Standard Disclaimer and Warning (SDAW): This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons (other than myself), living or dead is purely coincidental and should be treated as such.

This story contains (some) strong language, and adult situations. If you are under 18, or are legally a minor in your place of residence, do not continue. This story also contains a transgender (TG) theme. If such offends you, or makes you uncomfortable, I highly recommend that you do not continue.

Finally, I write to satisfy my own fantasies; what I enjoy, others might not. You have been warned.

This story may be freely distributed as long as its contents (to include this header) remain unmodified. Charging a fee to access this story, or placing it within a "members only" area is strictly prohibited.

 

Labyrinth of Change: First Maze      by: Travesty Underscore  travesty_@hotmail.com

 

The door slammed behind me. Turning around, I was both startled and worried to see a bare wall - the door had disappeared! The lights flickered and dimmed, and I felt a strange shifting: a rippling of the air perhaps...

Then there was a flare of bright blue light and a quiet clicking as the regular lights flickered and came back on. The blue light faded, leaving the room normally lit, but something strange had occurred, for the room now was very different that the one I had entered...

I was standing with my back toward a bare spot on the wall - but most of the rest of the walls were covered in pictures - paintings mostly, but some posters, and a few photographs. This really wouldn't be unusual in and of itself, but it was the subject matter of the art that drew my attention: the pictures were all of women, well, rather parts of women. In a cursory glance about, I noticed none of them that featured the whole woman, but rather only close-ups on their tits and asses. Most of them were clothed - bikini's, or underwear, but a few weren't.

A soft pink carpet was upon the floor; I could have sworn that when I had first walked in, it was a wood-tile floor. I shrugged, and walked around some more, studying the various pictures. I was also a bit disconcerted that there didn't appear to be a door, or window, so after a few minutes of admiring the art, I started to look around for clues for a way out, perhaps a trapdoor under the carpet: or one on the ceiling...

Nothing was apparent upon the ceiling, and I was loath to rip up the carpet if there wasn't a need, so I directed my attention to the bare spot on the wall - where there had been a door before. I pressed up against it, checking to make sure it wasn't an illusion or something - I even gave it a resounding kick, but it was definitely solid. It was roughly door-sized, but there wasn't even a trace of a line around it that might suggest a hidden door...

I walked about the room once more, slowly and quietly, listening for perhaps a breeze, or footsteps, or maybe even the gentle murmur of conversation. Unfortunately, though, I heard nothing. During my second round of the room, I caught sight of something from the corner of my eye. Turning to stare, I couldn't discern what it was that I had noticed - it was only upon turning back again, that I saw it from the corner of my eye. Slowly shifting my sight directly upon it, the object faded from sight - it seems that I could only see it using peripheral vision.

Keeping my head turned away, and only just barely glancing in that direction, I slowly sidestepped over to where my sight had been caught. Kneeling, I reached down toward the edge of a painting, and without looking directly at it, I pulled a scrap of paper free from where it had been stuck between the painting and the wall.

The scrap was small, not much larger than half an index card. Written in a flowery script was the cryptic message "Desiring artwork on the wall shall a door be made." I turned it over, wondering if perhaps another message was inscribed upon the back. There wasn't.

Taking a seat upon the soft carpet, I pondered the meaning of the message. It didn't seem to be a riddle, more of an instruction. Its mention of a door being made rather implied that there currently wasn't a door - at least, that's what my intuition told me.

As it didn't seem to be a riddle, I tried to think what it could mean if it was 'broken English' (meaning that the person who wrote it didn't have that great of a grasp on the language - a young child or a foreigner perhaps).

Harnessing this chain of thoughts, I came to the conclusion that by placing a piece of artwork on the wall a door would be made. But, all the artwork was on the wall already.... Perhaps it could mean that I was to move a piece of artwork: but where?

Then it came to me - to make the door, a piece of artwork would need to be moved to the blank spot on the wall, where a door should be. The question though was - "which piece?" There were literally hundreds of pictures and photographs and paintings in this chamber...

I reread the message keeping in mind the idea of 'broken English', and decided that the "desiring artwork" alluded to a piece of artwork that I liked - or 'desired'. I smiled, for that made sense, if in a strange way. Now, though, I had to decide which piece to use - for there were many that I liked, but did I desire any of them?

Another circuit of the room was made, paying attention not to just the subject matter of the art, but to how I felt when I viewed them - it took just over an hour, but I had finally narrowed the selection down to a handful of 'contestants'.

The first contender was a photograph-portrait. Eight inches by eleven - standard size, if though the portrait wasn't of the usual variety. Normally, portraits are done of the face, or shoulders-up, or of the full body. This one, though - like the others, focused only on a portion of the lady's anatomy, and not the face, but a little bit lower. It was a marvelous pair of breasts: large, firm, and with deep cleavage. They were covered, but just barely, by a tight white bikini top. The swimsuit was wet - indeed droplets of water were depicted all across this lady's body (what of it that was shown) - and you could see the shadow of a dark circle surrounding the rise of her nipples.

The next item for consideration was a poster. The background was blue, with a silhouette of a beautiful, buxom lady. Superimposed upon that, though, was a close-up of her backside - from waist to mid-thigh. Apparently, she had been modeling lingerie - something sexy for bedtime wear, for she was garbed in a translucent, shimmering, airy gown of silver and red. The bottom hem came to just above where the picture ended, making it a rather short nightgown indeed. Beneath that, she was wearing a metallic silvery thong, which shimmered and reflected a faint reddish hue from the gown. Sheer red hose was upon her legs, but bereft of suspenders; she wore no garter belt.

The third was the only 'nude' that I selected. It was simple, yet striking. It depicted a rather large pair of breasts, with sight of the nipples obscured by a palm frond. The painting stretched from shoulder to bellybutton, but it was obvious where most of the attention had been focused. From the subtle play of light and shadow upon those ponderous orbs, to the 'fig-leaf' appeal of the palm-frond, one's vision was drawn towards these breasts, and captured therein. A viewer would barely even notice the rest of the painting.

The fourth, and final, was another photograph. This one was small - a three by five - apparently taken from a regular camera. The photographer had managed a lucky find when he had come across this woman standing upon a lifeguard's chair. Most likely it was a deliberate pose, but I liked to think that it was chance. It was a windy day, and her pleated skirt was blown about: The photo was a perfect shot of her panties - robin's egg blue, with lace trim - from below and behind. This girl had a stupendous ass, and her legs were rather nice as well.

It was difficult choosing from among these four: hell, it was difficult choosing these four from among all the other worthy contenders - but I was reluctantly eager to get out. Reluctant because I rather enjoyed the subject matter of the artwork, but eager because I was technically trapped in a room with no exit. Unable to decide, I resorted to the time-tested method of "Eenie Meenie Miney Moe" and selected the 'panty-shot photo'.

I walked over and gently removed it from the wall - whoever mounted it had used double-sided tape, so it wasn't that hard to remove: I just wanted to be sure not to bend or crease the photo.

Holding it gingerly by the edges, so as not to smudge it with fingerprints, I sauntered over to the blank spot on the wall, and placed the picture at eye-level.

For a moment I thought that nothing would happen, but the lights soon dimmed again, and when they brightened, a door was once more in the wall: taped at eye-level, the photo of the girl's panties seemed to slightly glow.

Glancing about the room once more, I reached for the doorknob and slowly opened the door. Bidding a silent farewell to the shrine, I stepped through the doorway into...

...Darkness. The door shut and clicked on its own - and when I reached for the knob, I was only half surprised that it had disappeared. Gradually, my eyes became accustomed to the dim light of this new room. It seemed devoid of furnishing, and artwork - functioning more as a hallway it seems, for in the far wall three doors waited.

I strolled over with caution, making sure that I wouldn't stumbled over some unseen obstacle, and examined the three doors. All three were wooden, and varnished. They bore no clue as to their destination, all appearing nigh identical, down to the brass doorknob. The only discernable difference was the type of wood from which they were fashioned. I'm not an expert on woods and furnishings, and I wouldn't be able to tell what sort they were, but what I could tell was that the first door - the rightmost one - was made of a light wood, whereas the leftmost door was fashioned from a rich, dark wood. The middle door was aptly middle in hue, being neither light nor dark.

Shrugging, and operating on a hunch, I opened the middle door, and was startled when the other two faded into the wall. Well, in truth, this left me only one option - continue through the remaining doorway. I only hoped that I hadn't overlooked a clue, or chosen the incorrect door. This house was becoming more and more a mysterious labyrinth, and I wondered if I was wandering in the right direction - and to what far-off goal as well, other than an eventual exit...

The doorway opened into a long hallway, brightly lit with crystal chandeliers. A soft tea-brown carpet lined the floor, and the walls were paneled with a wood that matched the hue and grain of the door. At even intervals along the way, small stone pedestals stood each bearing a vase of roses. The light scent of rose lingered upon the air, and filled my nostrils with its sweetness. At the far end of the hall, some seventy strides later, an arch - not a door(way) - opened into a large chamber.

As I stepped through, there was a slight hissing sound, and I turned to see the arch fill with a crimson light. It solidified, bearing a strong resemblance to force fields of sci-fi lore. I dared not to touch it, but surveyed this new chamber instead. It was octagonal in shape, and centered upon each wall was a full-length mirror. The room was dimly illuminated by the crimson radiance from the archway.

The floor was marble (or faux-marble), and in the center of the room a magnificent table stood. Upon the table, near a side, a silver serving tray was set - silver teapot, and fine china teacups atop. Unfortunately, they were just for show; not a drop of tea was in the pot. Two fortune cookies were set upon a small dish, however, and I looked at them hungrily.

I cracked one open, and unfolded the message. Before reading it, though, I savoured the cookie. Sighing deeply in appreciation of the delicate flavour of the cookie, I noticed that the rose aroma had followed me hither - even through the ruby-light force field. I sniffed again, and noticed that the scent came not from the air around, but from me instead. It seems the fragrance clung to me as I passed down the hallway, and now the sweet perfume of roses lingered on me. I rubbed my chin in thought, and was startled to find it soft and smooth - no stubble of a beard upon me!

I frowned and read my fortune. It was even more cryptic that the message in the art room. "Neither seven years of ill fate, nor forty-nine shall be yours if silver smites silver." I reached for the other cookie, but it had disappeared. I sighed, and thought about this new riddle.

"Ill fate" could be bad luck - "seven years" of which you get if you break a mirror. I glanced over at one of the mirrors and frowned. Forty-nine is seven sevens, or seven broken mirrors for forty-nine years of bad luck. The phrase "silver smites silver" had me stumped until I remembered that mirrors were often referred to as silvery, or that silver is often considered a mirroring surface. I wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed that the message implied for me to break seven of the mirrors with something silver - like the tray. Perhaps the eighth would become - or reveal - a door, like the picture had done a few rooms back.

I walked around the room, peering into each mirror: somewhat disturbed at the images they cast back upon me - for not a one of them was a reflection of me. Each of the eight showed the room as it should be, but where my reflection should be, a different image appeared instead. All of them were female - Asian in appearance, but their similarities ended there. One was tall and willowy, with long hair and garbed in a flowing gown - another was short and plump, looking much like a cook. A young girl, not older than ten wearing a sundress peered out from one mirror, and the next mirror over an older version of the same girl was dressed as a nurse. There was an elegant lady in a satin evening gown, and a buxom high-school student in a school uniform. Yet another was an old grandmother dressed in traditional Korean clothing, and the final mirror cast back an image of Chinese girl wearing a crimson and gold cheongsam.

I hefted the silver tray, and walked purposefully back to the first of the mirrors. I shrugged, and wondered what these 'reflections' could mean and whether there was any significance attached to the order I smashed them. What too, I wondered, would the final - unsmashed - reflection imply?

Resolutely, I destroyed the mirrors that cast back the most disturbing images first. Old woman, young child, plump and willowy women. As I struck each one with the silver tray, a tiny spark shot forth and faded as it drew nigh to my arm. Four mirrors were gone, and three left to smash. One "reflection" would remain, but which would it be? Or rather, which images should I next destroy?

The nurse was next, and after some deliberation, the evening gown followed her into a silvery-shard oblivion. Both times the spark shot forth, and the second time it was brighter and came closer...

The remaining reflections were the two that I had found the most attractive - though the lady in the satin gown had been close. I stared at the surface of the tray, but saw no reflection therein - it was deeply engraved with an elegant and complicated pattern, and no image could thus be cast back to my eyes.

I stepped slowly over to one of the two remaining mirrors, and stared deep into it, wondering at the female reflection in bore. She moved as I, matching my gestures and movements like a reflection should. I stuck my tongue out at her, and she stuck hers out at me. I studied her prominent chest and watched it rise and fall gently matching my own breathing. I glanced down at myself to confirm that it was only an image, and not a true reflection, and was somewhat relieved to note that I was not this buxom young girl.

I walked slowly, deliberately over toward the other mirror, and let my eyes roam across the generous curves of the Chinese beauty. She was taller and thinner than the Japanese girl, but didn't appear to be much older. I brushed my bangs out from in front of my eyes, and was startled when she didn't mirror my motion - instead she tugged on a braid.

Now I was at a quandary - which mirror to break - the one that was, or the one that wasn't? I walked back to the schoolgirl and repeated the motion. She, too, did not match this movement, but instead smoothed the hem of her skirt. I shrugged, and on impulse, spun about and threw the tray at the far mirror, shattering the image of the Chinese girl.

The remaining mirror began to glow with a soft inner light, and my vision grew foggy. I felt a strong breeze blow by. Then, it felt as if I had walked through a bunch of cobwebs - sticky strands clinging all about my face and body. I tried to brush them away, but to no avail - there was nothing there, only the sensation. After a few moments that too had passed, and my vision returned.

The room had changed, or rather, I had been moved between rooms. Now I was in a small chamber, not much more than a couple strides in width and length. The ceiling though was rather high. There appeared again to be no doors, but one wall was covered with a large flat-screen monitor. Bold letters were displayed across the screen, bearing another strange command: "Make your selection: Blue, Green, Black, Indigo."

I looked around, but there seemed to be no keyboard, or other sort of input device. The text on the screen was too high for me to reach it, so I assumed it couldn't be a touch-screen. Shrugging, I decided that the only other way to make the choice was to speak it. "Um, green I guess." I frowned; my voice sounded different - not as deep and gravelly as normal, but a bit higher in pitch, and completely clear in tone.

On the screen, the word "Green" grew slightly larger, and the rest of the text faded. The remaining word slid to the upper left corner, and a checkmark appeared after it. "Make your next selection:" the text displayed, "White, Ivory, Pink, Crimson, Scarlet, Violet, Yellow, Blue."

"Why am I choosing colours?" I asked aloud - not really expecting an answer. I wondered if there was some acoustic property of the room that was making my voice sound so different - so soft, and ... feminine.

Of course, there was no answer to my inquiry. "Green, then. Or grey," I said, naming two colours that didn't appear on the list. The text flickered, but nothing else happened. I shrugged, and sighed. "Oh all right, I suppose you want me to name a colour on your list then. Well, how about 'yellow' then. Will that make you happy?"

As before, the selected word grew slightly in size as the rest of the text faded. It drifted to the upper-left corner of the screen - below the word "Green" - and a checkmark appeared after it as well.

"Step Three; Make your next choice: C, D, E."

I shrugged and tilted my head to one side. "First colours, and now the alphabet - just what do you need this crazy information for anyway?" Again, of course, no answer. "Would these questions be different if I had broke different mirrors?" And still no answer. I couldn't decide which was more frustrating: the lack of response, or the strange new tone my voice had taken. "Oh, all right then, if it will make you happy - let me out of here, I choose the letter 'E'."

It followed the same pattern as before - sitting up below the word 'yellow', a checkmark appeared after the 'E', and the a new selection appeared. "Another choice: E, F, G, H."

"Ah, 'G' then." E.G. were my initials, and so it had to mean something.

This time the transition was different. The letters flickered, and below them appeared the numbers "5, 6, 7, 8" corresponding to the letter above. The 'G' and '7' grew larger, and floated toward the same corner of the screen, while the rest of the text faded. The number moved up to the same line as the letter, and the 'G' changed into the numeral one. The number '17' was now displayed on the fourth line from the top - with a checkmark after it as well.

The four lines then drifted toward the center of the screen again, and below them, in large block letters another line of text was displayed. "Input correct: Y/N?" The question mark was blinking.

I shrugged. "Green, Yellow, E, 17. I guess it's correct. I don't know what it means though..." Still the mark blinked. I sighed. "Yes?" I tentatively said, but still no response: the damned thing seemed to need exact matching input. "Y - happy now?"

The text faded, and the background grew dark. Near the bottom of the screen, several coloured squares appeared, and above them was the text. "Final option: Press a color."

There were ten boxes in all - seven different shades of brown, a vibrant emerald green and a deep pine green, and a single steel grey box at the end. None of the browns were that enticing of a colour, though one was a rich hazel colour. While I liked both shades of green, grey happens to be one of my favourite colours, so I walked over to the screen, reached up, and touched the grey square.

I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach the box - I hadn't realized the screen had been that high up the wall. As I touched the grey square, the screen and wall disappeared into a swirl of fog, and I stumbled forward through it.

The rose scent was still upon me, and grew slightly stronger in this next room. It wasn't much larger than the previous room, but the walls were bare - no computer screen in this chamber. In the center of the room stood a table - a little higher than I was used to, but a table nonetheless. Somewhat sloppily stacked in the center was a pile of pictures - all eight by eleven. I leafed quickly through them - they all were the same girl, that busty school girl wearing a green skirt. All were of a similar pose; the only major difference was the hair length and style. Next to the stack, a scrap of paper lay with another cryptic message scrawled upon. Written in pink ink, the message said: "Desiring body picture on the wall shall a door be made."

It reminded me of the first room, but none of these pictures were risqué or suggestive. They all, also, had the whole body of the girl, from head to toe, within the photo. Though they were all taken from behind, her skirt remained where it should, and didn't flash her panties at the viewer. I was mildly disappointed.

I panned through the pictures again, looking for the one I "desired", as that would most likely create a door for me when I placed it upon the wall. Having seen that happen already once before, I readily believed that it would happen here as well. I started separating them into two stacks - those that I liked, and those that I didn't. Not too many made it into the second stack, though there were a few handfuls of photos where her hair was extremely short - like a crew cut, and a couple where she was bald. A few of the stranger hair styles - mohawks, and those with streaks of strange colours were also placed into this second stack. They were joined by any photo where the girl's hair was longer than I liked - anything that fell below her hips was too long in my opinion.

A second pass through the remaining stack weeded out several more photos; all the pictures where her hair didn't come at least to her shoulders were discarded. After about a dozen more passes through, I had reduced my selection from nigh a hundred to a mere ten photos. In five of them, she had short hair - shoulder length or just beyond. In another three her hair cascaded to the small of her back. In one, she wore her hair in a long braid that reached just pass the curve of her ass. In the final photo, she had her hair in several braids that hung to just below her shoulder blades.

Continuing to study the pictures, I gradually narrowed the contenders down to three - one short, one long, and the single braid. I generally like longer hair, but the short style just looked so cute on her. I've always loved braids, and in the end, that photo won. With a parting glance at the pictures that didn't quite make it, I strolled over to the wall (opposite where I entered), and taped the picture to the wall. A doorway appeared, a bit larger than I was used to, but I opened the door and stepped through.

And suddenly felt chilly and strange.

Goosebumps ran up my arms and legs, and a chill tingle along my spine. There was a strange weight upon my chest, and my stance and balance felt off. Furthermore, there was a light weight hanging from the back of my head.

Lights flared into brightness, illuminating the large room that I was now in. I was standing upon a raised stage or platform of sorts, but my vision was caught by the silvery glimmer of a mirror, and I gasped at the image it cast back upon me.

For this time, the image was not false, but reflected back the sight of a startled Asian girl, her grey eyes wide in surprise and fear. She was naked, and her breasts rode prominently upon her chest. Her hair was ebony, and done up in a braid that swayed behind her. I now understood the weight upon my chest, and the difference in my balance and stance. Somehow, I had been changed into the girl from the photos, the girl in the mirror...

Though I was nigh overwhelmed with fear and confusion, a sudden sense of relief filled me - things could have been much worse if I had left other mirrors unshattered instead. Instead of being a highly attractive teenaged girl, I could have ended up fat, old, or a little kid. Somewhat buoyed by this sense of relief, I looked down at myself, and my vision confirmed that this time the mirror didn't lie. The reflection, though one I wasn't used to seeing, was truly the form I was wearing.

Now I understood that the softness of my skin, the rose perfume, and the changed voice were just premonitions - foreshadows - of this drastic transformation...

There was a gentle popping sound behind me followed by a soft thud. Turning around, I saw that a small gift-wrapped box had appeared. There was no name on it, but I figured it had to be for me. The wrapping paper was white, with a pink and red heart pattern, and it was tied off with a silvery ribbon.

I opened it slowly, cautiously, carefully. First I untied the ribbon and set it aside, then I gently unwrapped the paper. Beneath the wrapping, a plain cardboard box - much like a shoebox - was revealed. I opened it, but no shoes were within: instead, a matching bra and panty set in a pale canary yellow waited for me. They both had been sprayed with the same rose perfume that lingered around me, and now the scent was stronger. Seeing the undergarments, I blushed - realizing that I was indeed naked. It was also slightly embarrassing to think about wearing such feminine clothing. But, since they were the only clothing currently available, and because I had a rather female form, I decided that it would be appropriate to wear them.

I first picked up the panties. The light yellow satin was cool to the touch. The legs were high-cut - bikini style - but thankfully not a string bikini. A small bow adorned the front center, with a delicate lace trim along the top of the panties. A small tag in the back bore only the letter "S" beneath the name "Princess Ai" (apparently the brand name?). I slipped them on, and trembled slightly as the cool satin caressed me.

The bra was next. It was satin as well, the same light canary yellow as the panties. The shoulder straps and back strap were thin, but the cups were rather large. The lower half, or so, of the cups were satin, with the upper portion being the same lace as the trim on the panties. Where the two cups met, a dainty bow was set. The tag bore also the 'brand name' of "Princess Ai", but its size wasn't listed in standard American sizes. It read "E//97". I knew that Asians used centimeters instead of inches to measure, but was E my cup size? What did that equate to?

I looked at the bra, then down at my large breasts again, and shrugged. I really had no basis for comparison - never having had breasts before, but they looked a fair bit larger than most women - especially Asian women! Without thinking, I deftly donned the bra, and was pleasantly surprised that it fit perfectly. Not only that, but the cool satin felt absolutely wonderful against my skin.

I studied my reflection in the mirror, turning and posing to catch the best possible views of my new (semi-clothed) form. While I had thought my form cute before, now that I was becoming accustomed to it, I believed myself to be downright attractive. Surprisingly though, this viewing and posing was no accompanied with any sexual stimulation. Normally viewing a super-cute girl (like I had become) in her underwear would have had me hard as a rock and thinking of all sorts of sexual things; however, there were no such comparable feelings of excitement of pleasure - only a mild satisfaction with my appearance. I vaguely wondered if I would now be attracted to men instead...

Not being narcissistic enough to spend more than a few minutes in front of the mirror, I looked around, and noticed a door on the far side of the room. I would have to get down off the stage, and walk down the aisle between chairs to reach it. Fortunately, though, the chairs were not in use. I blushed modestly, thinking that if people had been in the chairs, they would have had quite an eyeful of me, both before and after I had donned the sexy undergarments.

Walking was different. I was forced to shorten my stride dramatically, because my whole body swiveled with the long steps I had walked with before. My chest also bounced uncomfortably, and I realized that this bra was really more for looks than function - it provided very little support at all. With my smaller steps, the bounce and swivel was less, but it took me nearly thrice as long to cross the distance as it normally would - even taking into consideration the change in the length of my legs, and my height...

I peeked through the keyhole, a bit unnerved by the idea that someone may see me in this state of partial attire, but I could see nothing. The other side was dark. I paused, and listened for a moment, but heard nothing other than my racing heartbeat. Slowly I opened the door, and was greeted with a swirl of rose petals. Stepping though the doorway, I entered what appeared to be a bedroom of sorts. The door disappeared behind me, but I had become accustomed to that, so I didn't worry. Besides, this room had a window, with beautiful white lace curtains and another door - I wasn't trapped in.

Within the room was a small bed, a vanity with a mirror, and a nightstand. Taped to the mirror was a message "Your clothes are on the bed." I smiled; for once, the message was in plain English, with no hidden meanings or cryptic clues. Neatly laid out on the bed were a few articles of clothing: a short sleeve, white cotton blouse; a short, pleated, hunter green skirt; and a pair of over-the-knee, white cotton socks.

The blouse was cool and comfortable, surprisingly fitting my curvaceous form quite well. It wasn't tight, but I could still readily see the pale shadow of my bra through the thin fabric. I was truly glad that my undergarments weren't red or black! The skirt fit quite well as well, though it was a little short for my tastes. Granted, before my change I would have loved to see a beautiful girl wear a skirt like this - one that doesn't even reach mid-thigh, but now it only made me think of the attention it would draw. I found myself flushed slightly - but whether from embarrassment or anticipation I couldn't tell.

I donned the socks last, rolling them up my smooth, shapely legs. It felt a little strange wearing socks that came that high up my legs, but not unpleasant. Like the feel of the skirt's hem rustling against my legs, it was a new but strangely pleasant sensation. Even breathing was strangely different, the gentle rise and fall of my chest - and the weight thereon - being an enticingly new experience. For the first time, I began to enjoy that transformation that this place had wrought upon me. Standing up, I walked over to the window - enjoying the feel of the skirt on my legs - and peered out. It was dark, and foggy outside, and no clue of location was discernable.

I sighed, and slowly walked to the door. It opened out onto a long flight of stairs. I counted seventy-three steps before I reached another hallway. Along this hallway - in sharp contrast to other areas within this labyrinthine building - were a dozen or so doors. Each appeared the same, but for a small 'nameplate' by each. Though, they didn't bear names, at least in the traditional sense. Four doors were marked after the seasons - Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. There was a door marked Snow, and one marked Flower. One was marked Grace, and another Beauty. Caller and Questor; Peach, Plum, Cherry; Love and Peace were other 'names'. And topping off the list was a door marked "Good".

It was obvious that I was to choose a door, but which one? I was unsure of the correlation between the nameplate and the door. Was it a clue to the destination, or something else entirely? Only a few of them could be 'proper' names.... Impatiently, I decided upon "Autumn", since that is my favourite season. Only a few doors were ruled out immediately - Snow and Winter.

As I stepped through the Autumn doorway, I discovered the correlation between the selections I had made on the computer and the form I now wore. "Green" was first, and the skirt I wore was green. My second selection was "Yellow"; the bra and panties I wore were a light canary yellow. Next was the letter "E" - my bust size. Fifth was another colour - after the letter that became a number. For my final selection, I had chosen the grey box, and my eyes were that same shade of steel grey.

The room was but dimly lit by a candle upon a table. As I stepped toward it, the final connections were made. I was now a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl by the name of Chiaki Saotome. The "G" which became a 7 - became the 17, my new age - and the 'nameplates' were essentially such as they appeared. It didn't give the whole name, but a clue as to what the new name would be. "Autumn" became the "aki" portion of my new name. Maybe I should have chosen "Snow" after all, as that would have been "Yuki" - a pretty name on its own - but more likely it would have become "Miyuki" - which was one of my favourite Japanese names.

I sighed, and picked up the bookbag that lay near the other doorway. I stepped into the shoes, and glanced around the room once more. No further clues were evident, so I opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunshine. The door shut behind me, and I heard the lock click. Turning around, I was startled to see nothing behind me: no wall, no building, nothing really - other than a few trees several paces away.

It seemed that the labyrinth had deposited me at my 'final destination' now that my physical change was complete. I shrugged, looked around the park once more, and headed west; inexplicably I knew that my school was a few blocks in that direction. I was only mildly startled when I realized that I could understand the conversations around me - at least, the ones in Japanese. A group of foreigners was chatting nearby, and I could catch a few English words and phrases, but most of it sounded, well, foreign to me.

I shook my head and slowly walked to school - hoping that I would somehow know where my home was as well, for there appeared to be no way to go back...

 

 

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