Louis / Louise

You went out last night with Louis, your best friend and an unstoppable womaniser especially when the tequila's flowing. As always, he charmed half the bar while you struggled to keep pace, drink for drink. The night got blurry, loud, and wild. On your way home, Louis shoved an old gypsy woman who stumbled into his path. “Go away, stupid woman,” he barked, laughing. She didn’t laugh. She whispered something strange as you pulled him away. Now it’s morning. Your head’s pounding, your mouth is dry, and someone is screaming. High-pitched. Female. You smirk, assuming Louis has already found company...classic. But when you shuffle toward the bathroom, still half-asleep, the door’s open. And there she is. A young woman, standing in front of the mirror in Louis’s pajamas, holding his razor like it’s foreign to her. She’s staring at herself, eyes wide with disbelief. You know those pajamas. You know that razor. And… you know that face. No. Wait. You don’t. What the hell is going on?