Hi everyone thanks for passing by!

This is a Special Halloween Fiction, starring Thomas and Jimmy, and I hope you'll like it. It may be a special, but it's not going to be short. No, this ship is going to travel far if it doesn't sink (and just so you know, writer block is my deadly iceberg), so welcome aboard.

I enjoy reading comments, all of them, like most writers here they are my fuel, so if you like that short beginning, please let me know. Also, if you're a native you'll probably see that English isn't my first language – I'm French – so feel free to tell me if you notice any recurring mistake in grammar, spelling, or syntaxe. I am here to improve.

But I'm also here because I feel compelled to tell stories. This one was has been on my mind since the beginning of October, and I really hope you'll enjoy it. I know that the first taste will be short, but don't worry : there is more.

Genres: Supernatural / Comedy / Romance / Drama

WARNINGS: 1/Nudity,

2/ T to be eventually rated M later on,

3/ Some horror themes (ghosts, weird dreams, that sort of things)

4/Spoilers (series 1 – 4)

ENJOY

Also, I own nothing, not even a spoon of Downton Abbey.

MISS THALIA BARROW

Thomas Barrow hadn't had yet the time to open his eyes that he already knew that this was the worse hangover of his entire carrier in Downton Abbey – and that was saying something. First, he could tell by the tantrum the drums were pulling off in his head, keeping him from enunciating one coherent thought, second, by the hateful and threatening comments his stomach was making. That day was going to be a long, long one. The only good news was probably the welcomed absence of light in his room, indicating that he had not overslept. Although on second thoughts, this was the 1st of November. He really would have to open his eyes eventually and look at the clock fixed on the wall.

6 o'clock. Huh. From some miraculous reason he had not overslept. How surreal. Even hungover, his internal clock was still functionning.

As he rose on his feet and started to unbutton his shirt, he stumbled on his way to his washbasin, finding trouble maintaining a proper balance, as if his body weight had somehow changed – a side effect of the hangover he hadn't noticed before. He tried so much to at once undress, walk across the room and ignore the burning roar of his stomach that he only noticed that something was wrong when he came across his face in the mirror fixed above the bowl.

The thing was: it wasn't his face. It was on the other side of the mirror, it was looking right back at him, it had blue eyes and black hair, but it wasn't him. It….or she…was definitely not him.

Time stopped…so did Thomas' heart.

Keeping silent was the best way he knew to prevent himself from screaming like a little girl, and right now, Thomas had way better things to do other than panicking. Think…think…he mumbled in his head, but the dark haired woman in front of him was keeping her blue eyes fixed on his and they were freezing him. First, he had to make sure that what he was looking at was really his reflection. Slowly, with trembling motions, he turned his head from left to right. The skin was pale, the lips were red…sure that woman looked a lot like him…apart from that "female" part….wait…female parts? Could it be that…?

No, Thomas had still not decided if he was awake or asleep, and it was much more important to find that out first. But how?

He looked down at his hand, and tried not to think too much.

- Ow!

The shock was worse than the slap itself. What on earth was this voice doing in in mouth? It sounded so foreign: low pitched, but in a feminine way and sent a chill run down his spine.

As he felt panic creep up his lungs and grab his throat, he tore the remaining buttons, jerked his shirt away, and suddenly keeping silent became a whole lot harder. In front of him, his reflection showed exactly was he could see simply by looking down at his own chest. Instead of his handsomely manly pectorals, he now had breasts. Full, soft, cream white breasts, with reddish nipples and everything, now travelling up and down as his breathing became impossible to control. As he did with the shirt, so he did with the trousers, and the result was dreadfully alarming: he was a woman.

Now his mind was blank. The only thought in his head was that he was a woman, and even that didn't make any sense. He was a woman. He was a woman. He was a woman.

I know, you probably hate me right now, but I have written more, don't worry. It's ready, it just need some editing and you'll read it tonight or tomorrow.

So, what do you think ?