The problem was that "I was a weird, creepy old man." She would be "so embarrassed to walk around and party with me." I had to change my appearance to have the honor of going with her (and of course paying for everything),
Lucy, my daughter, came to me one afternoon, with a "solution." She had gone to a ritualistic medicine shop in the city and bought some herbs and other strange things that you might imagine find their home in a witch's fairy tale cottage. After mixing it all together in one of our pots in the kitchen and heating it up, she said some words she found on a forum off of her phone. Then she handed me a mug of the purple fluorescent ooze and told me to drink up.
This is when the agonizing pain started. I honest to god felt my bones chipping away to get smaller inside my body, my fat being redistributed all around myself, my joints feeling like they were being sawed and sanded down to size. Fire welled on top of my head as my receded hairline reversed and hair rushed out. My face popped and cracked as my facial planes rearranged. I distinctively remember burning sensations in my pelvic area as new organs knitted together and destroyed old ones like a parasite. I constantly was spewing stuff out of my mouth, assumedly the extra mass that had to go somewhere during the change. After about 6 hours of this hell, everything settled. I looked in the mirror. No more me. I was what looked like some chick my daughter might hang out with.
To be honest, about halfway through the weeklong festival, I started to have fun. Once I could let loose and enjoy my surroundings as well as time with my daughter, it all seemed worth it. I got my nipples pierced to be funny, played around with makeup, and dyed the ends of my hair red.
Hey Dad, I need to tell you something, Lucy said. "I'm not 100% sure how to reverse this change. That was an emergency potion used to recruit new witches if too many women died. There's no rite or recipe for the other way around."
