(Caption) The Postgirl

He had lost his job. As he left home in the morning, he saw a note taped to a utility pole at the street corner. It read, "Hiring mail carrier. Preferably a young girl, but others may be considered." He stood there for a moment, memorized the address, and went to the old building at the time written on the paper.

The door was opened by a woman in uniform. She didn't say much, only handed him a heavy mailbag and said, "Deliver these letters. If you finish the route, you've passed the interview."

He nodded, slung the bag over his shoulder, and walked out. There were about a dozen letters inside, and he began delivering them according to the addresses.

The first letter was to the third floor of an old apartment building. He climbed the stairs and handed it to the recipient. At the moment the letter left his hands, his hair lightened slightly in color and grew a bit longer. He didn't notice and continued on.

The second letter went to a flower shop. By the time he stepped inside, his hair had reached his shoulders, now a soft shade of pink. A strand dangled beside his cheek under the brim of his cap. He raised a hand to brush it aside, thinking the wind had blown it loose.

When he stepped out of the flower shop, his shirt had changed color, and a black silk ribbon bow appeared at the collar. Over it was a snugly fitted red cape, neatly fastened at the shoulders with small golden emblems. As he walked, his shoes gradually transformed into black heeled ankle boots. The leather shone sleekly, adorned with metal buckles and fine, crisscrossed laces that climbed to the top of the tall boot shafts. The heels rose, and with each step came a clear, rhythmic clacking sound.

After the fourth letter was delivered, a pair of white lace cuffs appeared at his wrists. His skin became smooth and fair. His glasses quietly changed shape, their frame now round and delicate, with a faint pink shimmer.

As he continued the deliveries, his shorts had become a black-and-white pleated skirt, over which lay a lacy apron trimmed with frills. He moved naturally through the streets, the hem of the skirt swaying softly with each step. He didn't notice the change in his legs—long black thigh-high stockings now tightly hugged his calves and thighs, with pale gray lace edging at the tops. The fabric was finely textured, snug and supple. The stockings flowed seamlessly into his boots, and as he walked, the glossy material caught glints of sunlight, flickering faintly.

By the time he delivered the eighth letter, a gold ribbon had appeared on his cap, centered with a gold emblem and a feather gently fluttering from the side. His hairstyle had become a pair of symmetrical twin tails, bouncing lightly with every movement.

The final letter went to a rooftop balcony. It was a dovecote, and pigeons flapped around him as he approached. When he placed the letter into the mailbox, his fingers were slender and elegant, the nails neatly trimmed and softly pink. As he bent forward, the skirt draped down, revealing where the stocking clung closely to his upper thigh. The lace trim at the edge was tidy, shifting slightly with the motion of his body.

As he descended the stairs, the heels of his boots tapped against the steps in a steady rhythm. The hem of his skirt swayed with his stride, and the cape brushed lightly against his arms. His entire posture had softened; he walked with graceful ease, his gestures light and flowing. His calves were firmly sheathed in stockings, the fit flawless, and each step settled smoothly into the high heels with not the slightest hint of discomfort.

He returned to the old building and pushed open the door. The woman who had given him the bag was still there. She looked at him and smiled, saying, "Well done, miss. You did a great job."

The postgirl nodded without a word. Her cap sat firmly atop her head, twin tails falling naturally to either side. The cape rested neatly over her shoulders. Her high-heeled boots were perfectly aligned, and the stockings extended seamlessly from the boot tops to the hem of her skirt, her entire appearance immaculate.

She accepted the official mailbag, stood at the threshold, looked out toward the street, and prepared to set out.