Chapter 1: Introduction
Matt woke up with a start. The smell of antiseptic filled the room, and there was an annoying beeping sound that seemed hell-bent on piercing his aching head. The last thing he remembered was getting electrocuted at a construction site while fixing the wiring on the ninth floor.
Not the best way to die, but an accident nonetheless.
Opening his eyes, he squinted against the brightness. It took a moment before he realized that he had no business being wherever the hell he was now.
Instead of the stocky, bearded man who had spent his mornings in worn jeans and work boots, Matt discovered he'd found himself in the body of a stranger. This wasn't some near-death experience; it was a full-blown identity swap.
Luna, the hospital room's occupant shouldered by the massive influx of flowers, was a large-busted Goth girl. Her pale skin played a stark contrast to her thick, black eyeliner.
Sleeve after sleeve of dark patterned tattoos covered her arms.
An ornate, Gothic choker graced her neck, and lacy black lingerie peeked through the hospital gown opened for the nurses to check her vitals.
She just woke from a coma that kept her unconscious the past week. Or he did. The whole situation was still too baffling for Matt to put his finger on.
Gingerly, he tried testing out his new body, flexing her fingers then toes, making certain everything worked. The dull throb at the base of his skull turned into an explosion of pain behind his eyes, but at least all parts obeyed his brain's commands.
Matt figured he might as well make the best of this mind-blowing situation.
Hence, he maneuvered Luna's petite frame into a sitting position. It felt like someone flipped gravity around; Matt was in for a lot of getting-used-to with this new form.
Carefully, Matt—now Luna—pushed her ebony locks off her forehead with a trembling hand. The dark strands concealed a fresh scar curving around her temple.
Hospital sounds, so unfamiliar to Matt only hours ago, filled the ambiance: footsteps shuffling on linoleum tiles, distant phone calls, hushed voices, carts carrying trays of food rolling down hallways, and that same incessant beeping from machines monitoring vital signs.
Matt drew in a deep breath, feeling the unfamiliar tension in his chest; even breathing took a different effort with Luna's body being so fundamentally distinct from his.
Now aware that the entire hospital staff—not to mention any visitors—assumed Luna to be Matt's previous self, he had a part to play.
He—or now, she—slightly adjusted the pillow behind her back. "Water, please?" She attempted her first words, the voice deep and raspy, a far cry from Matt's natural, mellow tone.
He cleared his throat to ease the unfamiliarity.
An unfamiliar nurse, a few years older than Matt but seemingly as new to her job, hastily filled a plastic cup with tap water. The name tag pinned to her pink scrubs read 'Nicole.' Thin, curly hair escaped her ponytail, her timid smile told Matt she was just as surprised as he was about the situation.
She handed the cup to him with slightly shaky hands. "Here you go, Luna.
Don't try to talk too much, alright?" Nicole gently placed a straw in the water cup and moved Matt's hand—and hers, technically—toward his lips.
Matt hesitated for a moment, staring down at the pale slender fingers that were so unlike his. Then, with as much grace as he could gather, parted his lips and sipped the life-giving water. The cool liquid soothed his parched mouth, easing the headache that hammered behind his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, experimenting with Luna's voice.
It was a rich, sultry sound, almost like it was made for hushed love confessions and late-night secrets. He paused for a moment, studying how his own voice made him feel.
The novelty of Luna's body felt like a glove that was just a little too tight. He could sense her muscular limbs straining with his attempt to make her move as though he were in command. This unfamiliar situation brought along with it the need to learn and mold into her shape, but Matt was eager to explore the possibilities that Luna's package provided.
The sexual curiosity ignited, but he quickly tamped it down to focus on acclimating.
After the nurse had left, Matt inspected Luna's new form with more care. Running exploratory hands across his breasts, he marveled at the firmness, the dark, hard nipples peaking through the cloth. Gingerly, he touched the tattooed designs on her arms, tracing the intricate patterns.
Such a drastic change in aesthetics and sensations was alarming and intoxicating at once.
A wicked grin took over Matt's—no, Luna's face as he squeezed her breasts, soft sigh escaping her lips.
Those piercing brown eyes stared back from the mirror opposite the hospital bed, revealing a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. An overwhelming urge to know this body, every inch of it, to master and embrace every sensation stirred inside Matt. He was compelled to uncover a side of himself that had remained previously undiscovered, drawing upon Luna's allure like uncharted territory.
"I suppose it's time to find out what they mean by 'trial by fire,'" Matt murmured, eying the exam gown pooled around Luna's hips. It was hardly the armor he was used to, but with the newfound confidence of exploring a new version of himself, he felt empowered.
Gingerly, he scooted Luna toward the edge of the bed. It groaned under her weight; Matt mentally noted to inform the nurses about the support it required.
Luna's bare feet dangled just an inch above the ground. She couldn't recall the last time Matt felt this vulnerable, small, and fragile.
Wobbling precariously, he trailed his fingers over the crisp white sheets before catching his balance. The initial uncertainty was expected, but Matt wasn't just going to be frustrated and hide from the new reality.
Determined, he took an experimental step, slipping one foot in front of the other while cautiously searching for a stable foothold.
The subtle weight distribution took some effort to navigate; Matt missed the familiar roughness of his old work boots.
Beneath the hospital gown, Luna's different body structure made itself known. The hips swayed more sensually with every step, and her long, black hair obscured the unfamiliar curves.
Matt paused for a moment, leaning his back against the hospital bed and studying this new form. He couldn't resist the urge to enjoy a quiet, private victory before venturing out into the hospital hallways.
Matt moved his hands up to Luna's full chest again, feeling her nipples harden through the thin fabric. He squeezed them gently between his fingers. The sensation was different from what he was used to, but it brought familiar feelings of arousal with it. Underneath Luna's exterior, there was this new, invigorating, and scandalously arousing body to explore.
As he adjusted to Luna's new situation, the one thing he knew he wouldn't lose were his memories and his uncanny ability to adapt.
This lesson had been ingrained in him since childhood—a solitary existence, no silver spoon, just plain old hard work.
Matt's mother passed away when he was young, and his father was always working to keep the roof over their heads or drinking to forget that responsibility—whichever came first. He discovered the realities of life far too early, which made him the man he was.
Matt's clothes might have changed, and he was no longer the grizzled man he used to be, but the lessons he'd learned were deeply ingrained.
Taking a deep breath, he felt the sweat bead on his forehead. The hospital's pale-green walls seemed to close in, but he wasn't quite sure if it was fear or excitement that propelled him forward.
His heart pounded as he took cautiously swaying steps towards the door.
"Whoa there," said a deep voice.
"Careful, now. Don't want you to go falling on your—uh, front side."
Matt looked up to see a stocky orderly ambling toward him. The man's name tag read 'Dwayne.' He was a head taller than Matt and could easily bench press a car. The orderly didn't look like the type to crack a joke, but maybe he could provide some insight into navigating this new world of curves and long eyelashes.
"Thanks," Matt said, smiling nervously. "It's just...
well, I'm still adjusting to a few things," Matt explained, patting Luna's hips awkwardly for emphasis.
The burly man chuckled but mercifully ignored his unusual choice of words.
"Uh, let me help you get to the bathroom, then I can fetch you some food and a change of clothes for after." His vaguely amused gaze roamed over the lacy Gothic lingerie peeking from Luna's hospital gown.
Luna, or Matt, blushed furiously.
She wasn't used to the attention her new body attracted from men (and, presumably, women), especially not when she looked as if she'd barely recovered from a near-death encounter.
Dwayne's gaze lingered for just a moment longer than was necessary, but he seemed like more a man of action than words. As awkward as the situation was, she was thankful for his help, and she assumed that he'd pick up on her embarrassment and keep the teasing down to a minimum.
Adjusting to a feminine aura, with all the extra equipment and changes to social dynamics was a lot to deal with in a short amount of time. Matt struggled to find a comfortable breath as Dwayne made his way towards her, patiently lending a sturdy hand to avail her moment of need.
She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, averting her gaze from the hospital staff member.
In an attempt to distract herself, Matt glanced around the hospital room, the reminders of Luna's life boldly displayed on wall-mounted shelves and even the back of the door.
Gothic books outlined Luna's eclectic taste in literature, bordering on the macabre. From Anne Rice's vampire novels to Mary Shelley's classic, Frankenstein, it was clear that Luna had a taste for the unusual.
She was no ordinary Goth girl, and the dark ink that sprawled over the majority of her body formed a testament to her spirit. Several bookmarks hung from a dog-eared page in each novel, highlighting her progress through the tales of human darkness.
Matt couldn't help but sneak a peek at the writing desk huddled near the large hospital window. He spotted a pristine white parchment paired with a calligraphy set. The nibs had been carved into fangs, which was certainly a new touch for the aspiring writer.
Matt couldn't quite place the source of Luna's inspiration with such a gruesome instrument, but he also knew that this gothic girl didn't shy from the darker corners of human existence.
As Dwayne gently placed a hand on Luna's shoulder, escorting her towards the hospital bathroom, Matt continued to examine his new surroundings.
An ornate, intricately carved wooden box lay on Luna's tray table. It seemed almost out of place, given the sterile, clean-cut white environment.
This box was adorned with a mysterious crystal that sat atop a handcrafted stand; its unusual touch not lost on Matt.
A fleeting sense of curiosity urged him to open it, to explore another facet of Luna's existence, but Dwayne's supporting hand became more insistent, guiding him gently toward the wheeled seat next to the toilet.
"C'mon, hon.
Let's get you situated," Dwayne encouraged, his tone softer now that they were away from the other hospital staff.
"Why don't you take a moment to freshen up?" He motioned toward the toilet, helping Matt position Luna's body on the seat.
Matt offered Dwayne a grateful nod before looking around the compact bathroom.
Aside from the wheeled chair, the space was unremarkable; a white pedestal sink, a medical-length mirror on one wall, and a toilet.
Nothing to hint at the life Luna led when conscious, and Matt was left to ponder about what quirks he may come across as he got to know more about the woman whose body he now possessed.
Heart pounding and mind racing, Matt—in his new body—studied Luna's body for a brief moment.
Her thighs, firm and strong, contrasted with the softness of her now ample bosom. He marveled at how different the experience was from what he was used to.
Although he'd always been fit, Luna's form presented a marked contrast. Fat rolls spilled over the top edge of her lacy underwear, and as she twisted involuntarily, Matt caught a glimpse of heavier thighs, which would likely press together intimately as she walked.
Matt's previous life seemed to recede further and further into the distance. No more callused, rough hands to grip rough tools; instead, he felt the silkiness of smooth skin stretched tight over the bones. How easily it could be scarred, bruised, or injured.
There was less resilience for sure, yet there was a veiled strength too which Matt couldn't ignore, an ethereal femininity that emanated from each pore of Luna's porcelain skin.
As he examined her in the mirror, he saw something other than a stranger. He saw a tantalizing mixture of vulnerability and power. The porcelain delicateness served as a mask, covering a steely resolve.
As Matt sat on the toilet seat, he contemplated the weight of his newfound transformation. It wasn't merely the swapping of bodies that needed to be digested; it was the very substance of his-or rather, her existence that coursed through every fiber of his temporary being.
Matt studied his-or rather, her hands as they rested in her lap. Soft and pale, speckled with remnants of tattoo ink.
These hands were a worker's hands, albeit of a different sort.
A worker of words and ink, Matt presumed, based on her collection of Gothic literature.
He admired the elegant curve of her fingers, the black varnish nails adding a sharp contrast to her porcelain skin.
All these elements were a stark contrast to the time-worn and worn-out roughness of Matt's previous hands.
For a brief moment, he continued admiring the strength that this new set of hands promised.
Mentally, Matt acknowledged that behind the deceptive porcelain fragility, they were far from delicate. Deliberation glossed every movement, loaded with the certainty that they could pierce paper, or credulously stab precisely through cardstock. Ink-stained fingertips promised a captivating cocktail of versatility and danger.
Nonetheless, Matt needed to pry himself from this confounding morphology and understand not even only how to manifest Luna's life but also his own.
He summoned his newfound capabilities as Luna to lift her body from the medical chair and easing it onto the closed toilet seat. Yet, the throbbing at the base of his skull and the labored beatings of their shared heart escalated Matt's excruciating headache.
Focusing on his breathing, Matt closed his eyes to collect his thoughts. Facing the mirror at the far end of the bathroom, he froze under the penetrating examination of her darkened eyes.
Those eyes bore holes into his soul, unveiling layers of stories and forcefully wrestling him to confront the distorted reality they both were compelled to face.
The weight of the moment shook Matt to his very core, and he gripped the sink's cold, solid edge as if choking onto a bitter pill that he couldn't afford to avoid anymore.
He stared into the mirror and studied his new countenance. Strands of darkness clung to her temples, the morphing black tendrils blending seamlessly into his once sandy brown locks.
Matt's fingers traced the damp skin along her brow and onto her cheekbones, which framed her sharp jaw and finished with an immaculate Gothic choker tight around her neck.
He, Matt, now occupied the canvas and likeness of Luna. Luna, the light in the dark and the paradox of contrasts, her morbid adornments and ink, feigned a stark duality to her true nature.
Gazing into the bathroom mirror, Matt steeled himself for the acceptance that was beyond his grasp. He looked away from those dark, knowing eyes and peered down at Luna's chest, struggling to make sense of her curves—the very attributes he had so precariously neglected.
He felt her nipples harden under his touch as his hands unconsciously began to wander. With every grazing touch, an unnerving glow of sensitivity emanated through her collarbone and lingered within the faintly purple veins tracing her breast tissue.
Matt's hands mapped her landscape, each new curve and hollow revealing something entirely foreign, enticing, and impulsive. He learned to respect and caress those segments of her body with a tenderness that could awaken her dormant desires.
Drawn to his reflection, Matt studied the new—unfamiliar—body he now possessed. The smoky eyeshadow cast a shadow underneath Luna's eyes, creating the illusion of depth, a hollow mystery that triggered the itch of impulse.
Beneath the raven hair, her cheekbones stood out. They were delicately crafted by what looked like a lifetime of embracing a tragically beautiful portrayal of herself that was emblazoned into her skin.
Matt allowed his hands to slide over her form; in her cleavage, he could feel a cold silver chain against his—or rather, her warm skin. He followed it, curious about what rested against the largest part of Luna's chest. Fighting with the plastic clasp, he finally freed a silver, ornate necklace.
At its end dangled a pendant that caught the faint fluorescent hospital light; a waning crescent moon nestled inside a shattered, jagged star. He had an inkling that this mysterious pendant, coupled with the comic-like name "Luna," hinted at deep meaning.
Gripping the warm pendant in his hand, Matt traced the jagged star-edges and felt the worn, smooth sides. Despite the unknown, he couldn't deny the sensation of control and belonging it stirred in him—in her.
The pendant tingled with unspent energy in his hands. He closed his eyes, focusing on the imagination he once had as Matt, and how he would craft a story around this item of such personal value to Luna.
If this pendant were a magical object, like the ones in Luna's occult books, it would channel some kind of power that aligned with the bearer's identity. Dark and elusive, its properties might drain the energy of anyone too foolish or curious to look at it directly.
It would form a psychic bond with Luna, someone who also existed within the periphery where ordinary people feared to tread.
The silver chain that held the crescent moon-and-star pendant sparked a fanciful idea about her ancestry. Luna might have been a descendant of a pagan religion practitioner. Maybe Matt would discover her connection to an ancient bloodline or a forgotten cult, lost over the centuries to the shadows.
Matt shook his head, returning himself to the present, letting the magical thinking dissipate.