Echos of the Arctic

Lauren was a Canadian young woman with conservative views on many subjects. One day she was coming back home after a long day at work when she casually bumped into a street protest of a group of Inuit activists.
“There’s something about indigenous people I can’t really stand! – she murmured – They tend to blame us for their troubles they have now for something that happened hundreds of years ago! It’s ridiculous, can’t they see they are the origin of their own problems?”.
Then she added, in a louder tone: “You guys need to understand that world doesn’t revolve around you! Just go get a job!”
An Inuit old woman heard these comments and understood the kind of person Lauren really was. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly to calm down her rage. Something had to be don’t to teach a lesson to the young lady. Something that would make her feel a deeper connection to the land her people were inhabiting and to the cultures that originated there. She summoned the spirits of her ancestors and cast a spell on the young lady.
Lauren barely noticed the old lady and at first, nothing really happened, but then her blonde hair gradually darkened to a full brown color, and also grew longer.

When she bumped into a friend of her, Lauren noticed an expression of surprise in her friend’s face as she saw her.
“What’s the matter, Jane? Everything ok?”
“Oh, I was just surprised you decided to dye your hair! Don’t get me wrong, it looks great in you but you have always been the blonde one, so it’s unusual to see you as a brunette!”
“What do you mean, I dyed my hair? What…” – as she said so, Lauren grabbed a streak of hair and to her shock the color seemed indeed much darker than it was just a few minutes before, when she checked herself in her apartment.
“Uh, weird, it must be the light, I definitely haven’t dyed my hair darker, way would I do something like that?”. Her friend kindly nodded, without understanding the reason behind the apparent lie. That was definitely not her natural hair – she thought – maybe it’s a bet or something like that and she doesn’t feel like talking about it…
The two friends separated and Lauren forgot about the whole thing.
In the meanwhile, the progress of Lauren’s change was speeding up, with her hair turning dark brown and her face being affected too, her green eyes becoming brown and her facial features shifting to a different person’s.

When Lauren arrived back home, she began getting ready for a tinder date she had been looking forward to for the whole day when she froze doing her makeup. Her reflection was completely off! After all, it wasn’t just the lighting, her hair had indeed turned brown! To complete the look, her eyes had also changed color as she was now sporting two doe brown eyes.
“What happened to my hair? And my eyes!”
She was still processing what was going on, her mind racing, searching for a possible explanation, when she suddenly remembered the old Inuit lady.
“The old hag! She must have done something to me! Oh my Lord, no! Please, forgive me, I’ll donate in support of your people, I’ll do anything to stop this!” – she said, trying to somehow change the old Inuit lady’s mind.
Nothing happened. She still looked the same: an attractive brown-eyed brunette. “I don’t really get the meaning of this, I miss my blonde hair but I could always dye my hair lighter, and wear color contacts to cover these dark eyes she gave me…” as Lauren was thinking this, a sudden headache made it clear to her that the changes weren’t over. The headache quickly spread to her forehead, eye sockets and nose.

“My face… It’s shifting into a different shape!” – she screamed, anticipating what was stored for her next.
Her skull began to change shape, giving her a broad, flat face and beautiful slanted eyes. On top of that, her hair darkened further to a jet black color and got longer and wavy. Her skin tone got slightly more tanned and slightly yellowish in hue.
When she finally checked herself in the mirror one last time, she whispered in disbelief: “They… They turned me into one of them!”.
As she saw this, the mirror suddenly vanished, as did her entire apartment, replaced by a simple tent made of caribou skin. “Tupiq” – she inexplicably murmured, without knowing how did she know the correct word for that sort of tent.
“Qanuq uqausiq atuqtauva?” – What language is this?- she asked out loud, freaking out at her apparently inability to speak English, or French, or any other language she had ever studied. Her tongue and brain were betraying her. Inuktitut seemed to be the only option available to her. She left the tent to breathe some fresh air and as she did, her outfit changed into a traditional Inuit woman’s festive attire, full with earrings and a necklace.

The landscape around her had changed too, going from the modern city she used to live in to a snow-covered tundra. Other tents similar to the one close to her could be spotted in the distance with her suddenly sharp vision. It looked too beautiful and well-preserved to be any present-day Inuit community. As incredible as it seemed, this was not the year 2023 anymore, but the 19th century at the latest, with little or no way to find that out exactly anyway. On the other hand, after having seen her own body turn into that of an Inuit young woman, she could now believe in anything.
As the mental changes sped up, Lauren felt a deep connection to the land, sea, and ice her ancestors had been inhabiting for thousands of years. She recalled the stories of the old people from her village and the close-knit community living there, with the elders teaching all sorts of traditions to the youngsters.
The name Atiqtalik gradually replaced hers in her altered memory as the last sign of her lost identity vanished from her mind.
A handsome young Inuit man suddenly appeared from the bushes. That sight made her smile in anticipation of her big day coming ahead. Everything clicked in that moment, she was going to start her happy new life as a married woman and she couldn’t ask for anything more from life!

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The fabulous destiny of Amelie

Amelie, a well-off French girl, had a secret romance with Driss, a Moroccan man hailing from the notorious suburbs of Paris known as the banlieues. She liked him for who he was, regardless of the cultural and social divide that separated them. This divide, in fact, intensified their relationship, as it felt like they were embracing something forbidden. However, her affluent parents, heirs to a renowned Parisian fashion empire, would never accept to see their daughter marrying a Moroccan man from the suburbs.
To be fair, Driss was experiencing a similar problem, as his family wouldn’t welcome the idea of him marrying a non-Muslim woman from outside North Africa, so both of them knew the odds were stacked against their relationship.
One fateful day, Driss asked an elderly Imam from the French-Moroccan community for his assistance. The following day, the venerable man presented him with a Fatima’s eye pendant to always carry with himself and granted him that, if both lovers were really in love with each other, things would sort out by themselves.

Later that evening day, Driss asked Amelie to meet in downtown Paris. This was unusual, as they usually met around his place, where Amelie was much less likely to be spotted by someone she knew. Also, it gave her some excitement to meet in such a different environment. Nervousness tinged their meeting, as Amelie didn’t want to risk being seen with Driss in an area where her affluent friends might spot them together., but Driss was in a hurry to see her. He did not know what to expect, but he had faith. So, he went straight into the subject.
“Amelie, do you think there’s a chance for us to get married someday?”
Amelie sighed “Driss, you know how I feel about this, I have no problems dating a Moroccan man but my family is extremely conservative, they would never approve of their daughter marrying a Moroccan man. It sucks.” – she added, in despair.
Driss touched the pendant and replied: “So, you truly love me? This isn’t just an adventure?”
Amelie met his gaze, her eyes filled with sincerity. “Of course I love you!” – Amelie replied. As she said that, Driss felt the pendant warming up and vibrate for a second. As that happened, Amelie’s appearance began shifting.

Initially, Driss thought it might be a trick of the lighting, but after a while it became apparent that Amelie was indeed changing.
Her once dark blonde hair deepened to a rich shade of brown, her creamy complexion took on a radiant tan, her dainty nose acquired a touch of Arab ethnicity, and her lips grew fuller.
She was turning Moroccan, just like him! In that way there would be no problems anymore for the two of them! However, the realization hit Driss like a tidal wave – was he willing to change his girlfriend so drastically? This transformation would likely mean the loss of her identity, her family name, and her wealth.
She seemed to ignore the changes, as they went on talking about their relationship.
As Driss’ mind was racing, trying to justify himself for what he was doing to her, the couple was walking away from the city center, and they were heading towards less touristic areas, slightly less safe and clean. As they kept walking, he noticed something remarkable. Her flawless Parisian French was being infused with words from verlain, the slang of the banlieues!

Her clothes had also changed, from the expensive, colourful summer outfit she had before to a simple and cheap black dress.
Eventually, Driss decided to test the extent of her inner changes too.
“Wouldn’t everything be easier if you were Moroccan like me?” he asked.
Amelie blinked and responded with a simple, “Of course.”
“But you are Moroccan, Amina!”
“I… I am?” – Amelie was momentarily perplexed but not entirely surprised. The notion of being Moroccan didn’t seem alien to her at this point. It was more like a memory she had long forgotten. As she gazed at Driss, her once-green eyes began to shift, darkening into a rich brown.
Encouraged by her reaction, Driss continued, creating a fictitious past that he hoped she would soon recognise as her own: “Don’t you recall your childhood in Rabat?”
“I… I do, actually!” the North African-looking girl mumbled, her mind conjuring images of herself as a young girl, playing with other children in the shadow of a mosque.

The memories of her Moroccan childhood swiftly overwrote those of her privileged upbringing as a spoiled French little girl.
“And how difficult it was life in France, at the beginning, when your mom joined her sister here? And how mean French girls were to you, back in school?” – Driss continued.
“They were mean, yes. Damn French people!” – Suddenly the idea of French people reminded her of arrogant, xenophobic men and women who didn’t like those with a darker complexion like herself..
In the meanwhile, they had reached the suburbs of Paris, where unemployed men couldn’t help but gaze at the beautiful Maghrebi girl and whistle at her. Amina was instantly brought back from her distant memories, feeling both unsafe and bewildered. She looked around, not recognising the unfamiliar settings and suddenly asked: “Where are we?”
Driss calmly reassured her, “Don’t worry babe, you’re safe with me. Besides, we’re almost at my place now.”
Amina’s gratitude was evident as she responded, “Thank God you’re here, Driss!” – and held tightly to his hand. She found a strange comfort in his presence, assuming a submissive role she had never experienced as an independent young French woman.

Driss continued to reinforce her new identity, saying: “By the way, I don’t know what came into your mind, dressing like that to meet my parents for the first time. You know they are quite conservative!”
“I know, sorry, but I wanted to look good for you… And it’s all in black, at least!” Amina responded, not recalling exactly why she had chosen that specific outfit for such an important occasion. In fact, she was still struggling to recall lots of details about her life but now wasn’t the time to bring that up. She certainly didn’t want Driss to think she was crazy or something!
Driss nodded in understanding, saying, “That’s true, but keep in mind you don’t want to give them the impression that you’ve become too French and now dress like one of them!”
Amina quickly replied, her conviction evident, “Of course not, I’m proud to be Moroccan! And I’m an observant Muslim even though I might not wear a Hijab!”
“I know you are,” Driss replied with a smile. “Still, you should ask my sister if you can borrow something from her. You don’t want to make the wrong impression.”
“Of course, babe!” – she replied, glad they found a way out. Still, some of her sense of fashion seemed to have survived the transformation.

Driss’s sister, Salma, a girl of similar age and physique, provided her with a grey long-sleeved shirt, and Amina managed to change into that, seconds before Driss’s parents were introduced to her.
Amina was worried, but meeting Driss’s family went well. They instantly liked her, even though she wasn’t wearing a hijab. She appeared to be a decent Moroccan Muslim girl, dispelling any worrisome rumours they had heard about their son dating a blonde French girl, and that was enough to reassure them. There would be time to mold her into the traditional wife role she was expected to fulfil, they thought.
Amina’s background seemed consistent with her language skills, as she spoke in fluent Moroccan Arabic with her future in-laws and, when she switched back to French to talk with Driss, had taken on a strongly accented verlain, suggesting she was indeed a first-generation immigrant and that she had grown up in the infamous outskirts of Paris.
Driss was overjoyed as he had accomplished a seemingly unachievable goal: making his family happy and openly dating Amelie, now Amina. Sure, he would miss Amelie’s captivating green eyes and fair skin that had made him fall in love with her in the first place, but what mattered the most was her soul, and that now inhabited the body of an alluring Moroccan girl named Amina!

Amina was currently in-between-jobs, but luckily she quickly found employment as a waitress in a touristy brasserie in Paris. Quite a change from her previous career perspectives within her family fashion brand, but deep down Driss was happy about that. He had always felt uneasy dating someone much wealthier than him. With Amina now dependent on him for extra expenses like dinners out or trips to the French Riviera, he felt a sense of importance. Most of her salary went towards paying the rent for her tiny apartment in the 15th arrondissement. Despite her limited budget, she managed to fill her compact living space with an array of inexpensive clothing. She was determined to maintain an elegant appearance for every occasion, carefully selecting her wardrobe with the resources she had.
The news that Amelie, the heiress to a fashion empire, had gone missing didn’t elicit much of a reaction from Amina, a clear sign that her previous identity had been entirely erased from her memory. Driss, however, felt a pang of guilt for the pain her parents were undoubtedly experiencing. He prayed to God for a resolution. Remarkably, the following day, he read in the news that a new Amelie had miraculously been found, albeit suffering from amnesia. With no more loose ends, Driss proposed to Amina, and she happily accepted his offer. They made a happy couple. However, as the raven-haired beauty began to embrace the role of a traditional Moroccan wife, influenced by his family, he sensed that not much of the real Amelie was left in Amina. These thoughts led him to wonder about the new Amelie. He couldn’t help but entertain the idea of meeting her to see if the spark of attraction he had once felt could be reignited. After all, she was still Amelie, so that wasn’t cheating, right?

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Dating TV show

I’m Alexandra, a British instagram influencer who fell in love with Manu, a man I met during a vacation in Oceania. I had recently split up with my ex, a selfish, gym-obsessed British guy and I needed a change. He seemed genuinely nice and I fell for that. The guy was chill, charming and slightly chubby. Or at least, so it seemed to me. Not that it bothered me. It seemed the standard body type in that region of the world, also. He liked me, but he seemed not at ease with dating a foreigner. His family would not approve it, he said. Also, he seemed to find my lithe body a bit too skinny. How dared he? My diet was carefully planned to give me all the nutrients I needed with the least amount of calories! The local beauty standards seemed to differ from Western ones, though.
I was about to give up on him when I recalled an American TV show where they made things work in couples where a partner was reluctant due to some reason. They helped them smooth their differences, maybe adjusting one of the two and things usually ended up well. At least, in the episodes I saw on TV.
A few weeks later I was already back in the UK and had almost forgotten about the whole thing when they contacted me, telling me that we had been chosen for the next episode of the dating show!

I gladly accepted the invitation to the tv studios, which included a business flight to the States, when Manu told me he was on board.
When I explained our situation, the audience immediately liked us and began cheering for us. I was expecting Manu to mention cultural differences and my body type and I was ready for an intensive course in Polynesian language and culture – that would have been cool – and maybe a change in my diet. I liked my skinny body as it was but I was open to gain a few pounds to make it work. Not too much, though, just a tiny bit to fill my bra, I wasn’t going to become chubby like him, of course. When if was his turn to talk, though, he mentioned a long list of things I had to change to be more desirable to him.
First of all, he mentioned my body type, of course. I was way too skinny for his culture, society would judge him for dating such a skinny girl. At a height of 1.70 m (5’7’’), my weight of 53 kgs (117 lbs) put me at the edge of underweight. I would have to gain several kilos to gain the curves he wanted in a woman. Then he said I needed more colour. My pale skin and red hair made me look like a ghost to his people. A deep tan and jet black hair would give me a more welcoming appearance. My light eyes also had to go, he added. When he finished I realised he was asking me to change my entire body type and ethnicity and asked to opt out. Unfortunately for me, they explained me the papers I had signed forced me to undergo whatever procedure demanded by my future lover.

Horrified by the perspective of the changes that were going to be performed on me, I followed the medical team to their facility.
I was force-fed calorie-rich food for weeks to quickly make me gain weight, but that wasn’t enough. Unbeknownst to me, they treated me with a genetic engineering procedure aimed at replacing the genes determining my body type, so that no matter what my diet would be in the future, my body would always retain its fat. They also altered my genes determining hair and eye color, skin color and body odor to make them match Manu’s preferences.
Before the genetic changes began to kick in and the results of the calorie-rich diet began to show, they decided to waste no time and to immediately alter my appearance. They dyed my red hair jet black, covered my blue irises in brown pigment forced me to undergo multiple tanning bed sessions. To my surprise, my skin responded quickly to them, gaining a deep tan instead of getting sunburned as always. Also, my freckles receded until they became invisible. Equally surprising was seeing how my hair showed no signs of red regrowth, even weeks after having it dyed. Little did I know that it would always grow black and silky from now on, due to my newly acquired genetic heritage, and my skin would never be as pale as it used to be, regardless of exposure to sunlight. It was weird seeing my reflection in the mirror, I looked like an exotic cousin of something like that.

After a few weeks I had gained several pounds and the fat mass began to show on my body and face. To my horror, I was on my way to become an overweight woman. I told myself that as soon as I switched back to my healthy diet I’d quickly lose my weight but that would later turn out to be impossible.
My tanning sessions were over, yet my skin seemed to retain its brown hue, a fact I couldn’t really explain. My hair continued to grow black and silky and my eyes became even darker, reaching a dark brown color that was almost undistinguishable from black. I began to suspect that I had been altered even more than what they made me believe but before I could ask for explanations, I was told I had to undergo a small surgical touch-up.
Before releasing me from the medical facilities, they performed a set of cosmetic surgeries on my face, giving me an oval face shape, thicker lips, an exotic, wide nose and a reversed blepharoplasty that gave my dark brown eyes an unmistakeable Asian flavour, just like those of the Polynesian women Manu seemed to see as the ultimate beauty standards.
If until the final surgery I still looked like a darker, chubbier version of myself, like an exotic cousin, my new face carried no resemblance to my old one.

When I was released not even my family would have recognised me. Instead of the skinny redhead I used to be, I was now a chubby brown girl with ethically ambiguous features that resembled those of Pacific Islander women.
I touched my full cheeks, not recognising the oval shaped face I now had as my own. My body felt completely alien to me. My thigh gap was gone, my arms were thick and my body shape was definitely curvy now. I now weighted 73 kgs (160 lbs) and I felt it with every movement.
Manu, on the other hand, loved my new looks and told me that my sacrifice wouldn’t have been in vain. He promised me eternal love and a happy life as his wife in his native island in the Pacific. I liked him despite everything and I didn’t have much of a choice. My old life as a skinny instagram influencer was well over, unless I wanted to re-brand me as a plus-size model but the bare idea horrified me. Also, I had to delete all my social media accounts to avoid the online hate from those who witnessed my transformation on the tv show and judged me for that. I wish I could tell them I was forced to agree to that but the producers but the papers I signed prevented me from saying that publicly.
A few weeks after my transformation, I flew to my new home in Oceania with my boyfriend.

My new home country was the small archipelago of Tonga, where I was destined to live my life as a housewife. Manu was body working at a local workshop, and I had plenty of free time and very little to do while Manu was busy, apart from sunbathing at the beach. I quickly found out that being brown was truly a blessing, as my new genes were a good match for the tropical sun that used to give me sunburns during my days as a tourist. Nowadays, it just made my skin a little bit darker every day I spent outdoors, without any itchy feeling.
I spend the rest of my free time learning Tongan, one of the oldest and hardest Polynesian languages to learn, as I figured out. It helps that locals assume I’m one of them, so they naturally talk to me in Tongan. Sometimes though they recognize me as the white girl who turned Tongan for love and they ask me to take a selfie for them. I guess I’ll always be the “papalagi fefine”, the white girl, even when I’ll have mastered the local language like a native.
Anyway, my efforts weren’t in vain, as I slowly gained proficiency in the language. Apparently, my new nose and lips made it easier to reproduce the challenging sounds of the Tongan language, and after a few months, I was speaking Tongan like a local, to the point that nobody would suspect I was anything else than a Tongan girl, born and raised in one of the many islands that constituted my new home country!

I realised that my sedentary lifestyle wasn’t doing much to help me lose weight as I had originally planned. If anything, I was gaining weight! I initially tried keeping an eye on my diet and exercising more, but it turned out to be useless as I was now cursed with the genetic markers typical of Polynesian women, which gave me a thick body type.
Manu smiled at my western obsession with skinny bodies, and did his best to make me understand that he didn’t mind some meat on my body, quite the opposite! He always complimented on my full figure and encouraged me to embrace that kind of beauty, rather than fighting it. I slowly understood that and eventually stopped caring too much about my weight. Whenever I’m hungry I don’t think too much about it and eat whatever I want. A few more pounds won’t change my figure that much anyway!
Things were great between me and Manu, he loved everything about my new body and that helped me to accept it myself. I even smelled differently, he told me once. Apparently my hair now had the same exotic scent as Polynesian women.

Manu and I are expecting a baby girl! At first I was wondering how she’d look like, maybe light eyes and brown hair, maybe freckles, who knew. Then Manu reluctantly told me about the genetic changes I had undergone.
At first I was mad. I didn’t know that medical procedure had permanently turned my hair black, my eyes dark brown, my skin permanently tan and my body curvy but I had assumed that I was still able to genetically transmit my original complexion and body type to my offspring. Now it turned out that I had somehow lost that ability. I felt violated and castrated. I felt that way for a while but then I slowly changed my mind. I looked at myself in the mirror, I had gotten used to my reflection. My dark brown eyes couldn’t lie. I was one of them now. I looked and sounded like a native Tongan woman, I liked living there and I’d never move back to cold and grey England, my life was here now. Did I really want to give birth to a mixed kid who would look suspicious with two Polynesian parents? Would I stand all the rumours about my infidelity that would inevitably arise among the haters? And how would they grow up, looking different from the other kids? So I realised it was for the best. My daughter will grow up to be a beautiful Tongan woman and I’m happy about that.

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Parallel Perspectives

In the bustling city of Jerusalem, Amina and Leila were chatting together, as usual. The two friends, one with silky black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes, the other with dark brown curls and green eyes, had been best friends since childhood. Their families had always hated each other, due to their different faiths and for being business rivals, but that hadn’t affected the personal friendship between the two young women. In fact, they had always been curious about each other’s life and recently Leila had devised a plan to experience that.
“Amina, imagine experiencing my world for a while,” Leila said, her eyes sparkling with excitement “Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Amina nodded, a shy smile spreading across her face. “I’d love to see life from your perspective, Leila.”
“Well, I have found something that might help us with that!” – the Jewish girl said, revealing an ancient pendant, covered in ancient inscriptions.
The ancient relic, a mystical pendant that had been passed down through generations, dangled from Leila’s hand. “Then let’s touch this together and we’ll trade lives!”

As their fingers delicately intertwined around the pendant, an electrifying surge of energy coursed through their intertwined hands, causing their surroundings to blur and twist.
In the blink of an eye, Leila found herself transported into a typical apartment in the heart of the Arab quarter. The walls were a masterpiece of intricate designs, rich, vibrant tapestries adorned the halls, exuding a sense of history and culture that enveloped her senses. It was undeniably the very house Amina shared with her handsome husband – a place where Leila was never welcome before her transformation.
Her gaze was drawn to an ornate mirror placed nearby, its frame an exquisite homage to Arabic artistry. As her reflection stared back at her, she locked eyes with those same dark, mysterious irises that were unmistakably Amina’s trademark. Her skin was much darker than before, mirroring the same complexion as her the Arab friend. Leila realised she really had the chance to experience a different life for a while.

When Amina opened her eyes, she found herself in the heart of a sprawling Jewish house. A sense of awe washed over her as her eyes settled on the vibrant mezuzah gracing the doorframe, and the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked challah teased her senses.
Stepping into the bathroom, her reflection in the mirror revealed her the extent of her transformation. Her once sleek hair now cascaded in joyful curls, releasing an enticing aroma. The hue of her skin had taken on a delicate olive tone, a much lighter complexion than her original shade. Even her brown eyes had changed, now a vibrant green. Amina’s heart swelled with curiosity as she began to immerse herself in Leila’s life.
Days turned into weeks, and Amina enjoyed the novelty of her experience, although she struggled to hide her discomfort adapting herself to the customs and traditions of Leila’s community. She attended Shabbat dinners and learned the significance of Hanukkah, but in her heart she always praised Allah and begged for his pardon for what she was doing. Spending time together with her Jewish friend made her forget about their cultural differences, but being surrounded by Jewish people and having to live like one of them was something different.

Leila, on the other hand, happily navigated the complexities of Palestinian society, attending parties and mastering the art of henna. For the first time in her life, she entered a mosque and learned to praise Allah, although she remained faithful to the God of the Israelites. Her fluency in Arabic surprised herself in the first place, but she realised it was some sort of muscle memory linked with Amina’s body. It also shocked her that when she tried to speak Hebrew, although her vocabulary was untouched, she had a distinctive Arabic accent, like many Palestinians who had learned Hebrew at school, but never mastered it like natives.
She learned to dress more modestly than before while in public, but she deeply enjoyed sharing private time with Amina’s Muslim husband, for which she loved to dress provocatively. Within this intricate dance, Leila found herself liberated from the short-lived connections she had once shared with Jewish men. The allure of those past experiences paled in comparison to the enigmatic charm of Amina’s husband, a man whose dominance resonated with her on a visceral level. Seeing Amina’s silky black hair cascading on her naked brown breasts while lying in bed with her husband multiplied her sexual euphoria. Being in her friend’s body was so liberating, everything felt more intense to her! Slowly but surely, she began realising that she would rather keep her friend’s body than returning to her old life, so she started plotting a plan.

Amina, on the other hand, was learning to make the most of her time in Leila’s skin by enjoying her newfound freedom as a single, wealthy Israeli woman and soon enough flirting with the young wealthy Jewish men of her new community became her favourite occupation. Sure, she still disliked being part of this community but she also enjoyed the novelty of the situation. She felt like she had no external expectations to match as nobody really knew who she was.
Any attempts to stay in touch with her Arab identity failed miserably. One day, she covered herself and tried attending a mosque but realised she could now only speak Arabic with a thick Jewish accent, which made her skin crawl. People were staring at her when she spoke, and this made her uncomfortable, so she eventually gave up, regretting having ever agreed to try this experience.
During her frequent chats with her friend, she made her understand that it was almost time to put an end to this experiment the two of them were secretly carrying out, but each time she mentioned this, Leila would ask her to wait one more week to give her a chance to enjoy the life-changing experience a bit longer. Weeks turned into months, and eventually Amina gave her friend Laila an ultimatum: she wanted to be back in her body before Ramadan began, because her soul needed that purifying experience, and because Leila would have never managed to endure such an experience without the support of faith.

Leila had to do something soon, so she took a deep breath and put her plan into action. One day, the Jewish-turned Arab girl called her friend to tell her of something terrible that had happened: her husband had found the ancient Jewish pendent that made them trade lives and forced her to destroy it, saying that it was Haram to own such artefacts. It wasn’t entirely false; in fact is was basically true, the only part Leila avoided mentioning was that she had planned this all along. She simply left the pendent in full sight; once she got to know her new husband well enough, she realised his controlling nature and his deep hatred of anything Jewish would have done the rest.
“I’m afraid we’re stuck” – the Arab-looking girl told her friend, her voice cracking “Touching it together again was the only way to reverse the swap.”
“How do you mean stuck? There’s got to be a way out of this…” – Amina replied, unconsciously touching her face with her hands. Was she really stuck as Leila Abarbanel, her beloved Jewish friend? She had recently straightened her now curly hair to have a more familiar feeling, and now she realised she might have to live as Leila for much longer than expected.

While a twinge of remorse lingered within Leila for stealing her best friend’s identity, an overwhelming tide of happiness surged through her as she wholeheartedly embraced her newfound existence as Amina Awad. She was a happy wife and she knew she would soon become a mother given some hints her husband gave her. Not that she minded it.
Her views on politics were also affected, as the Palestinian perspective, once distant, became a vivid tableau of understanding, evoking profound empathy for their enduring struggle. At the same time, she also experienced prejudice by Jewish Israelis, which further estranged her from her own community.
She grew distant from her old friend, partially due to the lingering sense of guilt, partially due to her trying to alienate herself from all her Jewish connections.
As time went on, Leila’s devotion unfalteringly shifted towards the Muslim faith, solidifying her immersion into this newfound life. The resonance of her choices echoed not only in her identity but also in her convictions, painting a portrait of a woman content in her chosen path.

In contrast, took a while to accept the loss of her own identity, but when she did, she adopted a new identity and morphed into a figure reminiscent of a Jewish American princess.
Casting aside the veils of modesty, she assumed the role of a captivating femme fatale, a luminous star that ignited the fervor of her social circles. She eventually settled for a young Jewish man, the son of a prominent politician. Yet, her allure masked an intricate dance of power dynamics as she completely dominated him, basically using him as a living cash machine while having countless affairs with other men. Not only that, she also exploited her husband’s family connections to extend her power well beyond her own social circles.
With each passing day, the tenets of her faith dimmed, her soul awash in disillusionment with the very fabric of existence. Her existence, once tethered to deeper beliefs, now thrived solely in the realm of the immediate, the transient.

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Not his type

Robin was a young Canadian woman working in New York. She was a bright and successful young professional, an IT technician, specialised in data security. She also happened to be a stunning redhead, so she was used to get lots of male attention but never seemed to find true love.
One day, however, she fell crazy in love with one of her customer, the head of a small finance consulting firm, Ken. Ken was a tall, muscular man with blue eyes and brown hair. She tried to flirt with him, with no avail. Eventually, she dared to ask him out. She loved going out with him but something seemed off. Eventually, he broke the bad news to her. “I’ll be honest with you, I love hanging out with you and I think you’re very pretty but… You’re just not my type.”
“Oh, I… I understand. What would your type be, I… I could change style a bit!” Robin had always been a bit tomboyish, despite her beauty, and never felt too comfortable in skirts and heels.
Ken smiled “Don’t say that, you’re perfect as you are, it’s just… It’s me, not you.”

Robin was heartbroken on her way home but she was determined to fight for love. In an unprecedented breach of professional conduct, she remotely logged in Ken’s personal laptop and checked his browsed history. She immediately found what she was looking for: his search history was full of key words like “hot latina” “brown girl” and hispanic singers and actresses. Robin gulped. This was going to be harder than she thought.
She sat on her sofa and took a strand of her red hair in her hands. She looked nothing like Ken’s type, in fact she couldn’t look more different. With red hair, light eyes and freckles, together with a completely flat chest and a somewhat tomboyish vibe she couldn’t compete with the sultry feminine Latinas Ken was apparently after.
Robin cursed her destiny and began weeping. Eventually, however, she resolved not to give up and to take action. “Does he want a Hispanic girl? Fine, he’ll have one!” – she told herself.
First of all, she headed to the priciest hair salon in town and asked the shocked hairdresser to dye her gorgeous natural red hair brown. The lady made clear to her that the dye she was asking for could not be removed and that she’d have to wait for her natural hair to regrow to look like she did before but Robin was adamant.

She looked so different after the hairdresser was done! The dark hair made her eyes pop and her skin to look healthier! She completed her new look with a few tanning sessions and the week after, she managed to join a work meeting with Ken, who at first didn’t even recognise the brunette smiling at him. “Robin” – he told her when the meeting was over “You look magnificent but I hope this isn’t related to our… encounter!”
“Don’t worry about, why don’t we discuss this in front of a glass of wine instead? Tonight at the same place as the last time?”
“You’re inviting me to a second date, aren’t you? Well, I won’t say no!”
Robin forced herself to dress in a more feminine way, picking up an elegant black dress and went to the date.

The date was as friendly as the previous one, but she could tell that he was more interested in her now. After a few drinks, while the two were walking downtown, she leaned in for a kiss and the two started making out. They headed for his place and began undressing. Robin was very excited to be finally about to have sex with him, but things didn’t work as she hoped for. He couldn’t seem to get excited for her, despite everything she was doing to excite him.
Embarrassed, Ken said: “Listen, Robin, my dear, you are a lovely woman and I appreciate your efforts to make this work but… I don’t know how to explain this to you, in fact I’m ashamed of it but the thing is, I grew up in Florida, surrounded by Cubans and Mexicans so my first girlfriends were all Hispanic. I… think I got a pretty strong imprinting back then, because I have only had sex with Hispanic women since. I’m so sorry, I wish it could work between us!”
Robin didn’t say a word, dressed up and left, hiding her tears.
She knew he wasn’t lying, otherwise she might have thought it was only an excuse. Now that she was so close to having him, she was more determined than ever to succeed. She withdraw all her savings and resigned from her job. She then took the first flight to South Korea, where she instructed the finest cosmetic surgeons to perform unprecedented procedures on her.

Robin combined all the jerk off material she had found in Ken’s browser history into a single, composite image she handed to the surgeons.
The medical team was quite suspicious at first and suspected that Robin was changing her looks because she trying to escape from somebody but she paid upfront so they turned a blind eye on the while thing and accepted the task.
When they were done and the swelling was gone, Robin took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t disappointed. With a shiver she realised that any trace of the Caucasian woman she used to be was completely ripped from her, and nobody would believe that she was anything else than a Latina woman. Her green eyes had been permanently soaked in brown pigments, her hair didn’t need any dye anymore, and would always grow dark brown. Her body was producing melanin at an unprecedented rate for her, turning her white skin brown, even without tanning. Her lips were inflated, her facial features softened and realistic breast implants gave her a very feminine figure.

Once back in her apartment in NY, she set up a profile on every dating app until she eventually matched with Ken. When the notification arrived, she smirked. She knew she was exactly his type. In fact, she was his living wet dream.
Before the first date, she hugged herself nervously, still not used to the feeling of squeezing her brown breasts and, checking her reflection in the mirror among two strands of dark hair, wondered whether she had done the right thing. She’d given up all her savings, her job and her ethnicity for love.
The date went very differently from the previous ones. This time Ken was clearly into her. Robin, presenting herself as Raquel, used the Spanish accent she had been practicing and describes herself as a waitress of Mexican heritage. She knew he preferred women with humble professions.
The sex was fantastic, but when the horniness was gone, they struggled to have a connection. Raquel’s new fake persona made it harder for them to connect on a deeper level. One day, Ken even mentioned a Canadian friend he dearly missed. The poor girl began worrying she had done the wrong thing. She had no way out of this though, so she doubled down on her Raquel persona instead.

She took dancing classes and began a part time job as an exotic dancer, just to fit even more into his fantasy. She would always strip for Ken at home before sex. She tried her best to sound like the pretty airhead he seemed to be so attracted to. This slutty side of her new persona brought their sex life to new heights for a few months but eventually the novelty began to wear off, as Ken was clearly looking for something deeper.
One day, when the Latina girl returned home from her dancing classes, she found a letter for her on her bed, reading like this:
“Dear Raquel,
As much as you’re the most attractive girl I have ever met, our relationship has to finish here. At this point in my life I am looking for something more than physical attraction.
I wish you the very best with your life.”
Of course, he would never marry a girl like the one she was impersonating, that was only a fantasy of his!

The Latina girl sat on the side of her bed, crying. She had lost the love of her life, and was left with no money and a body made for sex.
Having lost all hope in love, she grew very nihilistic and embraced her new life as a model and pin-up girl, where her looks made her extremely successful. Her pictured appeared on Playboy and several other magazines. She would have been horrified by the perspective of ending up like this but she didn’t care anymore at this point.
Eventually, she began dating a famous Afro-American rapper who seemed to have lost his head for her and before long she was married to him. Her new role as a celebrity distracted her from her unhappy destiny, until she was so focused on arguing with other divas on social media and presenting a fabricated idyllic life with her husband that her Raquel persona took full control of her mind and she fully became a shallow, self-obsessed social media queen.

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Great leap forward

Fen was a brave Chinese girl who was an activist denouncing the ruthless acts committed by her country against minorities and other violations of human rights.
She knew she was being followed by authorities but didn’t expect them to do anything serious to harm her.
However, times were changing so when she crossed a line, the Party decided to take appropriate measures against somebody who wasn’t respectful against their country. Perhaps, if they cared so much about minorities it was appropriate to join them.
She was kidnapped one day coming back from campus and taken to a secret medical state facility where a team of surgeons began to operate on her. They began by darkening her skin, ruining the light skin tone every Chinese girl sees as a mark of beauty and already giving her a foreign appearance. Next, then curled up her hair to increase the effect. They also slightly modified her facial features to make her less Chinese, although still Asian. She could pass for south-east Asian now, maybe Vietnamese or Thai.

Most importantly, she now didn’t look like her ID card picture anymore, therefore she lost her identity. She was given a new identity as a Vietnamese immigrant girl working as a waitress and was threatened to be punished further if she dared to continue with her anti-national propaganda.
When released, she realised she couldn’t even go back to her university as the facial recognition softwares wouldn’t trace her to any known profile present in the database. With no chances of getting any education, given how strict was the entrance examination test and how low were the fake grades edited on her new ID profile, she had no choice but to keep the waitress job given to her together with her new identity.
She also noticed how differently people treated her. However, instead of giving up, the doubled her effort and kept on speaking up, even publicly revealing what they had done to her. This was too much for the authorities, who kidnapped her and completely remodelled her features this time. Her body type was forever changed, making her lose her lithe figure, her skin was darkened to a mocha colour and her face was given an unmistakeable African flavour.

Gone was her figure, her fair skin and her East Asian eyes and facial features. She looked like a curvy Black girl.
“Why did you do this to me? ” – she cried out in tears.
“You didn’t seem to appreciate belonging to our Nation, this punishment fits you well.”
“No, that’s unfair, I was just trying to improve things, of course I love my Nation! What am I going to do now?”
“You have a choice, if you don’t want to help your country you’ll be sent to America with fake immigration documents. So you’ll get used to be a minority, in a foreign country, speaking little English. Otherwise, you’ll serve your country as we ask you to.”
“What would that be?” – she said, frightened.
“You’ll move to Zambia, in Africa, where we are expanding our influence. You’ll be a socialite and you’ll seduce businessmen and politicians thanks to your new assets – he explained with a smile – then you’ll report to us any kind of useful information we need to gain more power there.”
Fen had to bow her head and to accept this last chance, knowing what they were able to do to her.

Despite efforts to lose weight and at least regain her body shape she kept the curvy body shape the surgeries gave her. In order to disguise her naturally straight hair, she was forced to keep her hair in dreadlocks all the time. She was also given some lip fillers to give her natural looking plump lips.
After a few months she had settled in her new life. Thanks to her looks, was indeed having considerable success as a local high class socialite, despite hating that. She had even picked up the local English accent and was currently studying the local language. She was given the name Landisa. Her cover story as a Zambian girl grown up in China explained her fluency in Chinese, which couldn’t be kept hidden as she often talked to the local Chinese representatives of the government.
With time, she learned to accept her new body and ethnicity, together with her new role as secret agent for the Chinese government. She stopped questioning what war right and what was not, she simply followed the orders given to her. Landisa eventually married the son of the local prime minister and settled in for the best life available to her given the circumstances.

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Shifting demographics

Maggie was the classic very conservative girl. Not exactly alt-right, she didn’t have the confidence to defend such extremist views, but she still hated anything “woke”, liberal and vague socialist. More than anything, she hated immigrants, especially Mexicans. They were invading the U.S., she claimed, and the government wasn’t doing enough to prevent that.
She recently began protesting against the narrative pushed by liberal media, joining public manifestations and so on. She initially found it too “civil rightsy”, but later she realised it was a great way to make her voice be heard. Sometimes, she would argue with people with different ideas or make friends among like-minded people.
Once, she joined a particularly conservative manifestation, where not too many people showed up. As the mic was available for anybody who wanted to express their opinions, she mustered the courage and walked to the stage, where she made her point clear, especially about immigration. She was a bit nervous at the beginning but she really enjoyed expressing her opinion loud. This was a free country, after all, fuck the media – she thought.

“Could we ask you some questions?” – a group of hispanic people looking like activists asked her. “Shit” – she thought – “Here comes trouble.” “We have noticed you have something against current immigration policies , could you be more specific?”
“I… I think America is for Americans!”
“You know America is a continent, right?”
“I mean, the United States! We Americans were here before! I get that people want to enter our country, it’s the greatest country on Earth, but we can’t let them enter in massive numbers, they would change what we are!”
The activists nodded to each other, to signify that they were not mistaken about the girl’s opinions. They were actually a team working for a Mexican TV program which had devised a very controversial social experiment. Their goal was to find a conservative, all-American girl with a hard stance against immigration and see how she would behave in a very different context. They offered her a drink to thank her for her participation to the fake survey, then they waited for the tranquilliser to take effect, and they gently carried her away with them as soon as she stopped being able to make any resistance.

When Maggie regained conscience, she was inexplicably holding on to a fence. The first thing she noticed is that her hands seemed unnaturally tanned. With a glance she also noticed that her light hair had inexplicably turned brown too. Still confused, she realised that a policeman was walking towards her. Scared, she asked him what was the problem. “Stay away from the fence, young lady!” – her replied. “Why? What is this?” – she asked, wondering why this policeman was targeting her. “Don’t play dumb with me, I’m a border patrol and this is the US-Mexico border!”. “Wait, what?” – said the girl, shocked. “But I’m American, here is my passport… What?” – the document stated “Julieta Martinez, nacionalidad Mexicana”. The pictured showed an attractive, hispanic woman around her age. “This is not me, I…” Caught by a terrifying doubt, she grabbed her phone and checked herself on the camera. A pretty exotic face with brown doe eyes stared back at her. In that moment she recalled the people who had drugged her at the manifestation. “Oh my God, they did this to me! They turned me into a Mexican girl!”. The guard laughed at her and commented “Nice one, I still hadn’t heard that one!” – and walked away.
Meanwhile, the troupe was secretly following every move of hers.

Still shocked, Julieta found some keys in her pocket, the key holder having an address written on it. She also had a wallet with an indecipherable amount of money, in Mexican currency. She called a taxi and got to the address she found, not knowing where else to go. Maybe she’d finally meet the people who did this to her.
It was a small, dirty apartment in a town near the US border. Nobody was there, and she couldn’t find any other messages for her. For some reason these people didn’t seem to want to get in touch with her anymore. They simply took away her identity and life, that was it. She found a good collection of clothes and makeup and a fridge stuffed with Mexican food. After having cried her sorrows out and stuffed her stomach with great Mexican food, she made a plan. She had to enter the US at all costs, and that border guard was her only hope.
Julieta came back the following day with a different outfit and began shamelessy flirting with the border guard. The guy was not used to such attractive women trying to sneak into the US, so the advances of the Latina girl sorted some effects. They settled that if the girl would have sex with the man twice a week for one month, he would turn a blind eye on her and let her sneak in.

After the humiliating experience of selling her own body in exchange for entering what she felt like was her own country, she managed to cross the border on a night and to spend her last money on a bus to San Antonio, Texas. As incredible as it sounded, she was so happy of having made it back to the States. The treatment she received was very different, however. Her status as a poor Mexican girl was apparent and she could tell by the looks she was getting that people didn’t really like her. Especially white people. Well, she used to be one of them so she could understand how they felt.
Anyway, she still had a long way to go to her home state of Ohio. To support herself as an illegal immigrant, she had to use her exotic charm to get around. She would ask for a lift to lorry drivers in such a slutty way, it was clear she was offering sex in exchange for a lift.
At first it was tough but eventually being a slut became second nature to her. When she finally made it out of Texas, she was a completely different person. Gone was the stuck-up conservative American girl she used to be. Being a feisty Mexican girl was her only option, she found out.
The TV show couldn’t but conclude that regardless of our opinions and ideals, external circumstances are really what shapes us into who we are.

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Smoking changes people

Ingrid was a Danish college student eager to try new things, so as soon as she had saved enough with her part-time student job, she went to Iran to visit the country in a solo trip. She had met some guys with a middle Eastern background in Denmark and even hooked up with one of them so she was curious to see the country they came from. She was generally very interested in other cultures but also fundamentally close-minded and too proud of her Scandinavian heritage to see other people as her peers. Everybody on the other hand clearly saw that she was a rich European tourist and therefore acted very politely with her, which only increased her self-perception.
When she noticed somebody smoking hookah she immediately wanted to try it. She entered a traditional cafe, where numerous people, including many women, were smoking it. She asked the owner about the hookah and tipped him generously. The man warned her that they followed an ancient recipe to mix the tobacco with other herbs and as a result it could be quite strong. He added that it was only meant for locals and the last time a Westerner tried it, he never left Iran. Ingrid laughed it off and insisted. She was quickly instructed on how to use it and began smoking.

She loved it instantly, the aroma was intoxicating and the tobacco was making her feel very relaxed.
Unnoticed by her, the smoke began triggering a series of changes in her appearance. Her eyes darkened from blue to brown and her blonde hair took a darker hue too, turning her into a brunette. She still looked white but not anymore like her old self. She noticed that her hair looked darker but she thought it was due to the scarce light inside the building where she was.
It wasn’t until she returned to her hotel that she realised something was wrong with her. The lady at the reception didn’t want to give her the key of her room, until Ingrid showed her the booking number she had received via email.
When she saw herself in the mirror her heart skipped a beat: she didn’t look like herself anymore! Hair could change color due to sunlight, although it usually became lighter, she thought, but a change in eye colour didn’t make any sense! It could be a symptom of something serious happening too her, moreover she loved her blue eyes and couldn’t accept the fact that she was stuck with boring brown eyes.

The following day, still shocked by her change in appearance, she was wandering in the streets of the city, looking for a doctor, when she walked past the place where she had smoked hookah the day before. She needed something to calm down her nerves, she thought, so why not? The owner didn’t recognise her and repeated the same warnings as the day before, but it was all in vain. Ingrid needed it.
As she began inhaling the aromatic smoke, her appearance changed further and this time the changes became more evident: her hair turned jet black and her body began developing new curves. She had always been a skinny girl and now she suddenly had a very curvy figure, to the point that her clothes barely managed to hide her breasts. Freaked out by these new changes, she left immediately. When she walked out of the building, she looked like a Mediterranean girl and could have even passed for an Iranian or Kurdish woman. As she was wandering around the city, she noticed people were starting to scoff at her. While a few days before all they saw was a foreign tourist walking around, now some of them assumed she was a young Iranian woman indecently carrying herself without a decent Hijab like every other woman. Moreover, she was showing off her curves as a prostitute.

Eventually, the owner of an underground strip club, one of the few ones remained since the Iranian revolution of 1979, saw her as a potential hire and invited her inside. Ingrid was confused but her addiction was getting stronger so she gladly accepted the invitation and asked him for the hookah. This time the owner didn’t say a thing to her, as he assumed she had already done it before.
Her skin immediately began tanning, while her hair curled up. Her tiny nose grew larger, giving her a common Persian look. To complete the transformation, her lips became fuller while still looking natural. She also aged a few years, now looking like a beautiful woman in her late ‘20s.
But the changes weren’t over yet though as Farsi words began popping up in Ingrid’s brain, at first she thought she had picked up some local language without realising it but then it began replacing her native Danish and fluent English, until she could express herself fully in Farsi and didn’t know a single word of Danish or English.

Realising she now looked like a middle eastern woman, she gave up all hopes of ever fixing this curse and seductively sat on a sofa, pondering over her destiny.
“چرا این اتفاق برای من می افتد؟” – murmured the girl, “Why is his happening to me?” – without noticing she had fully switched language. “I’ve changed even further, it does’t make sense but it must be the smoke having this affect on me. I should have stopped before, but I needed it so badly…”
Even more impressed by the beauty of the girl and by her proficiency in Farsi, the man offered her to work there, an offer the former blonde considered seriously, realising that her old life was effectively locked out from herself with her changed ethnicity. Then she finally asked him if she could have free access to hookah at work. The man considered it and realised that she would look sexy so he accepted. Accepting her new destiny, the girl signed a contract that would make her an exotic dancer in an underground club for the next few years. It was only then that she realized she could read the Arabic script and understood Farsi like a native, while any other language was unknown to her. Saddened by this additional loss of identity, she began changing into a shiny black dress.

With the new stage name of Iqala, ironically meaning modest, the girl started her new career on that same day, dancing in front of a small audience of horny Iranian men and resting on large sofas while smoking her beloved hookah. She eventually realized that the changes stopped, apparently the ancient recipe was meant to turn strangers into local Persian people, so once that had been achieved, it stopped having any effect on them. Now being effectively a local, she indulged in her passion for middle eastern men and started actually enjoying the positive aspects of her new profession.
Without a care in the world, Iqala was living life by the minutes. “من عاشق زندگی جدیدم هستم” – said the girl, “I love my new life!”.

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Daughter of Shiva

Late 1800s. Margaret was the daughter of the British governor of India, the Jewel of the Crown of the British Empire at its peak. She grew up spoiled and used to a life of luxury based on the exploitation of the native people of that glorious land.
A powerful religious leader, one of the few remaining independent authorities remained in the hands of the Indians, began working at a powerful potion that would show her and her father the true power of India.
He began working on this project as soon as Margaret’s father, the Governor, decided to destroy an ancient Hinduist temple in order to build a new railway, ignoring the protests of the native people of India.
He decided to target his daughter to gain control over him instead of directly eliminating him as in that case he would simply be replaced by another one sent by the United Kingdom.
He summoned all his powers to produce a potion able to mold everybody who ingested it into any appearance he desired.

Margaret was notoriously addicted to sweets of any kind so one day the religious leader lead a delegation at the palace of the Governor to advocate for his people’s rights. As a present, he brought among other goods a good amount of fine pastry and biscuits baked with the potion, which he was sure would end up on Margaret’s table.
Indeed, after having been refused to be seen by the Governor, busy elsewhere, the biscuits were eventually served during an official ceremony to mark the anniversary of the coronation of queen Victoria and caught the girl’s attention. She grabbed a whole bunch of them and began enjoying their flavour. She felt weird and decided to retreat into her private rooms. Maybe she had eaten too many of them, she thought.
That night, she slept deeply while her appearance changed quite dramatically. Her complexion darkened significantly and her face became unrecognisable. In the early morning, one of the Indian servants working in the Palace took her, dressed her up in a traditional Indian attire and sneaked her out of the residence, while she was still sleeping. She had been altered beyond recognition so nobody recognised her as Margaret and assumed she was just an Indian servant girl who was feeling sick.

Margaret was carried in a Hinduist temple and finally woke up feeling groggy. She quickly realised something had gone wrong. Her nostrils had been pierced by a ring, following the fashion used among Indian women, and her elegant dress had been replaced by a Saree.
“Good grief, what have those barbarians done to me?” – she cried – “What do you want from me?”
The high priest smiled and replied “Such arrogance, you are not the daughter of the British Governor anymore. You are just a daughter of Shiva, and as such you need to learn modesty and good behaviours if you want to get married one day!”
“Stop with this nonsense please, of course I am and will always be by father’s daughter. Now you mention it, he’ll most certainty find me any time soon, so you had better free me if you don’t want to face his ire! I would escape myself but I can’t be seen wearing such garments, even my hands are decorated with rings… Why is my hand so brown?” – she noticed, alarmed.
“You are finally starting to realise more than your attire has changed. This happens to those who disrespect the temples of Shiva. Present her an ample mirror, so this young lady will be able to see her new beauty!”

Margaret was too shocked to speak for a while. Not only her pale skin was much darker now, like a native Indian girl, but her red hair had turned dark brown and even facial features had shifted to match her new Indian heritage.
“I’m… I’m one of your people now.”
“Precisely, you are a Hindi girl now and you will have to follow our traditions and customs. You will write a letter to your father the Governor where you will explain him that our power is real and that he should listen to us from now on.”
“But… My father will never believe this, he would think the letter is a forgery! Maybe I ought to return to the Palace in my new form, although I’m dreading to be seen like this by everybody…” – replied Margaret and began weeping at the mere thought of that.
“Wise words, young lady, I will consult the high Council and we will deliberate on our next move before the sunset. In the meanwhile, our women will instruct you on your new lifestyle. Please, escort her in her new room. It’s not as magnificent as what you are used to but it’s a honest accomodation.”

When they tried to make contact with the Governor, he sent in a small division of British troops which found where his daughter was held prisoner, slaughtered the high priest and with him everybody who was aware of what had happened to Margaret.
Not seeing any Caucasian girl around, they searched elsewhere for Margaret and when she tried to convince them of what had happened, they thought the poor Indian girl must had been drugged by the priests.
She begged them to bring her back to the city where the governor’s residence was and they complied, feeling bad for the girl who had clearly gone crazy.
She tried to get in touch with her true father but he was too heartbroken for the loss of his daughter and the people around him didn’t want to let this crazy Indian girl to give him false hope with her strange ideas.
She was hosted for a few days in the governor’s place as they felt pity for the lonely crazy girl but seeing how she was constantly trying to speak in the Governor’s rooms they eventually kicked her out of the palace.

Living on the streets was a brutal experience for the poor girl. She had to sell her precious garments and jewels in order to have enough rupees survive but after a few days she got robbed and was left with little choice.
Growing up in a very wealthy family she never had to worry about her income but now she was faced with the harsh reality. Her looks attracted many glances from the men around her, especially now that she was showing some skin.
She stopped for a moment to reflect on her chances. She could either prostitute herself, there were plenty of girls doing that on the streets, and she had the body for it, or she could return to the governor’s palace and beg them to keep them as a servant. She would just ask for food and a place to stay and she would never try to contact the governor again. Being so close yet so far from her former life was going to be hurtful but it was still the better option, so she approached the palace and humbly asked to be readmitted as a servant.

Margaret was now obliged to dress modestly and to cover most of her head with a headscarf not to distract the men working in the governor’s palace.
She eventually picked up some Hindi from the other maids and slowly integrated in the local society. Of course, not having a family behind her and having such a humble mansion as being a servant meant that her social status was very low in the Indian society but she could still hope to marry into a somewhat wealthier family thanks to her good looks.
Being used to the perspective of marrying into the British nobility, the idea of marrying the son of a local carpenter was not very palatable at first but she realised it was probably the best to hope for. At least, as a married woman she wouldn’t have to work the whole day as she was doing now!
Margaret took the Indian name Manya and accepted her new role as a traditional Indian wife and mother.

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Brunettes have more fun

Lera was a naive young girl from Eastern Europe, who moved to the US hoping to be discovered by the modelling industry and become a big movie star or fashion model. However, she learned the hard way that success is never easy. After being turned down countless times she got so desperate she tried an audition as a porn actress just to survive as she did not want to come back home as a loser. However, even the porn industry was extremely competitive and Lera, as a plain blonde girl did not have great hopes of success. She was told by her agent that if she wanted better roles she would have to alter her appearance.
She was offered a package of cosmetic surgeries in exchange of a binding contract for a few years. Lera was so desperate she signed the deal. In a few years she would be able to have a real career in the modelling industry with a better appearance, she told herself.
However, it turned out not to be how she had hoped. They began modifying her basic appearance. With a new technique, Lera’s real blonde hair was replaced with long, wavy black hair. In keeping with her darker look, her eye color was changed as well to a very deep brown hue. A slight tan, a general remodelling of her facial features did the rest to give her a Hispanic appearance.

She was so shocked at how different she looked, she tried to avoid looking at herself in the mirror as much as she could. She had always received compliments on her blonde hair and fair complexion and couldn’t understand how her darker complexion would make her more attractive.
They had made clear that the surgeries were expensive and that she would be required to pay them back, however it was not clear to her that her new main source of income would come from being a high-class escort rather than an actress, even if a porn actress.
Lera threatened them to call the police but was told that they had taken her passport away from her and that she was effectively an illegal immigrant from now on, so calling the police would result in an immediate expulsion from the country..
She made an attempt to get a job in the modelling industry but she soon discovered that her darker appearance now made a career in modelling more difficult as ironically they were primarily searching for blonde girls.
Lera reluctantly agreed to the demeaning role of high-class escort just to realise that she would start her new career as a street hooker, to eventually earn the position of call escort if she was popular enough.

Lera was so ashamed of what had become of her. What would her family say to her if they knew she was now a call girl? She still couldn’t believe this was her real life!
Lera used to be a shy, cute and a bit boring blonde girl who grew up in the Easter European countryside so she struggled to impersonate the role of a confident, sensual Latina she was required to play from now on. Her first clients complained about that so her boss decided to make her smoke some weed to relax her a bit.
The drug helped to make her less tense, her looks and skimpy outfits did the rest so she eventually began to satisfy her clients and to earn some decent money. It was intoxicating how much she could earn by performing oral sex or anal sex and she also became more and more talented in pleasuring men in all sorts of different ways. She accepted her situation more and more as time went on, until she had to admit to herself she didn’t mind being a prostitute.

With the new name of Valeria Garcia, the girl grew more and more confident in her body and role. She learned to turn her Slavic accent into a Spanish one and eventually began acting like a Latina prostitute the whole time, even when she was with her new friends. Her new mannerisms came natural to her now, slutty outfits were all she ever wanted to wear and even during her free time nobody would ever doubt she was a call girl.
Her income grew as she fit more into her role, until one day she realised she was close to paying back all her debts.
At that point she would have been free to pursue the career of her dreams but was that still what she was dreaming of?

Valeria looked at herself in the mirror and realised that there was no going back to a normal life. Even if she were to make it as an actress she could never hide the slutty attitude that was now second nature to her. She managed to get a fake Mexican birth certificate that would grand her at least a passport for the time being but if she were to became famous, her identity would get questioned and her shameful story would be all over the news. So Valeria preferred to stay in the shadow, alternating small parts as a porn actress and being a high class escort like she was supposed to.
As for her new appearance, she had to admit that it turned out to a definite upgrade, being an exotic brunette was definitely more fun that being the boring, plain blonde girl like she was used to be.
She eventually completely forgot her old identity and embraced being an Hispanic whore.

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