Altered Fates: Fait Accompli
by Raven

Mark approached his dad nervously. He had only passed his driver's 
examination last week, but his entire existence now revolved around whether 
he could use his father's car tonight. 

It wasn't every day that a guy had a chance to take Cindy Sue Reilly out on a 
date. She was quite simply the hottest girl in his class . . . .if not the
entire school. Mark had to do this right. If he could pick her up in a car, he 
would be deemed worthy of her feminine charms. If they had to walk, or 
gasp, worse, have his parents drive them, he would be deemed unworthy. 
He would be though of as just a kid. 

For someone like Cindy, who was used to dating older guys, a car was an 
important. It was a status symbol. It was a badge of being cool . . . part of 
the "in crowd." So, the equation was very, very simple for Mark. 

Use of the car was the key that would unlock the rest of his High School 
social life. Now, if he could only get his dad to agree. 

The request did not go down well. No matter how many ways that Mark tried 
to explain the importance of the car, his father, Harry Ash, refused to accept 
his point of view. It all came down to one thing. 

"Mark, believe me. I appreciate what you're trying to do. If I were in your 
place, I'd probably be trying the same thing. However, no 16 year old, who 
just passed their driver's exam, should be out driving at night with a 
Porsche!" Harry outlined his parental point of view. 

"Aw, Dad . . . . ." protested Mark.

Harry gave his son the "Don't start with me" look, and Mark immediately fell 
silent.

However, the wheels of Mark's mind were still turning. Dad said that I 
couldn't use the Porsche, but he didn't say anything about Mom's car. A 
Mercedes will still be cool enough to score points with Cindy Sue! Hope 
glinted in the boy's eyes. He retrenched to try a different approach. 

"Okay. What about Mom's car? She isn't using it tonight.." He tried to flash 
his most winning smile.

Even THAT didn't work.

"I said no, Mark. You can't use any car by yourself until you've had a little 
more practice under my supervision. Once you've proven yourself to me, 
then we'll see."

"But Dad! I have a date tonight with THE Cindy Sue Reilly. She's the best 
looking girl in school."

Harry tried his best to help. "Mark. I'll drive you there, and pick you up. I'll 
do what I can, but you're asking way too much." 

"Forget it, Dad. Just forget it."

"There will be other nights, Mark. Cindy will understand." 

Mark didn't see it that way at all. Even now, he was imagining the door of 
opportunity slamming in his face.

"It's just not fair," grumbled the teen. 

"Life's not fair kiddo. You might as well get used to it. While I'm in charge 
of this household, it's my rules. That may seem unfair to you, but that's just 
the way that it is."

Mark stomped up the stairs to his room, slamming his door. Reluctantly, he 
called Cindy to beg off for the night. He used the excuse that he wasn't 
feeling well, although he could tell from the tone of her voice, that she didn't 
believe him. It just wasn't good form, even in high school, to cancel a 
Saturday night date at short notice. It would take something extraordinary to 
get another shot with Cindy. 

Mark sighed, as he hung up the telephone. Admittedly, he was extremely 
frustrated when he blurted, Dad just doesn't understand. He's forgotten what 
it's like to be a kid at the mercy of your parents. I just wish that I was in 
charge of him, so that he could see how helpless I feel!" 

With his plans for the evening blown, Mark logged onto America Online. 
Maybe if he could chat with somebody about his problems, he would feel a 
little better about it. Somehow, he sincerely doubted it. He quickly navigated 
his way through all of the opening boxes to the chat menu. 

However, instead of directing his cursor toward his usual chat haunts, he 
pointed it to the Member's Rooms. He wondered what was over there, as he 
never took the chance to explore those chat rooms. Besides, it was Saturday 
night. All of his cyber buddies would be out . . . as he should be!

Mark clicked on the Member's chat room button, instantly getting a box of all 
the various topics for the rooms. He began to scroll down the list. 

Mark was surprised at the number of chat rooms which were devoted to sex 
topics. Then, on reflection, he decided that he wasn't all of that surprised. 
Mark was just beginning to learn that sex and love made the world go 
around.

Mark stooped scrolling when he found one chat room entitled, "Ask the 
Witch." That looked interesting. The numerical read out beside the category 
indicated that there was only one person inside the room. The witch, 
pondered the youth?

Nevertheless, Mark boldly entered the chat room. 

He typed in at the prompt, ">Hello?"

A response appeared on the screen, commencing the dialogue. ">Welcome 
Mark!"

That was a bit strange, though Mark. His screen name was "Wraith." How 
could this other person know his name . . . so he asked. 

">How do you know my name?"

">I read your profile."

Curiouser and curiouser! Mark knew that he didn't have a profile listed on 
America Online because he preferred to remain a mystery. Something did not 
make sense here.

Mark challenged the other, whose screen name read only, "TheWitch." ">Try 
again. I don't have a profile!"

">Oh, very well. I'm a witch. I'm SUPPOSED to know such things. Most 
people panic when I tell them their name. It is such a minor manifestation of 
power . . . but effective." 

Mark was stunned. He sat perfectly still, hands beside the mouse and 
keyboard. He was afraid to move.

Another message prompt appeared on the screen. ">Still there, Mark?" 

Hands shaking, the youth typed in the one word reply, ">Yes." 

">Have you a question for me?"

He did, now that he though about it. It was just the very reason that he had 
entered the chat room in the first place. His father. 

Over the next few minutes, Mark explained his situation with Cindy Sue, and 
the transaction with his father. At the end of the dialogue with TheWitch, his 
chat room friend asked him a question." 

>"What do you want to do about it?"

Mark pondered his options. Maybe some type of simple mind control over 
his father, to get his way, was called for. He though it over carefully, the 
asked TheWitch.

"> I'm tired of my Dad being the boss of me. I just wish I could be the boss 
of him!"

">Perhaps something for Father's Day? A Spell?" 

Mark had completely forgotten. Tomorrow was Father's Day, and he hadn't 
gotten his Dad any gift. At this point, he didn't deserve one. Check that . . . 
he did! A spell would be the perfect Father's Day surprise.

">That would work," he keyed in his answer, and desire. 

">Then here is what you do . . . ."

Mark rapidly wrote down the ingredients of the spell, and the words of the 
incantation. He was instructed to recite it while working the spell. It seemed 
easy enough. At the end of TheWitch's instructions, he asked him/her one 
last question, just to make sure." 

":>Are you sure this will work?"

">Positive. After you invoke the spell, you will hold dominion over your 
father. I must sign off now. Fare thee well, and good luck." 

">Thank you."

">You are welcome. Use the spell wisely." 

With that, TheWitch was gone. Mark looked at the ingredients that were 
recorded on the scrap of paper in his hands. A small pink candle, and some 
of his father's hair. Strange ingredients indeed for a mind control spell, 
wondered Mark. He had to burn the hair in the flame, while chanting the 
words:

"With this spell, I claim power over he, who now holds sway over me."

He shrugged . . . easy enough.

The hair wasn't going to be a problem, as all he had to do was mine for his 
Dad's thinning hair in his hair brush. A small pink candle was another story. 
He wasn't sure if they even had any candles in the house, let alone small pink 
ones. However, a short trip to the supermarket would remedy that problem.

Mark looked at his wristwatch, which read only 6:30 p.m. The stores were 
still open! He hurriedly but on his sneakers, dashed down the steps, and out 
the door. He grabbed his bicycle, and pedaled off toward the closest 
supermarket.

**********

Mark gathered the ingredients of his spell into a pile. There was the piece of 
paper containing the words of the written incantation, a wad of hair rescued 
from Harry's hair brush, and one small, pink candle. 

He glanced at the clock in his room, which now read 10:58 p.m. He knew 
that his father had turned in early, just as he did every Saturday night. 
Apparently a day of yard work, after a week as a stock broker/financial 
analyst was a very stressful and tiring existence. 

Go figure, though Mark. All he has to do is sit behind a desk, what could be 
so bad about that?

His hands deftly set the candle into a saucer that he had pilfered from the 
kitchen. Mark lit the candle with a match . . . also pilfered from the kitchen. 
With one hand, Mark held the wad of hair into the flickering flame, whilst 
reciting the words of the incantation, over and over again. 

Foul smelling smoke from the burning hair filled Mark's room. Eventually, 
he had to drop the burning hair into the saucer, so that it would burn 
efficiently. In a minute or so, all that were left of the tresses were ashes .
. . like his surname.

Mark smirked, "By Father's Day, I will be the boss of my Dad!" 

The lad could not have know the nature of the transformational forces that he 
had set into motion.

**********

Harry was not awakened by his alarm clock, as he usually was on a Sunday 
morning, but by a blood-curdling scream nearby. He tried to open his eyes, 
but still felt tired and weak. In fact, his entire body felt strange . . . different 
somehow.

He was finally able to forced his eyes open to see his wife, Maggie, hovering 
over him. Her face was aghast, with a mixture of horror and confusion.

"W-who are y-you?" she was able to blurt out. "W-where is my husband? 
Why are you wearing his pajamas?" 

Odd questions, wondered Harry. What was she talking about? 

Harry open his mouth to speak, but the instant that he did, he knew that 
something was seriously wrong.

"What are you talking about, Honey? I am your husband . . . Harry?" His 
voice was extremely high, soft and sweet. It was the voice of a . . . . .

"Little girl? This isn't the least bit humorous. If this is a joke, it isn't funny
at all. Now tell me where Harry is."

Harry tried to it up, but his pajamas hung on him like a sack. Long blonde 
hair ell into his eyes and face.

"I'm not a little girl, Maggie. I'm really your husband!" Harry insisted, 
although it sounded exactly like a whining child. 

Just then, Mark, who had been awakened by his mother's shrill scream, 
burst into the room.

"Mom? Dad? What's going on? What's wrong?" 

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of a short blonde adolescent girl sitting 
beside his Mom in bed. The pajamas that she wore belonged to his father. 
Although the hung loosely upon the girl, they did not hide the nascent teenage 
breasts upon her chest.

"Who?" Mark slurred.

"I don't know," exclaimed his mother, her voice changing to anger, "but I 
intend to get to the bottom of it!"

She directed the attention back at the small girl in her bed. "I'm asking you 
one more time. Who are you, Miss, and where is Harry?" 

The girl ignored the question for the time being, and was busy looking at the 
small hands in front of shocked, sky blue eyes. The girl gasped, and then 
touched her own face. Mark and Maggie watched with curious interest, as the 
teenager felt the flawless skin of her cheeks. 

Harry refused to believe the evidence before his eyes. The small feminine 
hands were his, and the responded to each of his mental commands. The 
sleeves of the pajama tops came well over those hands, giving him a clue as 
to how small he must now be. Those sleeves rolled up his impossibly slender 
forearms when he raised the hands to his face. The skin if his face was soft 
and dewy.

Harry's hands traveled up to his head, and the fingers ran through the thick 
blonde hair that was there. When he moved his head, the long tangled tresses 
brushed against the nape of his neck. However, when he turned his head too 
far, there was a slight tug of resistance. It was like his hair was caught on 
something.

The brand, spanking new girl pulled what seemed like yards of silky blonde 
hair from the back of the pajamas top, and over one shoulder. 

The mass of long hair cascaded over that shoulder into his tiny lap. 

Harry felt all along that soft hair with his small hands, finally coming to rest
at the prominent bulge of a new breast. He squeezed it. It produced a 
pleasantly warm sensation, and his other hand quickly lifted the swell of the 
other breast.

Maggie was outraged at this unknown little girl doing obscene acts . . .. In 
her very own bed.

"Look away Mark," she commanded loudly.

Before she could say anything else, Harry pulled the front of the pajamas out, 
just far enough to look down. His unbelieving eyes told him what his hands 
already knew.

"I-I h-have breasts," he stammered in the high soprano that he now 
possessed.

Mark was still staring at his father, although he did not know the girl's true 
identity. All he knew for sure was that he had a very bad feeling about all of 
this.

That wasn't exactly true. That wasn't the only feeling that he had. Watching 
the girl fondle herself caused a definite rise in his hormonal activity, and he 
was sporting an erection. It was clearly visible through the material of his 
shorts.

On second though, he did decide to turn around, albeit not for the reasons his 
mother desired. If she saw the his erection, all Hell would surely break loose.

He heard his Mom say to the girl, "Of course you do. You're a girl, and I 
would appreciate it if you would not do that in front of my son. Now. You 
either tell me who you are, or I will call the police." 

The girl's meek voice said softly, "B-but you d-don't understand. I'm not 
really a girl. I'm you're husband, Harry." 

Harry started to cry. The emotions were just to much for his new body to 
contain.

A shiver of fear went through Mark. Could it be? He had cast a spell last 
night, thinking it a mind control incantation. Could he have done . . . this? 
Suddenly, his painful erection went very limp. 

"That's it. I'm calling the police," roared Maggie. 

"Wait," asked Harry, in the little girl's body. "I can prove it.  Ask me 
something only your husband would know." 

Mark turned back around to witness the colloquy. The girl was able to 
answer each question accurately, no matter how difficult, or small the detail. 
She even got the trick questions. Each correct answer made Mark frown a 
little more in horror.

The conclusion was unmistakable. The small teenaged girl was Harry Ash!

"H-Harry?" gasped Maggie.

The girl sobbed, "T-that's what I've been trying to tell you." 

Harry fell into the deep embrace of his wife's arms, although her much larger 
size swallowed him whole.

"Oh my . . . God!" Mark finally cried, breaking his silence. 

Both Harry and Maggie stared at their progeny with a confused look upon 
their faces.

Harry tried to inquire in an authoritative voice. It didn't quite work with his 
new, little girl timbre.

"Mark? What do you know about this?"

Mark broke. "I'm sorry. I just though it was a mind control spell. It was a 
Father's Day trick to get you to do what I wanted. I just wanted your Porsche 
to take Cindy Sue out. I never though something like this would happen."

"Magic?" Maggie interrupted. "Where did you learn magical spells?" 

The boy replied slowly and sheepishly. "F-from the Internet. It was a chat 
room with somebody named TheWitch. The chat room was called Ask the 
Witch."

"I don't believe this. Witchcraft! The most embarrassing thing that most 
Dad's get for Father's Day is a cheap tie. I get a set of boobs!" exclaimed 
Harry. He was close to tears, prompting him to inwardly curse the rampant 
emotions of the body that he wore. 

"What did you asked her?" asked Maggie, presuming TheWitch was female.

She cradled her sobbing husband in her protective arms, rocking him gently 
back and forth.

"I told her that I wanted to be the boss over my father. She gave me this 
spell," he explained.

Maggie replied flatly, to the silence of Harry, "In a sense you are. You are the 
big brother to her little sister. The spell worked too well." 

The shock of his own wife's statement of fact dried Harry's eyes in a 
heartbeat. "Hey," he babbled. "I'm not a her!" 

Maggie patted her transformed husband on the thigh soothingly. "You are 
now, Sweetheart. You are now."

Harry just lay in her arms in stunned silence. 

Mark then spoke. "You should see yourself, Dad. You are quite the little 
Hottie!"

"Hottie? What's a Hottie?"

"Oh. Sorry. That's what we call hot babes in school. Look at yourself in the 
mirror."

Mark gestured over to the full length mirror on the back of the master 
bathroom door.

Harry disengaged himself from his wife. When he did, he found himself 
getting all tangled up in the long hair over his shoulder. Without even 
thinking about it, he flipped it out of his face, back over his narrow 
shoulders, with a motion that was as natural as any girl alive. He moved to 
get out of the bed.

"Careful, Honey," Maggie warned. "You're center of balance is bound to be 
a little different."

She was correct.

It felt . . . strange for Harry to even move about. There was no friction of his 
legs rubbing a penis or scrotum, and instead there was only a void. He felt so 
light, limber, and flexible. Harry couldn't ever remember being this small and 
thin, even when he was a little boy. The annoying breasts on his chest jiggled 
with the slightest movement of his new body. 

Now that Harry was standing erect, both his wife and son could see that he 
was no taller than 5' or 5'1". He was short. That blonde hair was poker 
straight, and fell to the small of his slender back. Even through the pajamas, 
which hung like a sack, it was easy to see the developing curves of the 
adolescent body.

Those pajamas, particularly the bottoms, made it hard for Harry to walk. The 
bottoms were so long that they covered, and even curled under, his feet like a 
footie.

"Slide the bottoms off, Harry," suggested Maggie, when she noted his 
difficulty.

It wasn't a problem. All Harry had to do was touch the waistband, which 
hung only on the indents to his flared hips. They dropped in an instant to the 
floor. Harry's modesty wasn't compromised, as the pajama tops came to just 
above the knees.

Even so, when Harry looked down, he could see the flash of baby smooth, 
hairless thighs.

The former man attempted to walk forward with the gait that he'd always 
used. It felt all wrong . . . unnatural, and made his hips and back ache. Harry 
concentrated on walking slowly in a manner which didn't irritate those joints. 
Within just a few steps, he was moving with the native grace, sway and 
fluidity of a girl. 

It was the only thing that felt . . . right? 

In another few feminine steps, Harry stood before the mirror. The reflection 
was a young girl no more than 13 or 14 years of age. She was extremely 
pretty, hinting at the jaw dropping beauty to come. Harry couldn't believe 
how small and slender that he had become. 

"Oh . . . .oh no! I AM a little Hottie!" he cried before succumbing to tears 
again.

Mark couldn't resist stating, "You're even better looking than Cindy Sue."

That definitely didn't help.

Maggie commanded, "Go Mark. Go log onto the Internet, and find that chat 
room. Go find a counter spell for your father this instant." 

The boy dashed out of the room in a rush. This was going to be a LONG 
Father's Day.

**********

It was a miserable morning. Harry tried to drink black coffee, just a he did 
every Sunday morning, and read the sports and financial sections of the 
newspaper. The coffee tasted vile to his changed taste buds. His favorite 
sections of the newspaper seemed . . . boring. 

He should have detected that something more was amiss when he had to spit 
his coffee back into the cup. He uttered a most non-adult, "Ewww! This stuff 
is really yucky!"

From across the kitchen, Maggie cocked on curious eyebrow. 

It wasn't until Harry noticed that he was flipping through the sales circulars, 
specifically women's clothing, that he realized something was drastically 
wrong. Specifically, it was the idle thought, wow, they're selling those 
totally cute tops for only $12.99? They would look sooooo good on me!

Now his mind was being effected also. Harry worried that he going to start 
thinking like a teenaged girl.

Rather than alarm his wife, Harry decided to keep it to himself, for the time 
being. All he could hope was that his son could find the counter spell before 
he lost too much.

That would be the best Father's Day gift of all time . . . to be a father again!

Maggie went and dug up some of Mark's old clothes. He had grown out of 
then several years ago, and looked extremely small. They were too big on 
Harry. They fit all wrong on his curvy body, and for the time being, he had 
to go without panties and a bra. 

Harry spent several long stretches touching, caressing, and examining his 
feminine anatomy, when his wife finally left him alone in the bathroom. 
Everything was so amazingly soft and smooth. When he touched his 
budding, pert boobies and maidenhood it felt sooooo good!

The latter caused him to giggle, actually giggle, to his renewed horror. 

Harry finally forced himself to dress in Mark's discarded clothes, although 
every cell in his young body wanted to continue exploring. The long blonde 
tresses were plaited into a French braid by Maggie a little later, secured by 
one of his wife's scrunchies. 

The hormones of the insistent, adolescent body were out of control. They 
made his little cunny always warm and moist. The rubbing of the nipples of 
his boobies against the inside of Mark's old T-shirt kept then constantly 
swollen and erect.

"Please hurry, Mark," he whispered in that voice. If anything, it had become 
even softer and more girlish.

**********

Tears wouldn't even come when Mark dropped the bomb several hours later. 
Harry was just numb.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I tried. I really did. I couldn't find the chat room or 
anything. TheWitch doesn't even have a profile. I've tried E-mailing her, but 
she doesn't respond. When I checked the status of that mail, it just says that it 
wasn't read. I just don't know what to do . . . I've ruined Father's Day.

Everyone in the room thought, maybe permanently. 

Maggie put her arms across her son's shoulders to console him. At 5'10" he 
now towered over his small father. "It's okay Mark. I'm sure that you did 
your best, and must feel awful about this. You'll just have to keep trying until 
you find her."

"Like, what about me?" stammered Harry, dangerously close to a whine.

"Well . . . for the time being you can't be Harry Ash. We'll have to come up 
with a different identity until we can get you back to normal." 

"No!" Harry protested weakly.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but it's the only way. You're just going to have to pretend 
to be Mark's younger sister."

Mark grinned despite the gravity of the situation. He would get to be the boss 
of his father after all.

"Yes," reiterated Maggie. "We can say that you're back from private school 
or something, We'll need a name . . . ." 

There was a long pause.

Maggie spoke yet one more time, "I know. What about Melody? She would 
have been about 15 years old by now." 

"No. Not her," Harry cried. The name had struck a nerve. 

"Who's Melody?" asked Mark curiously.

Maggie sat Mark down on the couch, still clutching his shoulders. "Son. We 
never wanted to tell you this. When you were almost a year old, I had another 
baby . . . a girl. We named her Melody. She died when you were too young 
to remember, and your father and I decided not to tell you."

"Really? I had a sister?" Mark replied, saddened. "I wish that I could have 
known her."

Maggie looked now at her young daughter of a husband. "Don't you see 
Harry. It's perfect. We never could bring ourselves to filing the death 
certificate. That would mean that Social Security and the rest would have her 
listed as being alive. You can assume the identity of our daughter until this is 
all over."

"You couldn't accept her death," Harry pointed out in his soprano. "I wanted 
to, like, go on with our life, ya know? This body can't be more than 13 years 
old . . . 14 at best. It wouldn't, like, work." 

Harry wasn't even cognizant that even his speech pattern was beginning to 
coincide with his youthful feminine form. 

"We'll just say that you're small for your age. People will believe that. 
Besides, what else can we do?"

Maggie had a point there. On top of it, it was getting harder and harder for 
Harry to focus on any one thing. It was hard to concentrate with the ever 
present wet slit.

"Okay," Harry said dejectedly, in the exact manner a teenaged girl would say 
that phrase.

"Good. From this point on, we all refer to you as Melody. Agreed?" She 
looked around the room.

Both Mark and Harry . . . make that Melody, nodded in the affirmative. 

The change in Maggie's demeanor was virtually instantaneous. Perhaps it 
was borne by the loss of her daughter years ago, but she immediately 
assumed the parental role over both of them. 

"You'll have to call me Mom, or better yet, Mommy. We can't have anybody 
become suspicious now, Melody."

"Okay . . . Mommy," sighed Melody. She asked, "What do we do first?"

"We have a busy day. We'll need to take you shopping to buy you all of the 
things that a girl will need, including clothes. I'll have to teach you all of the 
things that a girl your age should know. We'll have such fun . . . you'll see."

"Great," grumped Melody, visions of periods and hair curlers dancing in her 
pretty little head. Mark slugged his new sister in the arm. 

"Mommy," bawled Melody. "Mark hit me!"

Maggie scolded, "Mark! You have to be nice to your sister. You'll have to 
watch out for her at school until she gets used to it." 

"School?" gulped Melody.

"Of course. People would get suspicious if I just let you at home, while Mark 
went to school. We have to act as normally as possible. Naturally, we'll have 
to set you up in the guest room." 

"I-I can't even sleep with you . . . Mommy?" 

"How many 15 year old girls sleep with their Mommy?" 

There was no response. A single tear rolled down Melody's smooth cheek. 
Mark was grinning from ear to ear over his new status. He was now the man 
of the house, and he couldn't wait to exert his authority over Melody.

Mark's expression didn't go unnoticed by Maggie. She admonished him 
again.

"This is serious Mark. This is all your fault, and it's not a joke. You march 
your little butt up to your room and find that chat room!" 

"Aw Mom," protested Mark.

"Go!" yelled Maggie.

Mark stomped up the stairs, leaving Maggie and Melody alone. The fact that 
Mark was in trouble made Melody giggle uncontrollably. 

"You wait here, Babydoll. I'm going to upstairs to get my purse. We'll go 
out on a shopping spree, and you'll see that being a girl can be fun." 

**********

Once upstairs, Maggie carefully closed the door to the master bedroom. She 
quickly pulled out a lap top computer from her briefcase, and made the 
necessary connections to the wall outlets. She plugged the modem connector 
in to the phone jack. 

Maggie's fingers flew across the keyboard to speed through the opening 
routine. In less than a minute, she had called up the America Online program. 
In another minute, she was signed on. 

The AOL greeting indicated there was some E-mail for TheWitch, but she 
ignored it. Instead, she directed the cursor to the customer services 
subprogram. Maggie canceled the account for TheWitch, and then signed off.

She deleted the AOL program from her computer. 

It was done. By the end of the shopping spree, Melody would be a normal 
teenage girl. With her volatile hormones, and gorgeous looks, it would be 
hard to keep her away from the boys. 

In another month, she would have to report her husband as missing in order 
to trigger the long life insurance claim process. Maggie had a lot to occupy 
her time with.

She had her eye on Bill, in her office, for the longest of times. The kids 
would eventually need a father figure.

Maggie removed the real transformational element from where they were 
secreted beneath her pillow. It was a small blouse that she had picked up in 
the junior miss section of the local department store, and the strange 
medallion adorned by an angel. The latter she had picked up a yard sale.

She learned the properties of the medallion quite by accident. Maggie 
reminded herself to discard those old, smaller bras. She also made a mental 
note to get rid of the medallion . . . so there were no loose ends. 

On second thought, she might as well wait and see what Bill had in his 
shorts. Any deficiency could be cured with the medallion and an extra large 
condom!

**********

Downstairs, Melody rapidly grew bored while waiting for her new mother. 
She clicked on the television, to where some show was doing a feature on 
Leonardo Di Caprio.

Melody swooned at the sight of him, while one hand involuntarily moved to 
the junction between her legs.

The End (Maybe?)