Heyo. Welcome to my page! I like doing MTF and TGTF stories. I prefer to write them from the third person perspective, and usually those who deserve it, but I’m open. Leave comments for what characters or situations you’d like to see! I am on IOS, so if I suddenly disappear someday… it’s cause they finally removed all support for IOS.

At senior prom, you stand in the center of the gym, a beacon of perfection. The prom king, the star athlete, always surrounded by admiration. The music pulses, the crowd sways, and you bask in it, the attention, the power, the popularity that gives you dominion over the other students. Then, something shifts. A soft breeze curls through the gym, subtle but unsettling. A chill runs down your spine. Your chest feels tighter, your shoulders heavier. Your hands thinner. Panic flickers as you lift them to your face. Your sharp jawline softens, your hair lightens, losing its carefully styled perfection. Laughter swirls around you, but it feels distant. Your clothes hang differently, your posture slouches, and suddenly, glasses slide down your nose, glasses you’ve never worn before. Something is wrong. Your heart pounds as you step back, excusing yourself before anyone notices. A strange weight settles over you, unfamiliar and suffocating. Stumbling toward the back of the gym, you press against the cool metal of the bleachers, breath shaky. Then, you see it, your reflection in a nearby window. But the person staring back isn’t you. Not the confident, admired version of you. This person is smaller, quieter, petite and feminine, someone who has never stood in the center of any room. And for the first time, you understand what it feels like to be on the outside looking in.

The local occult club was just the two of you; Leah and yourself, but that never stopped you from chasing urban legends, sneaking into eerie places, and pretending the strange was real. Tonight’s adventure had taken you to the top of Hollow Glen Cemetery, to the grave of Ruby-Rose: the Lone Woman. The legend was simple: Ruby-Rose had been buried alone, her intended resting beside her forever left empty. He’d moved on and the headstone remained blank. Then, one stormy night, lightning struck the empty gravestone, shattering it. People whispered that it had been her fury, her grief, her final protest against being forgotten. The story spread, warping with time. Some said she still waited, reaching for anyone who dared to disturb her solitude. It was the perfect place for a séance. You and Leah set up by candlelight, playing at ritual more for fun than belief. The air felt heavy, charged with the storm rolling in the distance, but you shrugged it off. The first gust of wind snuffed a candle. The second made Leah shiver. Then she went still. Too still. Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched. The glow of the distant lightning caught in her eyes, and for a moment, they gleamed yellow. A breath, ragged and sharp, scraped from her throat as her skin drained to an unnatural pallor. Her nails darkened, sharpening, curling into the dirt like claws. A sickening feeling crawled over your skin. Leah convulsed, her body shaping, growing, her back arching as if pulled by invisible strings, and a whisper her voice, but layered with something else, something old breathed through the air. A shape flickered behind her. A shadow where there was no light. Then, she lifted her head, and the girl before you was no longer just Leah. She- they were something more.