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The church bells echoed solemnly through the old stone walls of the chapel, filling the space with a grand, almost magical vibration. Lisa—now Paul—stood at the altar in a perfectly tailored suit, his broad shoulders and strong arms the very embodiment of masculinity, something he had dreamed of for so long. Paul—now Lisa—stood beside him, dressed in a dazzling white gown, her newly acquired breasts feeling far too big, too noticeable, too heavy. The hand that had once been hers—now rough, calloused, and unmistakably male—was gripping her tightly, pressing her against her former body.
— You wanna explain something to me? — Lisa leaned in slightly closer to the groom, cursing how much shorter she was now and how she had no choice but to accept this as her new reality, while Paul possessively held her without even reacting, as if he hadn’t noticed her voice at all. She blinked, still struggling to accept that this was how she sounded now, and raised her tone slightly. — What… what the hell is going on?
Paul looked down at her, smiling—pleased, polished, standing in that expensive suit that fit his new body like a dream. Lisa felt something tighten inside her at that expression—confidence, satisfaction, that smug delight at how everything had played out. He didn’t look confused. He didn’t look scared or even concerned.
— Well… — Paul exhaled, shrugging. — There’s a… let’s call it a tradition in my family. Or a curse, if you prefer. It… swaps us with our spouses at the moment of the wedding kiss.
He said it so casually, like he was explaining a restaurant menu. Lisa...