As Cly got ready for the day, she couldn't help but take a look at herself in the mirror, though she knew well enough that she wouldn't like what she'd see. Truth be told, her appearance was even worse than she had imagined. Baggy shorts, a jacket that covered the curves she wished to show off, the hair she'd been working so hard to grow out bunched together and haphazardly stuffed over her visor… None of her clothes quite fit, in more ways than one, and she suspected that other eyes than her own would be able to discern her distaste for the outfit. But, she thought as she sighed, it was still better than the alternative. Better to hide her true self, to avoid confrontation with those who wouldn't understand, though she knew well enough that such a confrontation would have to come one day.

Her eye lingered on that dark corner of her closet which hid the colorful and frilly clothes that she so longed to wear. Today was already going to be a big day, the day she would become a Pokemon Trainer, like it or not. Should she…? But no, it was stressful enough having to get her own Pokemon; one life-altering decision during the day would be more than enough.

And then, as she started walking away from the mirror and towards the computer in a desperate attempt to calm down, she heard them. Cly was well-read enough to recognize the voices, recognize their meaning, from the very beginning. She used to have nightmares about them taking over when she was a child, before her dreams filled with what seemed more likely scenarios to fear. But here they were, the childhood nightmare turned reality. And if they'd chosen her, that meant her cozy little life among her books and computer would be over for good. She'd have to spend days- no, weeks- traveling across all of Unova, saving the world or becoming Champion or both, catching the attention of the entire world. And she'd never have a moment of peace, never be able to eat or sleep or… even to change clothes…

No. This couldn't be happening. Not to her, not now, not like this.

Her limbs were already starting to twitch and sway to the voices' commands, but she fought back with all her might, pushing her own body back to the spot she'd been eyeing just a moment earlier. As the voices said any number of nonsensical phrases, Cly took deep breaths and kept her mind focused on one mantra, one single word: No.

And, miraculously, it seemed to work. The sound of the voices faded, their directional commands replaced with a discussion of "freezing" and "resets". But they never fully left- her arm still quivered as she reached up for the pink-logo cap she had kept hidden for months, and the twisting of her legs tore holes in the thin fabric of her leggings. She was still working on rearranging her hair- embracing the length she'd fought to have, not hiding it for fear of unfriendly stares- when they took over again, completely this time, and she had to rush away.

As they had her walk out of the closet and towards the stairs, Cly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She had to admit, she still kind of looked like a mess. Her skirt didn't quite fit, the shades of pink in her outfit clashed, she hadn't had time to put on make-up, and worst of all, her hair was in some sort of inexplicable bun-pigtail combination reminiscent of preschoolers and musty old librarians and magical girls. And she knew that she would only look worse over time, as her clothes ripped and stained, as her hair grew even more frizzled and tangled, as the bags under her eyes grew bigger and darker with every passing day.

But the voices didn't seem to mind the strangeness of her makeshift outfit. In fact, they rather seemed to approve of her new appearance, mess and all.

DOUGHNUT HAIR BEATS PALM TREE

SHORT SKIRT HYPE

LOOK AT THAT SEXXY LADY

WE GOT PRETTY GIRL PRAISE HELIX

GONNA STARE AT THAT BOOTY ALL DAY

Sure, the voices' approval was being expressed in their own… unique way. And admittedly, the voices were far from a trustworthy fashion guide. Still… at least somebody thought she'd done a decent job of dressing up, of being not just a girl but a pretty one at that. At least the voices in her head wouldn't make fun of her for trying to pass, which was probably more than she could say for the majority of voices she'd hear outside her head.

And, if nothing else… at least she'd made the effort. Maybe it hadn't worked out the way she wanted. Maybe she wasn't really a pretty girl, not yet, despite the voices' claims to the contrary. But, if she was going to have to go through this adventure, she would do it on her own terms, without living the lie she'd lived for far too long.

Her name would go down in the history books, she knew that now, and she knew the stories well enough to know that no amount of wishing or begging or pleading would get her out of that.

But the name they recorded would be hers, her real name, not the one she'd been saddled with since birth, and she would fight tooth and nail to make that happen.

When the world wrote her story, she would make sure that they called her a woman.