The aroma of brownies.

She shut the door. Closed the blinds. Cast a slight smile at the dog dozing on the floor.

It was then that her transformation could begin.

Throwing open the closet door she reached in, pushing aside blouses, t-shirts, pants, skirts until she found them.

The pinstripes.

She snagged a loose blouse to accompany them, a roll of bandages in hand.

Twenty minutes later, a new person stood. Her chest hurt, the bandages cut into her flesh. But she felt more complete than she had ever before. She felt the pinprick of tears as she stared, glassy-eyed, into the mirror. Hair combed neatly to one side, back straight, feet flat.

She felt right.

As she undressed, pulling on pajamas, the tears came.

She didn't understand. Why? Why did she have to leave the wonderful, warm feeling of completeness to crawl back into this? She sat, counting her toes, paying attention to the way they curled against the cold carpet.

The door opened. Mother.

"What's wrong?" She murmured, a look of concern crossing her face. She told her.

"Maybe a brownie will make you feel better? With or without nuts, dear?" With, she said, halfheartedly.

She was left alone with the brownie in hand. Taking a bite, warmth began to crawl through her system.





It wasn't the same, but it would do.