Full summary: You know that saying "careful what you wish for"? Well, be careful what you wish for! I wish my whole life for better parents, and then ended up waking in someone's body. As if that wasn't bad enough, just when I started to get used to my new life, I discovered I had hijacked the body of one of my favourite fictional characters. But nothing is like the Winx Club I watched as a kid. Everything is more grown-up, the creatures absolutely terrifying, and despite hoping all of this is a bad dream, I'm not waking up. And why oh why do I constantly find myself in the Omega Dimension where a jerk of a higher being keeps saying "interesting" and invading my personal space. Ugh, it's like I'm stuck in some bad fanfiction.

This story is an SI and takes places in an Alternative Universe of Winx Club. It is also posted on AO3.

I don't own Winx Club, nor do I own the picture. That I got from pngtree.

Enjoy.

The day my life changed forever started… Well, oddly enough it started the day before. Hmm, how to explain this without overcomplicating things? Let's call it day zero, and the day my life changed day one.

Day zero started like any other. My alarm woke me from a pleasant slumber, I got dressed and tackled my hair, then went downstairs and ate breakfast in a giant but empty dining room. Carson – my family's butler – notified me that the driver was ready while I was finishing up, and then I went to school.

School was boring as usual. One of my fake friends – seriously, why do people think that befriending the rich while hating them is a smart thing? – had dumped her latest fling and while pretending to be heartbroken around us, she was shamelessly flirting with our new history teacher. I sang "Don't stand so close to me" from The Police whenever she did. For some weird reason she did not appreciate that.

I thought it was pretty funny.

Everything went to hell around third period. I had physics and we were discussing vectors.

You know that feeling a rubber band gives you when you have it wrapped around your fingers, and pull it further and further apart until it snaps?

Well, I had that exact feeling during my third period. As if something inside me had been pulled apart until finally it couldn't take it anymore and just snapped. It was the oddest thing.

The feeling passed quickly. The nausea and fatigue which followed did not.

I could barely keep my eyes open the rest of the day, no matter how hard I tried and how much caffeine I drank.

The migraine started not even an hour later. I am prone to them, you see. I even have prescribed medication. Triptans. They are disgusting and while they are in my system my anxiety goes through the roof. I even called an ambulance once because I was sure I was having a heart-attack. Not one of my finest moments I will admit, but it gives you an idea on what they do. Still if I had to choose between that and a migraine, I would choose the lesser of two evils and pick the triptans. Anxiety attack be damned.

Usually, I see auras beforehand. They are somewhat of a warning that an attack is coming. This time the auras and migraine hit me at the same time.

My auras were weird, even weirder than usual. Normally, I see colours dancing through the air like waves, a little like the aurora borealis. This time I saw them as well, but also people with wings. They were flying through caves with the astonishing crystals, and through a dark forest that was somehow appealing and welcoming. Even weirder was the fact that they seemed to notice me. They stared straight back, even pointed at me. I swear I saw one motion at me, as if inviting me to come and join them.

Like I said, they were weird.

I did the only thing I could do: I called Carson and let the school nurse know I was heading home with a migraine. She gave me a sympathetic smile. Everyone at school knew I was prone to migraines, and this wasn't the first time I went home with one.

Carson picked me up. He had chosen one of the cars with tainted windows. Being the considerate person he was, he also brought a bucket and my medication. That man was an utter hero and I told him this whenever I could.

He helped me into the back and then drove home as slowly and carefully as possible. Not that that did any good. I still ended up puking my guts out. But it was nice of him to try.

I was trembling and shivering by the time we made it home, the auras so overwhelming that I could barely see anything but them. The rest of the world was hidden away behind them. I didn't have the strength to go to my room. I could barely even feel my legs. Carson had to carry me upstairs, the poor man.

The last thing I remember was Carson tugging me in and telling me to sleep it off, that he was one call away if I needed anything.

Afterwards nothing. Nada. Zip.

Next time I joined the land of the living, it was day one.

I woke to the thought: "that was one crazy-ass dream". Whenever I have a migraine, my dreams are weirder than usual. The big difference is that I can never remember what they were about, just that they were really weird. This was one of those times.

Much to my delight the migraine was gone. I had no idea how much time had passed between falling asleep and waking up. Time seized to exist when I had a migraine. Occasionally I fell asleep and woke to find three entire days had passed. Other times the pain had me pacing the room and a single hour felt like a week. Luckily Carson kept a close eye on me, keeping me fed and hydrated, and also updating the school on my condition.

Have I mentioned the man was a real hero? I have? Well, he really was.

I awoke to a dark room, which wasn't unusual. Anyone with migraines will tell you that during an attack, light and sound are your greatest enemies.

My bed was familiar and soft, just the right combination of sinking and floating. My head was supported by a soft down pillow, which I only used when I had a migraine. I had two down pillows: one a bit sturdier and one that basically swallowed my head whole.

All was as I expected. The hungover always following a migraine was present. I was shivering all over and my fingers and toes were popsicles, another regular thing. My head was stuffed with cotton and when I moved a little too fast, or bent forward, pain and dizziness assaulted me.

Nothing out of the usual.

.

.

.

Except I could hear cars.

I lived in a mansion just outside of London. The nearest road that was actively used by other cars was quite some distance away. I shouldn't be able to hear cars, yet I did, and it was like dozens of them raced past the house. Another thing that should be impossible since the house had acres of land and a thick fence surrounding it. There was one way to and from the house and it was over the long driveway and through the gates.

I shouldn't be hearing that many cars, least of all them traveling as quickly as I guessed they were going.

"Something isn't right."

I carefully opened my eyes and saw "A solid wall?" My hand automatically reached forward to check. "Yes, my bed is standing against a wall. My bed isn't supposed to be standing against a solid wall."

My bed was perched in the middle of the room with no walls near it. The headboard was pushed against a glass wall that separated my room from my wardrobe and bathroom. Both the right and left side of the bed were free to be used.

Yet I was currently curled up against a wall, facing and touching it.

"What the hell?"

This did not add up. Even if my bed had been pushed against a wall, I shouldn't be seeing it. I needed solid darkness to sleep, especially when I had a migraine. The windows had outer shutters that could be manually rolled down from the inside, and in front of them hung thick curtains to deny any light entrance. I didn't even have a radio alarm with those annoying red numbers that pierced through the darkness. And there was no way Carson would have forgotten to close the shutters and curtains before leaving me to recover.

But the wall wasn't cloaked in darkness. Quite the opposite: while there wasn't much light, it was definitely there. Enough that I could make out my favourite blue colour on said wall. My eyes trailed over the smooth surface, finding several drawings plastered on it. Drawings that could have been created by my own hands. They were framed by a canopy, which fell elegantly down and was tied to the posts of the bed I was lying in.

"I don't have a four-poster bed. Mother loathes them. She says there are childish and old-fashioned."

My eyes followed the thin white canopy, finding it above my head as well. The light came from there, from the fairy lights that were attached to the ceiling. They gave off a soft warm light that brought a smile to my face. I rather liked them. With them and the canopy I could almost pretend I was hidden away in some magical corner of the world.

I frowned. "That doesn't change the fact that I don't have a four-poster bed, fairy lights and a canopy. Where the hell am I?"

I turned my back against the wall. An entirely unfamiliar room greeted me.

The bed I was occupying was queen-sized rather than my California king, and was nestled in a corner, almost like one of those old box beds. There wasn't a nightstand in sight. Instead, a windowsill began just beside the bed. It slipped past the corner and then followed the walls before ending on the wall opposite of the bed. I guessed in the middle had to be a window, as there were curtains there. A cosy little sitting area was created in front of it, perched on the windowsill complete with pillows and quilts. Surrounding that little spot were plants in cheerful pots, a stuffed animal here and there, and some frames holding more drawings as well as family photos.

I groaned as I observed the nearest photo. Three people were in it: a man, a woman, and a teenager. And they were as familiar to me as this room.

"Oh, this is just fantastic. Absolutely fantastic." I fell back in the pillows, slapping a hand to my forehead. "Waking up in a stranger's house – haven't done that in quite some time. Just wait until mother catches wind of this."

And my mother always caught wind of my scandals, as she liked to call them, even with the servants covering for me. And when she did, I had to sit through one of her horrendous lectures on teenage pregnancies and me staining her perfect reputation, before ending it with the usual threat of disowning me. Pleasant things like that. Usually when I was still hungover. No, that was her preference.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid…" I repeatedly slapped my forehead, gritting my teeth. "Wait." My hand paused mid-air as the word shot through me. "How did I even end up here?"

When I had fallen asleep, I had been in my own room. Carson had picked me up from school and taken me home. He had carried me to my own bedroom. Right?

"Then why do I only remember my weird auras?" My stomach twisted in unease. "I didn't get into a stranger's car, right? It was Carson who picked me up, right?" I suddenly wasn't so sure anymore. After all, if it had been Carson, I should have been home and I wasn't.

I mentally kicked myself. "Stop freaking out, Sybil. Of course, it was Carson. He brought a bucket and your medication, remember? A stranger wouldn't have done that." I glanced hesitantly through the room, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. "But then how did I end up here?"

I carefully sat up against the pillows, my throat tightening as I observed the room.

The opposite wall wasn't painted blue. Instead a familiar Pip wallpaper – the cute white one with all those golden ladybugs – was plastered on it. Against it stood a desk with a beautiful iMac. The sight instantly made my fingers itch. I even drooled a little. I always wanted to have an iMac. They were perfect for editing photos and digital painting, which together with drawing were my passions. But my father had shares in Windows and was buddy-buddy with Bill Gates. Anything that wasn't Windows / Android was forbidden in the house. The servants weren't even allowed to have iPhones.

An uncomfortable heaviness settled over me, my throat tightening, as the wallpaper and computer sank in. The computer I wanted but wasn't allowed to have because of my father. The wallpaper I loved but that my mother found too childish.

"Coincidence. It is all just a coincidence." The lump in my throat and the acid taste in my mouth disagreed. "Calm down, Sybil. You are freaking out over nothing. Apple is currently THE brand to have. A lot of people have iMac's nowadays and that wallpaper isn't all that rare either."

I searched for something that would illuminate the room a little more. That way I could show myself that the similarities ended with the iMac and wallpaper. That there was nothing weird going on.

"Then how do you explain where you are?" whispered a traitorous little voice in the back of my mind. It sounded an awful lot like my mother. I tuned her out. I tended to do that whenever my mother was speaking. I was rarely in the mood to listen to her. She would just give me another panic attack or kick my self-esteem further into the ground.

Beside the bed, half hidden behind one of the posts and the canopy, stood a tall lamp. It had both a lamp that illuminated the ceiling and a reading light. I could even switch them on separately and control how much light the lamps were given.

"Fancy… I have to get myself one of these."

I twisted one of the knobs and the ceiling light instantly jumped on, casting more light into the room. My eyes eagerly took everything in, but with every detail I grew sicker.

On the floor was the light carpet I had begged for when my mother was redecorating some rooms, including my bedroom, but carpet – and a light one at that – would show every stain and spot, and therefore it was out of the question. Her words, not mine.

My favourite houseplants – African violets, orchids and coleuses – were littered through the room in pots I would have picked out myself. Behind the bed was a wardrobe that stood half open, giving me a clear view on clothes – mostly blue and white – I would definitely wear. On the far side of the room was a white bookcase – that contrasted perfectly against the blue wall – filled to the brink with fantasy books, the genre I loved to read. Beside it was a sketching desk covered in drawings and sketches that once again looked as if I had made them myself.

My eyes darted into every direction, taking one detail in right after the other. Horror clawed inside me and threatened to gnaw its way out of me like that terrifying thing from Alien.

"This is my room." I swallowed as the lump in my throat grew. "This is exactly what I dreamed of having, of what mother would never allow me to have because she considered it childish and unsuitable. This is everything I dreamed of having, but…"

I gasped. It was everything I had dreamed about, but I rarely spoke about. No one knew I simply adored coleuses and would have several of them in my room if my mother would allow me to have plants.

"No, dear. Plants just die and we can't have that. Can you imagine what people would say if they saw a dead plant in our house? The idea alone!"

I shuddered at the memory, my eyes zeroing in on the closest coleus. "How is this possible?" I swallowed again. The real question wasn't how it was possible. Anyone reading my diary would probably know what I liked and disliked. A better question was why. Why was I in a room that seemed to be designed specifically for me, and more importantly, how had I gotten here?

"No!" I scowled when the first theory popped into my head. "Don't be ridiculous! Carson has worked for my family longer than I have been alive. He wouldn't kidnap me! Or do something so- so- creepy…"

"Well, it does explain everything." I grimaced at the nasty voice. "I mean, all he had to do was read your diary. And everyone knows you hide it with your knickers. Not to mention he had the opportunity. In your state he could have easily dropped you off here rather than at the house. It all adds up." I could practically hear my mother light a cigarette and puffing out the smoke in that annoying satisfied way of hers. "I never did like him."

I scowled angrily. "Shut up, mother! You know nothing!"

While Carson did have the opportunity and the means, I refused to believe he would violate my privacy, let alone take advantage of me in the state I had been in to do something as horrendous as kidnapping me. He was like a grandf– no, not a grandfather, he was too young for that. More like an uncle. The one who sneaked you sweets while your parents weren't watching and gave you awesome presents that you didn't even know you wanted. The one…

"… I admitted to on multiple occasion that I wished he was my father rather than my own." My chin fell to my chest, tears welling up in my eyes. "Is that why…?" I instantly shook my head, dismissing those thoughts. "No, Carson would never do that. And there is only one thing I can do to prove it: call him and ask him to pick me up."

I nodded to myself, satisfied with my plan and determined to get it done. It lasted for thirty whole seconds. Thirty seconds, before it disappeared into thin air when I pushed the sheets off and caught sight of myself for the first time.

"These are not my pyjamas." I frowned at the dark blue shirt and trousers I was wearing. They were littered in little white stars. "Cute… Not something I would pick out myself, but cut… Wait a minute!" I choked. "I was wearing my clothes when I fell asleep! Someone CHANGED ME!"

This was getting weird, way too weird. And why was there an elephant sitting on my chest? I didn't like elephants sitting on my chest.

Bedroom designed for me? Check. Being changed in different clothes while out cold? Check. All that missed was a creepy stalker and me tied to a chair, gagged, and this would be an episode of Criminal Minds.

"Okay, calm down. Calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down. Calm the fuck DOWN, Sybil!" The world was spinning. I gasped for air that refused to come, like a fish out of water. The small part of my rationality still functioning was kind enough to warn me I was hyperventilating.

"You are fine. Perfectly fine. Just breathe." I breathed out through my mouth, prolonging it as long as possible and then carefully breathed back in. My heart stammered painfully against my ribs. "That's it. Just breathe. There is no point in freaking out. It doesn't solve anything and will definitely get you killed."

My heart launched itself up my airway and out my mouth. "KILLED?!"

I pinched my eyes close, shaking violently. "No, you idiot. No one is being killed. You are overreacting!" But the panic was slowly winning and staring at the room only worsened it. "Think, Sybil. There has to be a perfectly logical explaining for all this. Like- like…" I snapped my fingers triumphantly, ignoring how my mother's voice huffed in the back of my mind. "Sleepwalking! I must have sleepwalked out of the house again. Some nice family must have found me and taken me home with them."

"And changed you into ugly pyjamas?" I cringed at the sharp question. "And put you where? In a spare bedroom that resembles the dream bedroom from when you were a toddler? Right! My money is still on the butler."

No matter how much I hated that voice, it had a point.

I shoved it all away, shaking my head again. "No, I won't think like that. There is nothing strange about any of this. Just you wait and see, there is a perfectly logical explanation for this mess that has nothing to do with kidnapping and someone having an obsession with me." I repeated it a few times, in the hopes I would start to believe it more. What was that saying the Dutch had, the one my father liked to quote? "The power of advertisement is repetition"? Yeah, it was definitely something like that.

"The Dutch are weird…"

It didn't work either. The nagging feeling that something was wrong – really wrong – never wavered or went away.

I tried to ignore it as best I could. Instead, I got out of bed and took a closer look around.

Behind the curtains was indeed a window, a big window overlooking a busy street. On both sides of the street were townhouses. They were – I frowned – odd. The outside surface was smooth and had a sandy colour. Above the doors were balconies, and all the windows and doors were hidden away under little roofs. And there were palm trees and exotic looking shrubs in front of them.

"Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore." I shook my head dismissively and closed the curtains again. I was probably in a part of London I hadn't been to before and a lot of people preferred exotic plants nowadays. "Stay calm and think logical. Nothing weird is going on."

"Methinks the lady protests too much."

I scowled at my mother's voice, turning my back rather defensively to the curtains. "Shut up." My heart leaped and joy overwhelmed me when I spotted a mobile phone beside the iMac. "See! Not kidnapped! What kidnapper would leave a phone behind? Maybe those idiots from the first two Home Alone movies… But hey, at least I will know what to do in that case!" I chuckled at my own joke.

The phone sprung to life the moment I picked it up, not protected by a password or ID touch. I shrugged at the lack of protection – their loss was my gain – and dialled Carson's number. It was the first number I had been forced to learn, long before I ever got a phone, and I was pretty sure I could still recall it when I was old, grey and wrinkly.

The phone dialled and I pressed it against my ear, pressing a hand against my excited heart. Then a long beep sounded, followed by an annoying monotone voice. "The number you're trying to reach does not exist."

The lump in my throat was back in an instant and the phone shook in my hands. "Nothing to worry about," I quickly assured myself, disconnecting the call and dialling the number again. "I probably pressed a wrong number in my haste to call him…"

I hadn't.

The elephant on my chest plopped back down. Blood pounded in my ears, pushing all other sounds away, and the phone slipped through my shaking fingers.

"The number you're trying to reach does not exist."

"Oh God! Oh God, oh God, oh God! No, no, no, no, no, NO! This is not happening! This cannot be happening!"

My hands disappeared into my hair, tugging at the- the familiar wavy hair? I didn't have wavy hair. I had a head full of stubborn curls. Where were the curls I despised so much? And why wasn't my hair braided back? I had put a braid in it before going to school and hadn't taken it out. I would never do that! That was a recipe for disaster. My unruly hair knitted together and refused to do what I wanted it to if I slept with it down.

I twisted around, trying to desperately find a mirror. There! There was a mirror squeezed in between the two doors I hadn't noticed before.

I made a beeline for it, the world spinning before my eyes when I came to a stop in front of it. I closed my eyes, leaning heavily against the wall, and took a few deep breaths in. Then when I was no longer swaying on my feet, I opened my eyes and stared into the mirror.

I choked on air, a punch landing firmly in my stomach.

An unfamiliar girl was staring straight back. An unfamiliar but stunning girl. No, not stunning: beautiful. She was the type of girl that had men turn when she passed them, and then had them walking into a lamppost because they weren't watching where they were going. She was unnaturally beautiful.

And definitely not me.

"She stepped right out of one of those cheesy Harlequin novels where the girl is beautiful and the man rich and sex on two legs. Seriously, who is she? And why is she staring at me through the mirror? We look absolutely nothing alike."

The beauty in the mirror was a ginger, whereas I had inherited the auburn red from my Irish ancestors. Her hair fell down in natural beach waves that I was jealous of, my own hair often resembled a mop. Our skin tones were the same, but hers was littered with adorable little freckles. I only had those when my skin was as red as my hair. Her nose was cute and turned up, whereas mine was a little too long and flat, not to mention slightly crooked due a cycling accident.

The only feature we had in common were our eyes: big wide cyan-blue eyes that held an innocence that drew people in. An innocence I gladly used to my advantage. I basically got away with everything if I made big eyes at someone and added a small pout. Only my parents and Carson were immune.

I glared at the image in the mirror. I did not consider myself unpretty. Quite the opposite. I was good-looking and while I wasn't happy with all my features, I wasn't ashamed to flash what I had. But this girl made feel like one of Cinderella's ugly stepsisters. She was horrendous for any girl's self-esteem.

The girl glared back at me, her nose wrinkling in the way that mine did when I was peeved about something.

I blinked, my lips parting in confusion, and she did not just mimic me. She was a perfect reflection. Almost as if she was my reflection.

I frowned. The girl's brows furrowed in the mirror, a look of deep contemplation flickering over her face. "But that isn't possible. She can't be me and I can't be her. That would mean I have swapped bodies with someone I have never met or seen before. And that shit only happens in lame Hollywood movies. Or in fanfiction. Really bad fanfiction."

I raised a hand and waved at the girl. She did the same.

I pulled a face – faintly hearing my mother screech in the distance how that would cause wrinkles – and the beautiful face in the mirror copied it perfectly.

I swallowed, my throat tightening even more. My nails dug into my palms and my jaws hurt with how harsh I was clenching them. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. It was like I was stuck in some bad dream.

"Dream… Yes, that's it. I must still be dreaming." I pinched myself as hard as I could. Much to my astonishment the pain shot right up my arm and two red marks appeared on the pale skin. Pale skin with freckles. "That h-hurt… And I- I don't have freckles…"

I turned to the mirror girl again, glaring harshly. The glare she shot me back was a little frightening. "Stop it. Thi…" My breath hitched at the sound of my own voice. Gone was the high pitch and the shrillness that I hated to hear on recordings. Gone was the voice as familiar to me as breathing. Instead, I sounded like a bloody Christmas sled.

I stared at the mirror and the girl stared back, her eyes wide and terrified. She reminded me of a frightened doe. My heart was slamming painfully against my ribs, threatening to jump out. I was amazed I couldn't see it beating through my shirt.

My brows furrowed together as I glanced down at myself. Either I was still hallucinating or I had shrunken. And gained some weight.

My mother put me on a strict diet the moment puberty started. She wanted a model-shaped daughter and she got one. But now? I doubted I would reach my normal 5'8 even if I wore heels. And I was currently supporting some brand-new curves, curves I would kill for on any day of the week. Except today. Today I wished for the lanky tall girl, the one whose chest was as flat as a pancake. The body that was me.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, shaking my head and blinking back the tears. "Pull yourself together, Sybil. This is only one of your messed up dreams. You are dreaming." I stared desperately at the mirror. "I have to be…" But the ginger girl was the only one staring back.

I pinched myself again, adding two more red spots on my arm. But I didn't wake up.

I threw open the door on my left side, the one hidden partly behind a very comfortable looking bathrobe. In my favourite colour! When was this nightmare ending?

I barely paid attention to the little bathroom I entered, instead heading straight to the sink and turning the water on. I cupped my hands under the stream and splashed it into my face. Once, twice… After the third time I was awake enough to turn it off again and glance up. Another mirror, a different one, yet the ginger girl was still there.

My knees buckled as the mirror and the girl with it blurred in front of my eyes. "What is going on?" My voice sounded foreign and weird, turning the lump in my throat into an obstacle that cut off all air.

I slumped down on the cold ground, a numbness setlting over me that was only all too familiar. My vision swirled and blurred, as if I was swimming under water. My chest stopped momentarily moving, my chest too painful to do such a trivial thing as breathing.

Like a blockage suddenly springing free, the air rushed into my lungs and then came out again, accompanied by a bloodcurdling scream. The intensity rocked my body, sending me into a shiver frenzy, yet I found myself unable to stop screaming. I screamed and wept, the tears blurring my already hazy sight but refusing to fall. My entire body ached as I struggled to keep up right, burned as I screamed.

"Bloom!" Two hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up. A woman as familiar to me as the girl I saw in the mirror, was kneeling down beside me. Her brown eyes stared wide and terrified at me. Pure terror was displayed in her eyes and her fingers were digging into my shoulders. Digging and shaking. "Bloom, sweetie, what's wrong?"

"Bloom…?" I stared through a haze at the woman grasping me, only half-aware that I was still scream-crying. "Why is she calling me that? My name is not Bloom…"

As if one of my bones snapped back into its socket, something just clicked.

There was nothing wrong with the mirror.

I wasn't kidnapped.

I wasn't dreaming.

"It is her name… No, it is MY name. This is real. I'm in someone else's body…"

.

.

.

.

I let out another bloodcurdling scream and fainted.