Beholden

 This was a commission for DeviantArt

Who could possibly be here to perceive me as...this...still?! Elliot groaned with irritation. He was in the middle of the woods, miles from anyone and yet the long glossy hair...the boobs...the pouting lips all remained. The thigh-high boots and been hell to trek in through the brush and yet he was every inch the sexy witch he had been two hours ago. He was positive there was no-one around to see him like this, so why was his pert witchy ass still sweating into a pair of silk witchy panties?

Elliot had been blessed—or cursed—with a strange gift. Ever since a mysterious incident involving a fortune cookie, he appeared to others exactly as they perceived him. At first, it was wonderful. His coworkers thought he was confident and suave, and so he looked confident and suave: tall, broad-shouldered, jaw like a movie hero. He didn’t even need to hit the gym; other people’s admiration did the reps for him. But the gift was fickle. When his mother saw him, he shrank a little. “You look tired, dear,” she’d say, and he’d immediately sprout dark circles. When his boss imagined him as “a bit of a pushover,” his tie seemed to tighten like a leash. Still, most of the time, people thought he was some kind of Adonis. So he rolled with it.

Then came Halloween. Elliot, emboldened by beer and bravado, decided to attend the office party as a joke: “Sexy Witch.” He bought a wig, boots, hat and a black cape, the whole witchy nine yards, and the plan was to arrive in full drag, blow everyone’s minds, and leave before HR could react. The moment he entered the party, something shifted.

“Oh my God, Elliot,” said Lisa from accounting, “you actually make a really pretty woman.” And just like that, he felt a tingle. His reflection in the punch bowl showed softer features, longer lashes. The curse—always listening—had taken note. The more they admired, the more he changed. Hips rounded. Shoulders narrowed. His voice slipped an octave higher. By midnight, he was—quite literally—a stunning woman.

The next morning, he woke up expecting to find it all reversed. But the mirror showed the same reflection: smooth skin, cascading hair, and an alarming lack of stubble. Panicking, he called his best friend, followed by coworkers, old classmates, even his mother. Everyone remembered him as Ella. Apparently, the party photos had cemented it: a beautiful, confident woman who everyone swore had always been that way. No one remembered the old him. And because no one remembered, the curse had no other image to work with.

Weeks passed. Ella learned to walk in heels, because flats made her look like she was “trying too hard.” Every reflection showed what others believed—a flawless illusion she could never undo.

Hence the woods – the dark isolated corner of the woods perfectly befitting of a witch. No-one was around to see him as a mischievous sex-cauldron and yet here he was – beholden under the gaze of even Mother Nature. Elliot sighed and leaned back against a deadfall. Next Halloween he was totally going as Dracula...