(Caption) Prison Maid

He knew from the very beginning that this place was entirely different from any prison he'd been to. This "special prison," as it was called, had warned of some kind of "special transformation," but never in his wildest imagination did he think it would be this extreme.

The first step was his hair. Once messy and rough, it was now being carefully groomed, strand by strand, until it shone with a smooth, silky luster. His hair was dyed a deep black with streaks of purple, fading to pink at the tips. To add more volume, extensions were applied, making his hair flow down to his waist, cascading in sleek waves.

Next came the makeup. The makeup artists worked with expert precision, transforming his face into a flawless porcelain doll. Foundation spread smoothly over his skin, covering every imperfection, and his eyebrows were reshaped and colored to form a graceful arch. Eyeshadow in shades of purple and crimson, matching his hair, was expertly blended onto his eyelids, creating a mysterious, alluring look. Each eyelash was meticulously curled, long and thick, and eyeliner traced delicate lines, making his eyes appear deep and captivating. Finally, a glossy coat of rose-red lip gloss was applied to his lips, leaving them shimmering with a seductive glow.

When he saw the dress, he realized there was no escape. The dress slipped over his body, the soft fabric clinging to his skin. The corset cinched tightly around his waist, accentuating an hourglass figure, while lace trim along the bodice highlighted his curves, making him look strikingly seductive. The skirt, just long enough to cover mid-thigh, revealed his slender legs. Then came the black thigh-high stockings, their sheer fabric encasing his legs, tightening as they hugged his skin, giving him a strange feeling of confinement. He could feel the stockings brush against his skin with every step, an inescapable sensation that followed him everywhere.

Finally, the staff presented him with a pair of purple high heels. The slender heels were exquisitely designed, almost as if they had been tailored just for him. The shoes slipped on effortlessly, their heels adding height, forcing him to straighten his posture. Every step he took echoed with the distinct click of the heels, enhancing his elegance with each movement.

The "she" in the mirror stood gracefully, a far cry from the defiant person he once was. The transformation was complete. Her movements were no different from those of any other maid who lived here for a long time—naturally graceful, even delicate. It was at that moment the prison warden stepped in, coldly informing her, "You must learn to become a maid in every way. Resistance will only make things harder for you." She didn’t respond, knowing resistance was useless.

A year later, the prison welcomed external inspectors. The maids lined up neatly along the corridor, all of them polite, smiling, and graceful. And she—he, once a fierce resister—stood at the front, offering a sweet smile and bowing in greeting. The maid uniform fit her body perfectly, black stockings still tightly hugging her legs, and those same purple high heels clicked confidently on the polished floor with every elegant step. She handed the inspector a cup of coffee, her voice sweet and soft: "Master, your coffee. Please enjoy." After the inspectors left, the warden nodded, signaling her to step back. She quietly thanked him and withdrew.

Years later, she was released. Standing outside a maid café, wearing a nearly identical outfit, she smiled and bowed to greet customers, her movements practiced and familiar. The customers praised her service, calling her gentle and attentive. The same purple heels still clicked beneath her feet, every step is a repetition of the past.

In the end, she had fully become this identity.