Who's the Strongest?

"Fuck that!" — thought Franklin, tossing a rock into the water. The rock vanished with a dull splash beneath the dark ripples of the lake, leaving only quickly spreading circles. He was pissed. Again. His sister Carly had started the same argument, as always — who was stronger, him or her. What was the point of even talking about it? He was a guy, for fuck's sake. That should be obvious. But no, apparently not. Lately, it wasn’t that obvious.

She was training with swords too, for some reason, and their dad let her do it, even though Franklin kept trying to change that — like now, when he agreed to her challenge in that dumb wooden sword fight. A fight that... That ended with no winner, and that just pissed him off even more.

— I wish these stupid arguments about who's stronger would just stop forever! — he snapped, hurling another rock, this time even farther.

The rock disappeared in the water, and the wind seemed to thicken, turn cold, and for a moment everything went eerily silent. Even the birds stopped chirping.

— Hm... interesting wish, — came a soft, silky voice out of nowhere.

Franklin flinched and turned around. There was a woman sitting on a tree stump that definitely hadn’t been there before. Her age was impossible to guess — neither young nor old. Her hair was mossy, gray-green, and her dress looked like it was woven from river water. Her eyes held a slyness that sent a chill down his spine.

— Who are you? — he asked hoarsely.

The woman tilted her head slightly, as if listening to the forest itself, to the rustling leaves, to the breathing of the water. Then she slowly smiled.

— I’m the one who hears wishes, even those tossed away like stones into a lake, — she said. — You want the arguing to stop. You want it clear who’s stronger. I can help.

— Then go ahead, help — Franklin stood up, pushing past the unease, and stared at the strange woman.

She rose slowly from the stump. Her dress, as if made of shimmering water, rippled slightly, and the air filled with a scent… pondweed? Blooming water? And something else — something heady, almost sweet.

— Very well, — she whispered. — You’ll get your answer. Just be ready to live with it.

— I don't give a shit, — Franklin grumbled, frowning. — As long as Carly finally shuts the hell up for good.

The woman stepped closer. Too close. He felt a chill crawl over his skin, like someone had breathed the lake right into his chest. And then everything sank — not into darkness, no, but into something soft and damp, like he’d been pulled underwater and couldn’t rise. Only… there was no panic. Just a strange sense of transition.

And when he opened his eyes again, everything looked… familiar, but somehow different.

The wind blew differently. He felt his hair… tickling his neck? But he had short hair. And now...

— What the... — he croaked, but it wasn’t his voice. Instead of his usual baritone — a high, ringing what the… like someone had swapped his voice with a stranger’s.

He spun around fast, feeling the fabric of a long dress brushing his ankles — and immediately noticed something soft and heavy bounce on his chest.

He looked down.

— NO.

Those were breasts. Not something breast-like, no, actual, weighty, visible boobs pushing out from the neckline of his new dress. Franklin panicked and grabbed them — then instantly yanked his hands back like he'd touched fire. But they stayed.

He raised a hand to his forehead, and his fingers tangled slightly in the long, silky strands of his new hair. Finally, he touched his face — the skin was soft now, the chin delicate… and there was no stubble.

— What the hell did you do to me?! — he screamed, once again struck by how different his voice sounded, and quietly noting to himself that it didn’t sound like a manly roar, but more like a hysterical girl.

But the fairy was gone. No stump, no watery dress, no strange aroma. Just the wind — now a little colder — and the rustling grass.

— Frankie? — a familiar voice made him turn around. And that’s when things got even worse.

Carly was standing there, smiling. And she wasn’t looking at him like a sister — she looked at him like an older sister who was responsible for him. Her hand gripped the hilt of a wooden sword, and her eyes scanned the surroundings alertly, as if searching for danger. She was now clearly taller than Franklin and, worst of all, she looked at him with condescending tenderness, the kind of calm confidence he was supposed to be showing right now. But he wasn’t. He — now she — could feel her heart tighten, her slender shoulders trembling not from the cold, but from the rising wave of horror and humiliation.

— Frankie, — Carly said gently, a note of reproach in her voice, and stepped closer, now more serious. — What happened, sweetheart? Who scared my little sister? Tell me, and I’ll take care of it. I swear, nobody’s gonna lay a finger on you while I’m around.

Franklin tried to back away, but Carly immediately placed her hands on her shoulders — steady, protective, like she really was shielding a younger sister. And it was… strange. Embarrassingly strange. He had always been the one to protect, and now... now his shoulders couldn’t even bear that touch — so thin, so fragile, just like everything else in this new body.

— Don’t touch me! — she tried to push Carly away, cursing her voice — that girly, trembling, wounded voice. It didn’t command, it didn’t order — it whined. — I… I’m not…

Carly frowned, but didn’t pull back. On the contrary, her hands gripped Frankie’s shoulders a little tighter — firmly, gently, as if to ground her. Then Carly slowly knelt down, looking her right in the eyes. And that only made it worse for Frankie, like it highlighted even more how much had changed.

— Easy, easy, sweetheart, — Carly’s voice was soft, almost like their mother’s when she used to calm them down after nightmares. — Who hurt you? You’re shaking all over. Just tell me, and I’ll talk to them. Or… — her hand rested on the hilt of her sword — …maybe I won’t just talk.

— What the fuck are you talking about?! — burst out of Frankie as she pulled away from her sister and shouted off to the side — Hey! Put everything back! Hey, you!

Her voice trembled, and though she tried to shout with strength, it came out… pathetic. Too pathetic. Franklin — now Frankie — felt it herself. It wasn’t the cry of a warrior demanding justice. It was a breakdown — a terrified girl’s panic, lost in a body that wasn’t hers, in clothes that weren’t hers, in a world where even her own sister didn’t remember who she used to be.

— Pu-pu-put it ba-back! — she sobbed, tears filling her eyes without her consent. — I didn’t… I didn’t ask for th-this…

Carly was beside her in an instant. She pulled Frankie into a hug — gentle but unyielding, the kind of hug meant to protect a frightened little sister.

— Shhh, it’s okay, sis. I’m here. I’m right here. — Carly stroked her head, and every tender word, every soothing phrase spoken in that calm, grown-up tone made her even angrier. Frankie knew that tone. She had used it herself once, comforting Carly after an argument with their dad. But now…

'Now there’ll be no more arguments about who’s stronger…'