My maid Marie

Part 1

The grand hall of our villa was filled with the warm light of the setting sun, streaming through the tall arched windows. Lavender reflections stretched across the expensive carpets, weaving twilight shades into their patterns, while the crystal chandelier caught the glow, scattering flickering highlights on the walls. The dark wood furniture, adorned with exquisite carvings, was a legacy of my family, passed down through generations. I remember running through this hall as a child, hiding behind the heavy curtains, feeling the cold marble floor under my bare feet. But now, I stood motionless, leaning over an antique lacquered black box, adorned with golden patterns.

My name is Alex. Alex von Hoffmann, born twenty-two years ago with a silver spoon in my mouth. My lineage traces back to an old aristocratic line, and though titles don’t mean much these days, we still have privilege and wealth. I never gave much thought to family heirlooms, but this box was special. Inside it lay a medallion—ancient, with a ruby at its center, intricate patterns carved into its golden frame. I had seen it a few times before, knowing it was just one of many expensive trinkets in our family’s possession. But not long ago, my late grandfather whispered something to me, barely audible, just before he left this world behind.

"Touch it with your pinky, think of the one you wish to switch bodies with, and say: Virtus in sanguine…" — he gasped, his words broken by labored, raspy breaths, before his final exhale melted into silence.

At first, I was convinced it was nothing more than the delirious ramblings of a dying man, already staring into the light at the end of the tunnel. But when I first tested its power, I realized my grandfather hadn’t lied. The medallion worked exactly as he said: a touch with the pinky, a focused thought on a person, a whisper of the ancient words—and the world turned upside down.

I had already used it. A few times. At first, cautiously—on strangers, random people encountered in safe conditions. Each return to my own body was accompanied by a strange sensation: a slight dizziness, but most importantly—complete serenity from the person who had taken my place. But the most crucial part—none of them remembered I had ever been inside them. They lived, breathed, moved, convinced that everything I did in their bodies had been their own actions. I could do whatever I wanted, and no one would ever know.

And for obvious reasons, I never told anyone about it. Not even my parents. I don’t know why my grandfather left this secret to me instead of his own son, but I suppose the old man saw something more in me. And I think he made the right choice.

But today, I was unbearably bored, and I smirked as I gazed at the antique box. I could feel the corners of my lips curling up—slowly, lazily, in anticipation. A sharp, unpleasant pang shot through my heart—brief, cold, like a needle under my ribs. I tensed but quickly brushed off the sensation. It had been happening lately, but I wasn’t about to pay attention to minor inconveniences.

The medallion.

My precious little toy, capable of turning other people's lives into a theater where I was both the director and the sole audience. Today, I had something special in mind. Random people on the street had become dull—their lives too ordinary, the swaps too monotonous. But someone close, someone within my own surroundings… Now, that would be much more interesting.

Slowly, I opened the box, and in the dim evening light, the ruby in the medallion ignited with a warm, fiery glow. As always, it called to me, pulled me in, lured me—and I didn’t resist.

Marie.

A Latin maid who had been working in our house for three years now. Petite, slender, with dark hair always pulled into a tight bun and keen brown eyes, she carried herself quietly, respectfully, yet there was a hidden pride in her, a stubborn resilience that irritated me. She was obedient, but not servile. She followed orders, but never groveled.

That amused me.

And today, I was going to play a little trick on her. Just a little.

She was cleaning downstairs—I could hear the floor creaking under her steps. I sank into the chair, placed the box on a nearby table, and stretched my hand to the side, letting my pinky lazily brush against the medallion. In my mind, I pictured her face, her slender hands, the familiar faint scent of citrus soap.

– Virtus in sanguine…

Part 2

The world jerked, as if someone had suddenly shoved me in the back. My head spun, and a black-and-red mosaic flared before my eyes. Then came that almost familiar sensation—like someone was grabbing me and literally yanking me out of my body. Sharp, fast, but always unexpected.

For a second, I saw my own body from above, sprawled lazily in a chair with a frozen smirk on its face. But barely a moment later, I was pulled forward, and in that instant, the space around me lost its clarity. I've done this more than once, yet it still catches me off guard every time. It was like watching the landscape outside a train window as it picks up speed—shapes were still recognizable, but they were no longer static; they rushed, blended, became unreal.

And then, suddenly, everything collapsed. The world snapped back into focus.

The sharp scent of lemon cleaning solution tickled my nose, warm air clogged my throat. My hands—thin, slender, with long fingers—were gripping the wooden handle of a vacuum cleaner in a tense grasp. I was standing slightly bent over, feeling the unpleasant stiffness in my back, while some light instrumental melody with Spanish motifs played faintly in my ears through my headphones.

Immediately, I felt the strong pressure of a bra strap digging into my shoulders, pressing into my skin with an unfamiliar tightness, sliding lower to wrap around my chest and squeeze it so snugly that I instantly wanted to rip the damn thing off. I could feel how it cut into my skin, and my breasts—even though they weren’t that big—still trembled slightly inside it with every breath, as if they didn’t belong to me.

A black knee-length dress covered my body, complete with a white apron and a sash, its fabric brushing against my legs. And underneath… stockings?

I straightened up—only to feel the bra straps dig even more uncomfortably into my shoulders. Damn, this is weird. I've swapped bodies with girls before, but come on, Marie, do you wear uncomfortable shit like this on purpose?

The vacuum was still humming in my hands, its vibrations unpleasantly buzzing through my palms. Yeah, what a joke. Smirking, I reached up and yanked my headphones off, feeling the cheap plastic tangle slightly in my hair. In the same instant, the dull, monotonous roar of the vacuum cleaner slammed into my ears.

"Jesus, why the hell are you so damn loud?!" I scowled, mentally addressing the vacuum as I fumbled for the cord. The machine jerked but didn’t stop. Annoyed, I grabbed the button on the handle and pressed it—but the damned thing kept roaring, deafening me.

— Maldita sea! — I muttered involuntarily, and my tongue immediately twisted. What the hell? I tried cursing again, but instead of my usual sharp English, something came out in a mix of Spanish and some oddly accented gibberish.

I tensed.

But before I could fully process it, a loud male scream rang out from upstairs.

— Oh my God, what the fuck is this?! — That was my voice.

I grinned, imagining Marie’s reaction in my body. Still, something twisted in my chest, a bad feeling pulsed somewhere deep in my consciousness—but I brushed it off. Nah, it’s nothing. I’ll just… head upstairs and enjoy watching my maid freak out in my body.

Part 3

I yanked the vacuum cleaner’s plug from the socket, cutting off the irritating hum, and hurried toward the staircase. My black ballet flats made muffled sounds against the parquet as I clung to the railing with slender fingers, moving upward. I could feel my hips shifting differently, the fabric of the dress wrapping around my legs, and those damn stockings uncomfortably tightening against my skin. With each step, the breasts under the bra bounced slightly, creating a strange sensation—like something inside me was moving on its own, beyond my control. How do women even put up with this?

I took another step up and suddenly realized—I was thinking in Spanish?! How was that even possible? And not just that—I had even cursed… not in my own language. Automatically, without thinking.

— Madre de Dios… — I muttered under my breath and instantly froze.

Yep, that was Spanish. Whoa. So the medallion didn’t just swap bodies—it exchanged some skills too? I made a mental note—this was something worth looking into later. Right now, I just wanted to have fun and then switch back quickly because this body was seriously starting to piss me off.

But none of that mattered anymore the moment I found myself in front of the door to the very same hall I had been in just minutes ago. With anticipation and a wide grin, I reached for the doorknob but hesitated for a second. I had to wipe that stupid smirk off my face and try to look distressed, or else it wouldn’t be as fun. I wanted to take this joke all the way, and for that, I needed to play the part of Mari.

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the suffocating tightness of the bra, which seemed to be squeezing not just my chest but my very soul. I tugged at the hem of the dress to straighten it and ran my hands down the sides of the apron as if adjusting it. All of this felt so bizarre. But there was no time for reflection—I had a performance to put on.

I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

For a brief moment, all I saw was the luxurious twilight light playing on the crystal chandelier. But then my gaze locked onto the center of the room, where, on the carpet, next to the armchair where I had left my body, stood… me. Or rather, Mari in my body.

She was clutching her chest—MY chest—her hands trembling, her face paler than white. Her eyes darted around like a trapped animal’s, her breath came in frantic gasps, and her lips silently formed words. And then, suddenly, she raised her shaking fingers to her face, as if unable to believe what was happening.

— Oh my God… — she rasped in my voice, and at that moment, her gaze landed on me.

I barely managed to play along with the scene: I straightened up, clasped my hands in front of me like a proper maid, and put on a concerned expression, as if I had just accidentally walked in and had no idea what was going on.

But the effect…

God, the effect was magnificent.

— What?! What the hell is this?! That’s me?! — she screamed in panic, suddenly stumbling backward, nearly tripping over the chair leg. Her hands trembled, her fingers twitched as they pointed at me, and her mouth struggled to form words, but nothing came out. It was obvious she was desperately trying to find some explanation for what was happening to her—but she was in complete and utter shock.

Part 4

I looked at her, suppressing a smirk, trying to keep my face concerned but composed. After all, I was Mari, and Mari didn’t allow herself to lose control. Though if she were in her own body right now, I was sure she’d look just as shocked.

— Señor… señor Hoffman? — I tilted my head slightly, feigning concern, and took a step forward as if I were about to help her. — You… is something wrong?

She swayed, glanced down at her hands again, then at her legs, at her breasts. Slowly, she ran her fingers over her face, along her cheekbones. And then, in a sudden motion, she grabbed her head, as if squeezing her eyes shut could somehow wake her up.

— Is… is this a dream? — she whispered. — I don’t… I…

She couldn’t finish. Her breathing grew uneven, her face turned even paler.

That’s when I tensed. She was reacting too strongly. Usually, people in a different body got confused, panicked, but she looked outright terrified.

I cautiously stepped closer.

— S-señor? — I stammered, playing the part of a bewildered girl.

She snapped her gaze to me. There was horror in her eyes. Pure, raw horror.

— Who are you?! — she shouted, pointing a finger at me. — W-what’s happening?! This is my body! But this… this… — Her voice broke.

I was just about to clear everything up and savor my moment of triumph when she suddenly grabbed her breasts.

— Shit… I… it hurts, — she whispered.

I flinched.

— What? — I asked, instantly grimacing at the sound of my own voice. I could feel the accent, feel how the words rolled off my lips in a strange way. God, Mari, do you really have such a strong accent?

But in the next second, I forgot all about that.

— It hurts, — she exhaled.

Her fingers clenched into fists, she leaned forward, her breathing turned ragged.

I stepped closer, momentarily forgetting my act.

— Hey, está bien. Ahora… ahora I’ll explain everything, — I shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. — It’s just a pequeña joke. You know… yo… I decided to have un poco de fun…

But Mari wasn’t listening. Her lips trembled, her skin turned deathly pale, sweat broke out on her forehead.

— No… no, no, no… — she muttered, her voice breaking, catching on quiet sobs.

And then she choked.

I froze.

— Mari? — I was genuinely starting to worry now, not even trying to hide it.

But Mari didn’t respond. She staggered forward, took one step, then another. Her legs gave out.

I barely managed to catch her before she collapsed to the floor.

— ¡Maldita sea! — I gasped.

My body. MY body. It lay lifeless in my arms. I could feel her fingers trembling, her chest barely rising with breath. Fuck, she was losing consciousness.

— Ey, ey, Mari! — I shook her, but nothing changed. Her, damn MY, body lay still, her skin even paler, her lips taking on a strange bluish tint. A cold shiver ran down my spine. No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I just wanted to play a little joke! It was supposed to be a small, harmless joke!

But instead, Mari, in my body, was suffocating.

Part 5

Her fingers, still clutching her breast, suddenly went limp, and her hand fell lifelessly to the floor.

— No, no, no! — I gasped in panic, instinctively grabbing her—my, for fuck’s sake—shoulders and shaking them. — Mari! Wake up! It’s… it’s just… una broma, sí, a… a joke, ¿entiendes? A stupid… uh… sin sentido… ah, senseless joke! I… I will fix… todo… everything ahora mismo! (right now!)

An ambulance! I needed to call an ambulance immediately because I had no idea what to do in a situation like this! I couldn’t die, and I couldn’t stay in Mari’s body! A burning sensation in my chest made me feel like I was trapped with no way out. This was just a joke! Harmless! A simple prank, just a way to have fun… and now I was watching as my own lips lost color and my breathing grew weaker.

— Oh Dios mío, no te mueras, por favor! (Oh my god, don't die, please) — I lunged toward the table where the phone lay, but my fingers were shaking so badly I could barely hold it. Call an ambulance! Now! Fucking phone!

I grabbed the receiver, but my cursed thin fingers slipped, and the device fell with a dull thud onto the floor. My mind was a mess. My breathing was erratic, and my heart was pounding so hard it felt like my chest was about to burst.

I collapsed onto my knees, frantically snatched up the phone, clenched my teeth, and tried to punch in the emergency number. My pale—MY—head lay lifelessly on the carpet, lips turning blue, breathing becoming rarer. I could feel myself trembling, my thin, feminine fingers clutching the device as darkness clouded my vision from panic.

— ¿¡PERO QÉ MIERDA!? (WHAT THE HELL?!) — burst out of me. But the voice… Oh God, that voice. High, feminine, with that damn Spanish.

Finally, I managed to press the right buttons. The dial tone. Once. Twice.

— Emergency services, how can I help? — a calm voice answered.

— Por favor, rápido, rápido! — I blurted out, then immediately stumbled. No, wrong! Fuck, I was even thinking in Spanish now! — Ah, help… Señor, here… he is bad! He very bad, need help! — I coughed, trying to swallow that damned accent, but it wouldn’t go away—it was part of me now.

— Uh… Miss? What happened? Who is bad? Where are you? — the operator asked, steady, almost emotionless.

— Ah… von Hoffmann, the von Hoffmann estate, rápido!!! — I spat out hastily, feeling myself shaking. My palms were sweaty, my fingers barely holding onto the phone.

— Miss, please calm down. What happened? — The operator’s voice was detached, too calm for the situation I was in.

I shut my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts. Words in my head kept switching between Spanish and English, tangling like a mess of threads.

— He… He no… no… — I stammered, my thin, high, foreign voice trembling, breaking into a rasp. — No respira… no… ah, he not… not breathing! ¡Rápido, por favor!

— Your last name?

— Hoffmann! — I blurted out, then froze. No, I wasn’t Hoffmann! Not anymore…

— Mari, — I breathed out. — My name is Mari, I’m a maid at the von Hoffmann big house!

I froze. It was the truth. Right now, I really was Mari. Fuck.

— Alright, Miss Mari, the paramedics are on their way. You need to stay with the patient, check if he’s breathing…

I clutched the phone, my breathing hitched. Everything was happening too fast. My head, my chest, my hands… Still motionless, still pale, cold.

No, no, no! This can’t be real!

I dropped to my knees beside my own body.

— Fuck, Mari, wake up! — Forgetting everything else, I grabbed her—my—shoulders and shook her. Her head lolled back lifelessly, her lips still pale.

I knew what I had to do.

Tilting her head back sharply, I pried her mouth open, pressed my trembling fingers over her nose, and took a deep breath before sealing my lips over my own.

I never thought I’d have to kiss myself.

— ¡Respira, maldita seas! (Breathe, goddamn you!) — I sobbed.

The world blurred, blood pounded in my ears. I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes as I clutched her shoulders.

— ¡No puedes morir! (You can’t die!) — I squeezed her fingers, feeling how cold they had already become. — ¡Esto solo era un juego! ¡No puede terminar así! (This was just a game! It can’t end like this!)

I bent down again, inhaled, tried to breathe life into her, but nothing.

Silence.

Deafening, ringing, hopeless silence.

— No… — I whispered, my fingers trembling. — Mari…

Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.

Part 6

A month later.

The loud melody of the alarm clock jolted me awake—sudden, sharp, and as always, completely unexpected. I instinctively swung my arm in the direction of the irritating noise, slamming the button off with a groan. The abrupt movement sent an unpleasant, almost painful jolt through my tits. God, again. I groaned, fumbling for the damned alarm clock and smacking it with my palm. It finally fell silent, but the ringing still echoed in my head, pounding unpleasantly in my temples. Too early. Again.

Like a scene in slow motion, I cracked my eyes open, only to squeeze them shut immediately as weak light seeped through the thin curtains, stabbing at my pupils. The room was small and narrow, furnished with the bare minimum—a narrow bed, a wooden wardrobe, a chipped mirror above a simple dresser, and a nightstand. Everything was plain, modest, like something ripped straight out of another, poorer world. And now, this was my world.

I rolled onto my side with a sharp breath, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. The shift made the weight of my breasts shift as well, the skin pulling beneath the thin fabric of my nightgown, my nipples brushing against the rough sheets with a painful twinge. Fuck. Clenching my teeth, I forced myself to ignore the sensation and swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor with an unpleasant sting.

Somewhere outside, the first hints of morning light were beginning to creep through, casting thin streaks on the floorboards. The clock on the nightstand read 5:30 AM. This hell again. Another day of waking up, of dragging myself through this endless, exhausting routine.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts, but instead, a familiar, unwelcome sensation clenched in my lower stomach—menstruation. As if I didn’t already have enough problems. Irritated, I rubbed my forehead, pulling my knees up slightly, but the movement only made the dull ache in my abdomen worse. Everything ached, throbbed, and my tits… fuck, my tits hurt. What a nightmare. I never thought I’d ever say those words in my life.

The room was still dim, the light outside a dull, grayish pre-dawn glow. Half an hour before work. Half an hour to get myself together, get dressed, make the bed, and head downstairs to start yet another day of monotonous, backbreaking routine.

– Maldita sea… (Damn it...) – I muttered, pushing myself up and fumbling for the light switch. The dim, yellowish glow flickered on, casting jittery shadows against the peeling walls. Now I could see myself in the mirror hanging above the dresser.

Dark hair—messy, tangled, falling in disheveled strands over my shoulders. Eyes—brown, tired, shadowed with dark circles. Skin—tanned but slightly pale from lack of sleep. My skin was thin, stretched, and my lips… somehow too full. And, of course, those damn curves on my chest, still feeling so foreign to me. The nightgown clung to them, my nipples pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. Annoyed, I yanked it off, exposing this cursed body.

My breasts shifted slightly as I moved. Not much—they weren’t massive—but just enough to make me want to bind them down or, hell, get rid of them altogether if that were an option. Fuck. Every morning for the past month, I had woken up to this reminder that I was no longer Alex von Hoffmann. That I was no longer a man. That I was trapped in this… fragile, ridiculous body of a maid.

I exhaled heavily and, before getting dressed, reached for the bottom shelf of the dresser. Tucked beneath spare aprons was a slim package of sanitary pads. Yeah, periods. As if my life wasn’t hellish enough. I scowled, grabbed one, stripped off my nightgown, and headed toward the tiny bathroom. The icy tiles bit into my feet with each step.

Part 7

Over this past month, I had gotten used to a lot of things. Used to waking up in this cramped room. Used to walking on tiptoes so as not to make noise when I went downstairs early in the morning. Used to speaking with an accent that had now become a part of me. Used to the unfamiliar face in the mirror.

But nothing had prepared me for this.

It started a week ago, and it still hasn’t stopped… I need to get my body back. I can’t live like this for the rest of my life.

I let out a quiet groan while struggling with the damned sticky tape, gritting my teeth. Then I straightened up, quickly washed my face with ice-cold water to wake myself up, and went back to the room, where I wasted no time pulling on my uniform.

First—the underwear. I took clean panties and a bra from the dresser, and that’s when I grimaced again. The bra. That fucking bra. The straps digging into my shoulders, the tight band squeezing my breasts. I shoved them into place as best as I could and fastened the hooks on my back, feeling an instant stab of discomfort. It was a little too tight—maybe my breasts had swollen a bit from my period—and that was just another unpleasant little thing added to my pile of misery.

The dress. Black, with a white collar. The white apron, which I carefully tied at the back. The black flats, which I slipped onto my thin, feminine feet. And, of course, the cap. I sighed, looking into the mirror before neatly tucking my dark hair under this symbol of submission.

Alex von Hoffmann? No. Now, I am Marie. A simple maid in a wealthy house.

I grabbed the pocket watch lying on the dresser and glanced at the clock face. 5:45. I had fifteen minutes before I had to go downstairs—before I had to start carrying trays, clearing tables, polishing silver, and doing all the endless chores that were now my life.

But the worst part wasn’t the work. The worst part was them. My parents. Or rather, the people who were now Lord and Lady von Hoffmann to me.

A month ago, when “Alex” fell into a coma, they wasted no time getting rid of me. I remember standing before them in the hall, my head bowed, my hands clenched. I remember listening to their cold, distant voices.

– We don’t need maids who bring misfortune, – Lord von Hoffmann’s voice was steady, but there was clear disgust in it.

– But we can’t just throw her out, – Lady von Hoffmann objected. – She was the only one there, and even if she claims she had nothing to do with it, we can’t trust her. We need to find out what happened. So until Alex wakes up… we can’t fire her.

I remember how I fought to keep from trembling, how fear screamed inside me.

– If my son doesn’t wake up, – Lord von Hoffmann continued, – you’ll pay for it. We will make your life unbearable. Or, if necessary, we’ll throw you in prison.

That was the first time I had truly felt powerless, completely at their mercy. If only I still had access to the medallion, maybe I could have done something. But they had taken all the jewelry from the room and hidden it somewhere beyond my reach.

I knew I couldn’t tell the truth, though part of me considered trying. But I was almost certain they wouldn’t believe me, and that would only make things worse. They could do whatever they wanted to me now. But as long as "Alex" remained in a coma, they had decided to keep me. As a maid. As their personal punching bag.

And so, here I stood before the mirror, in this uniform, with unfamiliar eyes staring back at me, with a foreign voice on my tongue.

All I had left was waiting.

Waiting for the moment when Alex would open his eyes. When he would speak. And when, maybe… just maybe, I could fix everything and become myself again.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Time to work.