In the Scottish Highlands

— Hey, what the fuck! Give me back my dick, you bitch! — Bill shouted, not believing his own ears as his voice echoed across the rocky slopes of this strange, unfamiliar place.

Bill froze, as if burned. That wasn’t his usual voice. It was ringing, high-pitched, too light, too… feminine, just like his new body. With cold fingers, he grabbed his throat, shook it, as if that could fix everything. But the sound that escaped his lips was still the same — female. Panic flared in his chest and immediately spread through his body, sending shivers down his arms and legs. He looked at his fingers — long, slender, nothing like they used to be. And then… then he looked down, hoping this was all just a mistake.

— No… — he breathed out.

His clothes didn’t fit right. The shirt he had put on that morning now hung loosely, yet was suspiciously tight in the chest. His pants had stretched over his suddenly wider hips, gripping so tightly that he felt the pressure against his skin, as if he were trapped in a vise. The fabric dug into him uncomfortably, making it feel like it was about to rip apart.

He jerked his head up, feeling a strand of long hair brush against his cheek, and immediately, nervously, tucked it behind his ear. The woman still stood before him. Tall, with long hair cascading over her shoulders, dressed in simple but ancient garments. Her face was calm, but there was something in her eyes that he absolutely didn’t like.

— Turn me back! — he exclaimed, stepping forward, only to stumble over the too-narrow legs of his pants.

— I'm afraid I cannot do that, Your Highness, — the woman’s voice rang through the air like the echo of a distant bell. — Everything is happening as foretold.

Bill froze, feeling the cold wind slip under his loose shirt, brushing against unexpectedly sensitive skin.

— What do you mean, foretold?! I’m just a tourist, I… — Bill swallowed hard, feeling his voice tremble, rising too high. He grabbed a fistful of his shirt, trying not to think about how strangely it now clung to his body, especially around his chest. — I just came to Scotland! I… I don’t even know how I ended up here!

The Maiden of the Mists didn’t change her expression. Her cold eyes seemed to look through him, piercing to the bone, stirring a strange, unpleasant feeling—like something foreign inside him had been awakening for a long time, and now… now it had finally broken free.

— Your Highness, — she said softly, and there was sorrow in her voice, almost regret. — You are here because your path led you here.

— Path? But I… — Bill fell silent again, unwilling to believe that the maiden was even partially right. When he had planned his trip to Scotland, Bill had only dreamed of admiring the harsh landscapes of the Highlands, which he had long yearned to see. However, when his plane landed at Edinburgh Airport, something strange had stirred inside him. He couldn’t describe it — it was something between nostalgia and a premonition of what was to come. Something had unsettled him, pushing him toward a decision he hadn’t even realized he was making. He had rented a car and left the city, not following his itinerary, but rather some inner call he couldn’t resist.

Three days he roamed the winding roads of Scotland, obsessed with that strange feeling. The mountains grew taller, the roads narrower, the landscapes wilder and untouched. More than once, he had tried to turn back, to return to civilization, but something inside him kept stopping him.

And then—there was the stone circle.

Those ancient monoliths stood like silent sentinels of time when, without even realizing it, he stepped into their center. A flash of light, a burst of energy, the voice of the Maiden of the Mists—and now he stood here as a woman.

— For fifteen hundred years, — the woman spoke again, — the king and queen of the past have been reborn—body after body, century after century—along with their court, preparing for the day when their land would need them once more. That day is near. Alliances are crumbling. People turn against each other. Brother hates brother. Soon, open war will begin. The land is nearing its hour of greatest need.

A deep, monotonous hum filled the air, as if the very earth had begun to breathe, awakening something ancient, powerful, and long lost to time. Bill froze, feeling the vibrations resonate through his new body—his new female body. The hum pulsed through him, making his breasts jiggle and tremble, a stark reminder that they were now a part of him.

The Maiden of the Mists stepped back to the center of the stone circle, her glow fading as she slowly dissolved among the ancient monoliths.

— Long ago, Aedan the Stone forged these lands into a single kingdom. Soon, your memories will return, Elinor, and you will take your place by his side, as you once did, — the Maiden of the Mists finished, her voice now just an echo in the cool air.

Bill took a step forward, but the ground beneath him trembled, as if warning him. He felt both hot and cold at the same time. In his chest—where there had once been nothing but the familiar flatness—there was now weight. Warm, soft, foreign. He shifted, and something under his shirt swayed gently, reacting to the slightest movement.

He froze, glancing down as if hoping it was an illusion, but no… Two round shapes, painfully sensitive to the air, pressed against the fabric.

— Holy fuck… — he breathed, and again, that fucking female voice!

He snatched at the collar of his shirt, yanking it down—just enough to see the two soft, bare mounds, hanging freely where there had once been nothing. They hung as if they had always been there, bouncing slightly from his nervous movements, reacting even to the tiniest shift.

His hand—small, soft, delicate—found its way down first to his stomach, now smooth and flat, but that wasn’t the real concern. He hesitated. He was afraid. Afraid to lower his hand any further.

But then, gathering every ounce of willpower, he shoved his hand past the waistband of his pants.

His heart plunged into the abyss.

Bill jerked back as if burned, but the sensations were too real, too unfamiliar to be an illusion. There was nothing there. Just the smoothness of skin, the softness, the warmth of something he had never touched like this before.

— No… no, no, no… — he gasped, struggling to breathe as if he had just been punched in the gut.

He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it.

But the knowledge had already sunk into his bones. It was part of him now.

Everything was different. He was different.

He. She.

He staggered back, tripping, nearly falling. His hair—long, soft, rebellious—brushed against his neck, his shoulders, his face. He nervously tucked it behind his ears.

— This is a dream… just a fucking dream… — he whispered, lifting his head toward the sky while the wind, rising in mere seconds, tore through his long hair, whipping it around him.

The Maiden of the Mists was gone, but her words echoed in his mind:

"Soon, your memories will return, Elinor…"