The next day, sunlight filtered softly through the sheer maroon curtains of my newly renovated bedroom, rousing me from a deep, dreamless sleep.
I woke up feeling refreshed yet disoriented, realizing I was dressed only in a delicate silk chemise that clung lightly to my curves—a pale lavender slip with lace-trimmed edges that Tina had insisted I wear to bed the night before, claiming it suited my me better than anything else. How could she know her body measurements so easily without even asking?
Most days now, I found myself embracing womanly clothes exclusively, a subtle shift in my wardrobe that felt both empowering and calculated: flowing dresses, soft blouses, and delicate underwear replacing my old hoodies, shirts, jeans and leggings, each piece a reminder of the power I wielded through femininity, my stunning face, my mouthwatering body, my beautiful legs and pearl toes on constant, mesmerizing display.
