping the strap of her bag as she reached the front doors of the estate. She had no idea how this was happening, but something had taken control of her body, and she could no longer stand like a normal person.

She opened the double doors and stepped into the grand foyer, her sandals clicking against the marble tiles. The sound of a vacuum cleaner echoed from the adjacent living room, drawing her attention. She smiled and walked toward the noise, her hips swaying side to side in a wide arc that made her cheeks burn with shame. She entered the living area and found Maria pushing the cleaning machine across an imported rug.

The maid looked up and pressed the power button, bringing the room to a sudden silence.

“Ohh, Miss Blaire, it’s great to see you,” Maria said, offering a warm smile as she wrapped the cord around the handle. “Mr. Musker is in his study right now.”

“Hi Maria, I’m just here to process the wage paperwork,” the young woman replied, forcing her voice to remain steady while her spine arched backward to thrust her chest out. “I’ll be in and out before he even knows I’m here.”

Maria paused and raised an eyebrow as she studied the estate manager. She scanned the revealing halter top and the short skirt, her gaze lingering on Victoria’s unnatural posture. “Is everything alright? You look different today, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Everything is great,” Victoria said, forcing a fake smile onto her lips to hide her internal panic. “I just decided to change things up a bit. I need to get those wages paid.”

“The timesheets are on the dining room table,” Maria noted, still looking concerned about the interaction.

“Thanks, I’ll go take care of them,” Victoria replied.

She turned around and walked out of the living room, feeling the maid’s eyes watching her departure. She wondered if Maria thought she was having an early midlife crisis or seeking attention from her wealthy employer. Victoria prided herself on her modest reputation, and watching that reputation crumble in real-time made her chest ache with regret. Her glutes shifted against the fabric of her skirt with a pronounced, exaggerated sway, turning her exit into a ridiculous catwalk strut.

The physical effort required to fight the compulsion exhausted her muscles. She tried to force her shoulders forward and tuck her pelvis, but the magic locked her joints into place. She had to surrender to the seductive strut just to keep moving forward, feeling the leather straps of her sandals bite into her skin with each exaggerated step. She navigated the hallways until she reached the formal dining room, relieved to find the space empty. She dropped her bag onto the wooden table and pulled out one of the chairs.

She sat down and discovered the curse extended beyond her walking stride. The moment her thighs touched the cushion, her legs parted on their own accord, spreading to offer a clear view up the center of her skirt. She tried to press her knees together to maintain a regular seated position, but her inner thigh muscles refused to cooperate. Her spine remained arched, pushing her cleavage outward as she reached into her bag to retrieve a spare laptop. She felt like an eager centerfold posing for a magazine shoot, trapped in a body that prioritized sexual display over basic dignity.

The brunette booted up the computer and connected to the estate’s network, pulling up the banking portal to begin her administrative tasks. She gathered the timesheets Maria had left on the table and began entering the staff’s hours. She focused her eyes on the screen, typing the numbers and authorizing the direct deposits.

She navigated the familiar software while her mind raced with panic over her degrading reality. She had dedicated years of hard work to building a reputation as a respectable and serious woman. She had built on her family’s stellar reputation, earning the trust of the town through her charitable deeds. The curse was systematically altering her and turning her into something she wasn’t. The contrast between her capable mind processing payroll figures and her body lounging like a seductress made her want to scream in frustration.

Look at the way you’re sitting, her voice mocked, drawing her attention back to her spread legs and arched back. You can’t even do basic data entry without presenting yourself like a pornstar. It feels natural, doesn’t it?

“It doesn’t feel natural,” Victoria whispered to herself, hitting the final confirmation button to send the wages to the staff accounts. “It feels wrong, and I hate it.”

She closed the laptop and shoved the device back into her leather bag. She stood up from the dining room chair, her hips snapping back into the exaggerated sway as she walked toward the doorway. She retraced her steps through the corridors, the click of her sandals echoing off the floors as she approached the main foyer. She kept her eyes focused on the front doors, hoping she could slip outside without drawing unwanted attention from the owner of the house.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t so lucky. The door to the study swung open just as she reached the center of the entryway. Tony stepped out of the room, wearing a navy blue suit that highlighted his broad shoulders. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes locking onto her exposed midriff and the short hemline of her skirt. A wicked, appreciative grin spread across his face.

“Victoria! What a pleasant surprise,” Tony said, his gaze traveling up her body to meet her eyes.

“Hello, Tony,” Victoria replied, her stomach sinking as she felt her posture betray her. Her spine arched deeper, pushing her chest outward to present her cleavage directly to his line of sight, while her hip popped out to the side in a provocative stance. She hated the way her body submitted to his presence, knowing he was enjoying the display.

“You look great today,” Tony noted, taking a slow step toward her. “Did you dress like that just for me?”

“I’m just trying out some new things,” Victoria said, her voice strained. She wanted to yell at him, but she knew she had to maintain a pleasant demeanor to protect the community center’s funding. Despite her vast wealth, Tony’s money was the only reason the facility was still standing.

“I have to admit, I like this new direction you’re taking,” Tony said. He closed the distance between them, stopping mere inches away from her body. “It suits you.”

He reached out and placed his large hand directly onto her skirt-clad ass, giving her flesh a firm, perverted squeeze. The unexpected contact sent a jolt of shock through her nervous system. She gasped and swatted his hand away from her body, taking a step back to reestablish her boundaries.

“Keep your hands off me,” Victoria reacted, glaring at the older man. “That’s inappropriate.”

Tony chuckled, unfazed by her rejection. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and looked her up and down. “Honestly, with the way you’re standing and flirting with me, you’re giving me some mixed signals. Your mouth is telling me no, but your body language is begging for my attention.”

“There’s nothing mixed here,” Victoria countered, her face burning with a mixture of anger and humiliation. “I don’t want you touching me. Keep your hands off me.”

“If you didn’t want me to touch you, you wouldn’t be posing for me like that, baby,” Tony argued, his smile widening as he watched her struggle against her own posture. “You can play hard to get all you want...”

“I’m leaving,” Victoria interrupted before he could get another word out, refusing to justify his twisted logic with another response. She felt a deep sense of despair, realizing her new behavior was encouraging the harassment she fought to avoid.

“It was great seeing you today, Victoria,” Tony replied, a smirk lingering on his lips. “Stop by any time.”

Victoria turned around and stormed toward the front doors, her hips swinging in a wide arc that undermined her furious retreat. She pushed the doors open and marched out to her sedan, leaving Tony standing in the foyer. He chuckled to himself as he watched her seductive walk, feeling confused by her new behavior while enjoying the visual show.

❖

Victoria sat at the head of the long folding table in the community center’s largest meeting room, a notepad open in front of her and a pen resting between her fingers. The room was filled with the low murmur of conversation as the small group of volunteers settled into their seats. She had called the meeting earlier that afternoon to discuss ways to raise the remaining twenty thousand dollars needed to finish construction on the new wing. It was a familiar routine by now — gathering ideas, weighing options, and trying to keep everyone motivated despite the ongoing financial pressure.

She shifted slightly in her chair and immediately felt the difference in how her body wanted to sit. Her back remained subtly arched, and her legs had parted more than she would have preferred. She pressed her knees together under the table, but the effort felt constant, like she was fighting against a quiet, persistent force. The posture made her feel exposed even though she was clothed, albeit scantily clad, and she had to keep reminding herself to focus on the meeting instead of the way her body was behaving.

The volunteers were a mix of regulars who had been helping at the center for years. Most of them were older, practical people who had seen the facility go through good times and bad. They knew the center was important to the town, and they were willing to put in the work, but the constant need for money was wearing on everyone.

Victoria cleared her throat and looked around the table. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “I know it’s been a long few weeks with the construction delays, and I appreciate you taking the time to brainstorm with me tonight. We’re still short about twenty thousand dollars to finish the west wing, and I’d like to hear any ideas you have for raising that money quickly.”

One of the older volunteers, a man named Frank, spoke up first. “What about another silent auction? We did one two years ago, and it brought in a decent amount.”

Another woman, Linda, nodded. “We could ask local businesses for donations again. Some of them were pretty generous last time.”

Victoria wrote down both suggestions, though she already knew from past experience that another auction would take weeks to organize and probably wouldn’t raise enough on its own. She tried to stay encouraging anyway. “Those are good starting points. Let’s keep going. I want to hear everything, even if it sounds small.”

The group continued tossing out suggestions for another ten minutes, but nothing felt substantial enough to close the gap they were facing. Someone mentioned reaching out to the local rotary club again. Another person floated the idea of a car wash in the parking lot. Victoria wrote everything down, even though she could already see the limitations in most of the ideas. A car wash would take coordination and good weather, and it probably wouldn’t bring in more than a couple thousand dollars at best. The Rotary Club had already donated what they could for the year.

She tried to keep her expression open and encouraging, but inside she felt the familiar weight of responsibility pressing down on her. These people were giving up their time because they believed in their community, and she hated feeling like she was letting them down by not having better answers.

Frank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “We could always do another round of calls to past donors. Some of them might be willing to give again if we explain how close we are to finishing the wing. I know you’ve already donated as much as you’re able, Victoria, but I’m sure Mr. Musker, for example, could spare a little more if he were asked nicely.”

Victoria suppressed a shudder at the mention of her wealthy employer. The mere thought of approaching the Wall Street financier and asking him for more money made her stomach churn, especially after he had just cornered her in his foyer and squeezed her backside. She knew what asking nicely would entail in his twisted mind, and she refused to subject herself to that degradation.

“I think we’ve tapped our major donors as much as we can for the year,” Victoria replied, forcing her tone to remain professional and steady despite how she was dressed. “We need to find a way to generate the funds from the broader public without driving the wealthy out. I appreciate all of your input, but I think we should call it a night. I want everyone to go home and brainstorm. Keep an open mind, and we will reconvene next week to see if anyone has a new angle we can try.”

The volunteers nodded in agreement, pushing their chairs back and gathering their belongings. They filtered out of the conference room in small groups, chatting amongst themselves as they headed toward the exit. Victoria remained seated at the head of the table, waiting for the room to clear before she stood up. She wanted to delay the moment she had to parade her cursed posture and swaying hips in front of her community.

As the last few people exited the room, a woman named Gemma lingered near the doorway. Gemma was a quiet mother of two who usually stayed in the background during these meetings. She spent most of her volunteer hours organizing arts-and-crafts supplies for the children’s programs, rarely speaking up when the larger group debated the big issues. The young mother took a hesitant step forward.

“Victoria, do you have a minute?” Gemma asked, her voice soft and unsure.

“Of course I do,” Victoria said, setting her pen down on the notepad as she unintentionally thrust her modest chest out. “What’s on your mind?”

Gemma took another small step closer, her hands twisting together in front of her. She glanced toward the door as if making sure the others had really gone before speaking again.

“I had an idea,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t want to say anything while everyone else was talking. I’m not very good at speaking up in big groups.”

Victoria kept her expression open and patient, even as she fought the constant pull of her posture. “That’s alright. You can tell me now. I’d love to hear it.”

Gemma took a breath. “My youngest son’s school does a bake sale every year. They invite a couple of other schools to join in, and they end up raising quite a bit of money. I was thinking… what if we did something like that here? Only bigger. What if we invited every school in the area to do a big bake sale here at the center? We could take a small cut of whatever they make, and the rest could go back to the schools. It might bring in a lot of families, and it could help us raise some real money.”

Victoria considered the suggestion. It wasn’t something they had tried before, and it had the potential to bring in more than the usual small fundraisers. It would also get more people through the doors of the community center, which was always useful.

“I like it,” she said honestly. “It’s straightforward, wouldn’t be difficult to manage, and it could actually work if enough schools participate. Why didn’t you bring it up during the meeting?”

Gemma looked down at her hands again. “I don’t know. Everyone else was talking so confidently, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”

Victoria felt a flicker of sympathy. She knew what it was like to sit in a room full of people who seemed more sure of themselves. “You should try to speak up more,” she said gently. “You have good ideas. This one could really help us.”

Gemma’s cheeks turned slightly pink, but she looked pleased. “You really think so?”

“I do,” Victoria said. “I’d like to move forward with the idea, with your blessing. We can start reaching out to the schools this week and see how many are interested.”

Gemma nodded, a small smile forming. “I can do that. I know a few of the PTA moms from my son’s school. I could start with them and see what they think.”

Victoria felt some of the tension in her chest ease. It wasn’t a guaranteed solution, but it was something concrete they could actually work toward. For the first time that evening, she had a fresh idea they could try out instead of recycling the same old tired suggestions.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “Really. I’m glad you stayed behind.”

Gemma hesitated, then added, “I know things have been difficult lately. With the construction and all the money problems. I just want to help if I can.”

Victoria gave her a genuine smile. “You already are. This could make a real difference.”

Gemma turned around and walked out of the conference room. Victoria watched her leave, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction wash over her mind. She cherished her role as a leader to her volunteers, finding purpose in building up the people around her and fostering a supportive community. She picked up her pen and began drafting a list of the local schools on her notepad, her thoughts buzzing with the challenges of organizing the event.

She felt a moment of peace as she outlined the strategy for the bake sale. The curse had hijacked her body and ruined her modesty, but she still possessed her smarts and empathy, and her dedication to the charity. She refused to let this weird supernatural affliction break her spirit, determined to push forward regardless of the humiliating outfits she was forced to wear. She concentrated on writing out her initial plan, happy to have something to focus on other than the strange occurrences that had plagued her over the last few days.

❖

Victoria stood behind the long folding table near the back of the main hall, carefully counting the stack of bills in front of her. The bake sale had been a clear success. Most of the schools had already packed up their tables and left, but a few volunteers from the final group were still folding tablecloths and stacking empty trays near the side doors. The air still carried the faint, sweet smell of baked goods, even though almost everything had been sold.

She separated the cash into neat piles, making sure to keep the center’s cut separate from what needed to go back to the participating schools. So far, the numbers looked good. Better than she had expected. If the final count held up, they would be much closer to the twenty thousand dollars they needed for the west wing. It wasn’t everything, but it was real progress, and that felt like a small victory after weeks of stress.

Victoria glanced up as two women approached her table. She recognized them from earlier in the day. They had been helping run one of the high school tables and had stayed behind to help clean up. Both looked tired but pleased with how the event had turned out.

“Victoria, it was so great to meet you today. We just wanted to say thank you before we head out,” one of the women said, stopping in front of the table. “This was such a great idea. My daughter’s school made more today than they usually do at their own bake sales.”

The second woman nodded in agreement. “Honestly, I’m impressed. Getting all these schools together in one place was smart. You should definitely make this a regular thing. Maybe once a month or every couple of months. It could become a real community event.”

Victoria opened her mouth to correct the assumption. She planned to explain that the bake sale wasn’t her original concept, intending to credit Gemma for the brilliant idea. She believed in lifting up her volunteers and giving praise where it belonged, knowing the shy mother deserved the recognition for her out-of-the-box thinking. She drew a breath to speak the honest truth, but a familiar voice filled her head before she could get the words out.

What are you doing? Why give the credit away? Her own thoughts whispered, pushing against her conscious mind with a persuasive argument. These women are praising you. They think you’re a genius, and you should just absorb the compliment while you have the chance.

Victoria hesitated, her mouth still slightly open. She could feel the words sitting on her tongue — the ones that would redirect the praise to Gemma — but they refused to come out. Instead, she stood there with her spine subtly arched and her chest pushed forward, the posture making her feel even more exposed under the women’s attention.

The voice continued. They’re happy. They’re grateful. And they’re looking at you like you’re the one who made this happen. You don’t have to lie. Just don’t correct them. Let them keep thinking it was your idea. It’s not hurting anyone.

She knew it was wrong. She knew Gemma deserved the credit. But the longer she stood there, the harder it became to push the thought away. Her body remained locked in that forced, provocative stance, and she could feel the women’s eyes occasionally drifting over her outfit before returning to her face.

One of the women smiled warmly. “Seriously, you should be proud of yourself. This kind of event takes real planning. Most people wouldn’t have been able to pull something like this together so quickly.”

Victoria felt the last of her resistance slip. She closed her mouth and gave a small nod instead.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m really glad it worked out. I wasn’t sure how many schools would actually want to participate, but it turned out better than I expected.”

The words tasted bitter as soon as they left her mouth. She had done it. She had accepted the credit without correcting them. The voice in her head didn’t gloat. It simply went quiet, as if it had already gotten what it wanted.

The first woman leaned in a little, lowering her voice slightly. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but… You might want to consider dressing a little more modestly next time. There were a lot of families here today, and some of the parents seemed a bit surprised by the outfit. Not that you don’t look nice, of course. It’s just… quite a bit more revealing than what most people expect at a school event.”

The comment landed harder than Victoria expected. She felt her face grow warm as the woman’s words settled over her. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. She had spent the entire day trying to ignore the looks and the occasional raised eyebrows from parents and volunteers, but hearing it said out loud made it impossible to brush aside.

She glanced down at herself without meaning to.

The outfit she had ended up wearing was a tight, glossy black halter top that barely covered her breasts and left her entire midriff exposed. The fabric clung to her skin and dipped low between her cleavage, making it impossible to wear a bra without it showing. Below that, she wore a short, shiny black skirt that barely reached mid-thigh. The hem was high enough that she had spent most of the day being careful with how she moved, constantly aware of how much leg she was showing. On her feet were a pair of simple black strappy sandals with a modest heel that still managed to make her legs look longer and more exposed than she wanted.

The entire look was far more sexual than anything she would have ever chosen for herself. It was the kind of outfit she would have associated with a night out at a club, not a family-oriented community event. Standing there under the fluorescent lights of the community center, surrounded by the remains of a bake sale, she suddenly felt painfully out of place in her own skin.

The woman’s words echoed in her head. Quite a bit more revealing than what most people expect at a school event. Victoria had known people were looking at her all day, but she had tried to tell herself it was just in her head. Now she had confirmation that it wasn’t.

She felt a fresh wave of shame wash over her, stronger than before. Not only had she taken credit for Gemma’s idea, but she had done it while standing there dressed like this. The combination made her stomach twist.

The two women lingered for another minute, making small talk about how well the day had gone and how nice it was to see so many families in one place. Victoria answered them as best she could, but her mind kept circling back to what had just happened. She had stood there and let them believe the bake sale was her idea. She hadn’t corrected them. She hadn’t mentioned Gemma at all.

When the women finally said their goodbyes and walked toward the exit, Victoria stayed behind the table, staring down at the money in front of her without really seeing it. The hall was much quieter now. Most of the schools had finished packing up, and only a few volunteers remained near the side doors, finishing the last of the cleanup.

A sudden chill rippled down her spine, causing her hands to tremble against the stacks of twenty-dollar bills. The sensation felt identical to the supernatural warning she experienced in her office the night she falsified the grant application.

You really are an awful person, that voice returned as it chuckled darkly inside her mind, replacing the persuasive tone with a vicious and mocking sneer. You stole the credit from a shy woman just to feed your own ego. You wanted to look like a genius in front of the PTA moms, but taking credit for someone else’s hard work is immoral.

Victoria’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table as the voice continued, its tone growing darker with every word.

You stood there and let those women believe you were the one who came up with the whole thing. You didn’t even try to correct them. Her voice continued. You just smiled and took the praise like you deserved it. And for what? So you could feel important for a few minutes? So people would think you’re clever and capable? You’re supposed to be better than that. You used to be better than that.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. The voice wasn’t wrong. She had known exactly what she was doing when she stayed silent. She had chosen to let them think the idea was hers, and now the guilt sat heavy in her chest, mixing with the lingering shame from the woman’s comment about her outfit.

You already gave up your modesty and composure, and you still haven’t learned your lesson, the voice went on. Now you’re giving up something else. Your style. That’s what you’re losing this time. Let’s see how long you can keep pretending you’re still the same respectable woman everyone used to respect.

Victoria let out a shaky breath as a second shudder ran through her nervous system. The sensation washed over her muscles and tingled across her exposed skin, sinking deep into her bones. She braced herself for an inevitable change, waiting for another humiliating shift in her posture or a sudden shift in her thoughts, but nothing happened. She remained standing behind the folding table, her body feeling the same as it had a minute prior.

She touched her face and looked down at her hands, finding no immediate alterations to her appearance. The lack of an instant change offered no comfort. An agonizing dread settled into the pit of her stomach as she stared down at the stacks of currency. The voice had said she would lose her style, but the young woman had no idea what was in store for her.

❖

Victoria walked down the concrete sidewalk of Main Street, leaving the Pearl Cove Community Center behind as she began the long trek toward her house. She had purposefully left her sedan parked in the public lot, choosing to travel on foot to punish herself for the events of the evening. She hoped the physical exertion of the journey would clear her mind and quiet the guilt gnawing at her conscience. She had stolen an idea from Gemma, accepting the praise of the two women without bothering to correct them. The memory of her silence made her stomach churn with regret. She had always tried to be a supportive leader, but she had betrayed her own morals just to stroke her vanity. To make matters worse, the same women who praised her intellect had harshly judged her appearance, effectively calling her exposing outfit trashy right to her face, and they weren’t exactly wrong.

Her hand rested on her hip as she walked, fingers curled lightly against the fabric of her skirt. She barely noticed the way her posture had shifted or how her hips swayed with each step. The movement had become natural to her body over the past few days, even though it looked anything but. Her back remained slightly arched, pushing her chest forward in a way that made the halter top feel even more revealing under the streetlights. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk ahead, too lost in her own thoughts to register how she was carrying herself.

The guilt refused to fade. Every time she tried to push it down, it came back stronger. She kept seeing Gemma’s face in her mind — the shy smile she had worn when Victoria encouraged her to speak up more. Gemma had trusted her with the idea. She had stayed behind after the meeting because she believed Victoria would give her a fair chance. And instead of protecting that moment, Victoria had let two strangers believe she had come up with the entire thing herself.

She passed a row of closed storefronts, the reflections in the dark windows flickering as she moved. For the first time all evening, she caught a clear glimpse of herself. The image stopped her mid-step.

Victoria stared at her reflection in the glass. The glossy black halter top dipped low between her breasts and left her entire stomach bare. The short skirt rode high on her thighs, and the way she stood made her look as if she were posing rather than simply standing still. Her dark hair fell in its usual waves, but next to the revealing outfit, it suddenly seemed plain and unkempt. Her face looked tired all of a sudden, her features unremarkable. For some reason, this bothered her.

She took a small step closer to the window, her eyes moving over her own reflection with growing discomfort. It wasn’t the outfit itself that suddenly felt wrong — she had already spent days forcing herself to wear clothes like this, and the humiliation of it had become almost familiar. What felt out of place now was everything else. Her face looked bare and ordinary next to the bold, sexual cut of the halter top. Her nails were short and unpainted, practical in a way that no longer seemed to match the rest of her. Even her hair, which had always been simple and low-maintenance, now looked dull and disgusting by comparison.

She lifted one hand and touched her cheek without thinking, as if checking to see if her face had changed while she wasn’t looking. It hadn’t. It was still the same face she had seen in the mirror that morning. But standing here, framed by the revealing clothes the curse had forced on her, it suddenly seemed too plain. Too normal. The contrast made her feel strange, like she was wearing a costume that didn’t belong to her.

You look unfinished, the intrusive voice said, slipping into her thoughts with quiet amusement. All that skin on display and nothing to go with it. No makeup. No color. Just you, looking like you got dressed in the dark and hoped no one would notice.

Victoria dropped her hand and took a step back from the window. She didn’t want to keep staring at herself, but she couldn’t quite look away either. The longer she stood there, the more aware she became of how mismatched everything felt. The outfit demanded attention. It was loud and deliberate and sexual. But her face and hands looked like they belonged to someone else entirely — someone quiet and responsible. Someone who would never wear something like this in public.

She stood there for another few seconds, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. The discomfort wasn’t just about the way she looked. It was deeper than that. Something inside her was shifting, and she could feel it. Her hand was still resting on her hip, forcing her to stand provocatively as she stared at herself. She hadn’t put it there on purpose. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it.

Victoria frowned and slowly moved her hand away, letting it fall to her side. For a brief moment, it stayed there. Then, without any conscious decision on her part, her fingers drifted back up and settled on her hip again. She pulled it away a second time, more deliberately this time, and held it stiffly at her side. It lasted maybe five seconds before her arm relaxed and her hand returned to the same position.

Her stomach tightened.

She tried again, forcing her shoulders forward and her back straight, trying to stand the way she used to. The effort lasted only a few seconds before her spine curved again on its own, pushing her chest forward. She could feel it happening, but she couldn’t stop it. It was as if her body had decided on a new default posture and refused to accept any other instructions.

This isn’t possible, she thought. People don’t just lose control of the way they stand or walk. This has to be in my head.

But it wasn’t. She could feel the difference in her muscles. She could feel the way her hips wanted to move with each step and how her back refused to stay straight. It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t even uncomfortable in a physical sense. It simply felt… inevitable.

She took a few steps away from the window, testing it. Her hips swayed with a slow, rolling motion she hadn’t intended. One hand stayed on her hip no matter how many times she moved it. She tried clenching her fist and holding her arm rigid at her side, but within seconds her fingers had relaxed and drifted back up again.

Victoria stopped walking. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk and stared down at her own body, trying to understand what was happening to her.

How is this possible? she thought. How can a person’s body just… decide to move differently? How can it just decide I need to dress differently?

You can’t fight it, the voice corrected, ignoring her desperate rationalizations. You dress the right way, you walk the right way, but you need to style yourself like the selfish bitch you are.

The unnatural revulsion grew stronger, twisting her stomach into tight knots until the urge to change her appearance overpowered her logical thoughts. Her resistance crumbled as she searched for some rational explanation for the sudden psychological break, but her own mind refused to offer any comfort. She surrendered to the bizarre compulsion, turning her head to look down the quiet street, and she spotted the bright sign for Lola’s Beauty and Hair across the empty asphalt.

The salon belonged to the nineteen-year-old daughter of one of her center volunteers. The printed sign hanging on the door indicated the business was closed, but the interior lights remained illuminated. Victoria stepped off the curb and walked across the road, her hips swinging in that wide, forced strut as she approached the shop. She pushed the glass door open, and the brass bell rang loudly to announce her arrival.

Lola stood near the front reception desk, sweeping a pile of blonde hair clippings across the tile floor. The teenager wore a vintage band t-shirt and ripped jeans, her arms covered in colorful tattoos that stood out in the conservative town. She stopped sweeping and stared at the esteemed charity director standing in the doorway.

“Miss Blaire?” Lola asked, leaning her hands on the handle of her broom. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t exactly the kind of place Victoria was known to hang out.

The dark-haired woman stood near the entrance, her spine automatically arching to thrust her chest outward in a suggestive pose.

“Are you still open?” Victoria asked, her voice shaking as the unnatural disgust for her own face demanded immediate action.

Lola narrowed her eyes, studying the strange behavior of the older woman. She had always viewed the wealthy woman as an uptight snob who looked down on anyone who fought against societal norms. Seeing the modest matriarch dressed like a cheap club girl and posing provocatively sparked a wave of amusement in the teenager’s chest.

“I was about to lock the doors,” Lola said, a sly grin forming on her lips as she decided to entertain the spectacle. “I suppose I have time for one more customer. What do you need?”

“I need you to fix me,” Victoria pleaded, taking a step forward with a sensual roll of her hips that made the teenager raise an eyebrow. “My face is all wrong, and my hair is boring. I look plain, and I hate it. I need an overhaul.”

Lola studied Victoria for a moment, still amused by the whole situation. The woman who had always seemed so proper and put-together was now standing in front of her looking like she was about to go out clubbing.

“You want me to change your hair and makeup?” Lola asked, keeping her tone casual.

“Yes,” Victoria said quickly. She was still trying to fight the urge, but it was getting harder. “I don’t know what exactly. Just… make it different. I can’t stand looking like this right now.”

Lola tilted her head, considering it. “You sure? It’s pretty late.”

“I’m sure,” Victoria replied, even though part of her was still wondering why she was doing this at all. “Please. Just do whatever you think is best.”

Lola smiled and nodded. “Alright then. Come sit down. I’ll see what I can do.”

Victoria followed her to one of the chairs and sat down. She kept trying to tell herself this was ridiculous, that she should just go home, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. She hated how plain her face looked next to the outfit she was wearing. She hated how ordinary she felt.

Lola draped a cape over her and started examining her hair and face in the mirror. “You want something bold?” she asked.

Victoria hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Something different. I don’t want to look like this anymore.”

The revulsion warped her perspective until her natural features looked repulsive in the mirror. She felt a burning need to erase the respectable, unpainted face she had shown the town for years. The voice inside her head pushed her to surrender to the vanity and embrace the loud aesthetic matching her cursed garments.

“Don’t hold back,” Victoria commanded, the strange compulsion tightening its grip on her mind and forcing the final demand past her lips. “Do your worst.”

End of Chapter Two