As you sit by her bedside, you clutch her hand in yours, as you silently pray for a full recovery. Dr. Saunders already having warned you that the procedure was beyond experimental.
With your free hand, you sweep aside a lock of dark hair from her face. She'll have to adjust to being hispanic. You think, but it's hardly going to cause any issues, you hope. Though Sarah was fond of her blond hair, how it caught the Sun, and flew in the breeze.
Even asleep, her face twitches and contorts cutely. Her various expression remind you that it's still Sarah behind those alien features. With the anaesthetic out of her system. You wait by her bedside, knowing you want to be there when she wakes. Need to be there, to be her rock, and provide reassurance in a radically different world.
- - - - -
You still almost jump out of your skin, as she suddenly sits bolt upright. Waking with a horrified cry, her hands reaching out. She confirms she still has her legs. The trauma of the accident still a recent memory for her. "I.... I was trapped, my legs were trapped... they were crushed..."
She gasps breathlessly, still stupified by the mere presence of her limbs. As her panic starts to recede, the first differences start to penetrate her still sluggish mind. Twisting her wrist this way and that, she examines 'her' hands, a frown teasing her brow. As her gaze advances up her arms, she recognises her more tanned skin tone.
At her shoulder, the dark locks of hair are clear to her. As she examines them, gently tugging to be sure it's not a wig. Her wince and confusion clearer by the moment.
"You dyed my hair, while I was under?" she asks. Still doubting her conclusions...
As you struggle to answer, half hoping that one of the nurses, or Dr. Saunders would handle this shock. You fight to form a coherent sentence, not knowing even how to start.
The sheets falling away reveal a bust and a figure that are as alien, as her hand... and the hair colour. The question dies in her eyes, as it falls rapidly down the list of priorities. She knows even still dopey from the drugs that you wouldn't have given her a boob-job while she was recovering.
Scowling you into silence, she looks around, beyond you. Double checking she's in a hospital.
"What's going on?" she asks. "What's happened, to me!" she demands, a flash of her usual insistence now clear.
Intrigued and terrified by her unfamiliar body, she rips the bedding aside to see the full extent of the changes.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f8/e0/9a/...
The donor body is still undeniably attractive, and it feels like a betrayal, as your body starts to respond to this display.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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