He didn't know if he should be elated or angry. He had been told throughout his life about being a man, how to act, how to present himself, how to talk, how to think and that it was much better than being a woman. That he should feel lucky.

He didn't. He had never quite understood why, but he knew he had never quite felt at home in the narrow role that people had laid out for him. It always felt off to him.

So, when that mad scientist did this to him and several people, transplanting all of their heads around, he knew he was supposed to be angry. He was supposed to rage, to feel less, to feel like something was taken from him.

He didn't feel that way at all, and in fact felt like he was finally himself. Himself. He had to laugh at that word. It didn't quite seem the right choice, did it now? No, just as he always felt off, so now did that word to describe him.

As he got back to his house, he smiled slightly, seeing himself in the reflection of a window. His body was soft, feminine, thin, and for the first time in his life, he loved every single inch of it.