So I took a minute and I realized that the former version of this fanfic wasn't up to par with my usual stuff. In other words, it's old and, since I was fairly amateur, it wasn't all too good. And I'm switching around who gets stuck as Meg—and I happened to make it my friend Nick just because there was a certain hilarity to making a guy into a chick. Anyway, I own nothing and no one, and I love you all for being patient with me. Oh, wait, I do own myself—and if I owned my pal Nick, that would be creepy. Oh, and the other version of it will be kept up, for reference and so I can look back and be ashamed of myself. Feedback would be so appreciated. Love to all!
Without further ado, let's start the experiment!
XxXxXxXxXx
I'm awake.
I'm awake and this is not my living room.
When I pause, and I glance around, I realize only one thing. I'm surrounded by women, and this is the strangest place I've ever been. I have no honest clue what's going on and—
What is that ball of blatantly luminescent gold lying next to me?
I have to squint, because it's unpleasantly bright, and I swear, in the daintiest little voice, it's snoring. Come on, Kat, pull yourself together, make sense. Focus, or try to focus, either of those two will do. But this…isn't normal. Am I having a dream? Am I having a—
Snore.
MFMFMMF.
What is that?! What are those?! It's with a swift, muffled sound that I realize—this is not a dream, I'm being smothered by cleavage. This is real live cleavage. And I can't comprehend why there's candlelight, or why this entire place is filled with a living, breathing organism made up of little girls. I flinch and make a weak squeak of a sound, trying to wake the blob of golden hair and pure, undisputed boob. And then, it wakes.
"God…Kat…the fuck? It's, like, three in the morning…" And the candlelight plays shadows across the room, just enough that I slowly come into realization—this is Meg.
The creature, with the boobs? The ones in my face? This is Meg.
But I can't wrap my head around it. Is this a dream? There are several large beds in what I'll assume is a dormitory, and I'm crammed next to this very pretty blonde girl who looks startlingly like Meg from Phantom of the Opera. Who is referring to me as Kat. Which is my name.
This isn't making sense.
"Meg?"
I'm brave for a second, and I shove at the girl lightly. She makes a muffled sound of annoyance, and I glance down briefly. The room is illuminated like more of a night-light, and I wonder what time it is. Wait, why would I wonder that when it's a dream? Silly Kat.
"I don't know who Meg is, Kat, I'm Nick. Or do you suddenly have the memory of a goldfish?"
Nick. My eyes widen, and I shake 'her' repeatedly. My hands are…very tiny, and I'm wearing a (why can't I breathe? What is this bullshit?) corset. Nick. If Nick is Meg, then, something dawns on me—
I glance down, and if I peer into the dark an explosion of dark brown curls trails its way down my front. I toy with them, and my hands shake. And when I touch at my face, I begin to panic.
Meg—or who I assume is Meg—glances at me, and her ink-dark eyes widen. She looks down, then fixes her eyes on me, and I almost shrink into the corner—
"I have…boobs and…you're Christine Daae."
And then, something in me dies inside.