He wished he was anyone else. That thought pervaded Quenton’s mind as he lay in bed, pillow clutched to his chest.

His best friend Carrie had turned him down for prom saying she “Just wanted to be friends” and she’d had that pitying “oh you poor loser” look that girls so often had in his presence.

Usually, he’d have watched a few episodes of anime and tried to forget the day’s humiliations but Carrie’s rejection had been too much even for even anime to heal the wound in his heart.

I wish I was anyone else. Quenton thought again. Wishing for the millionth time that he was someone handsome, someone smooth and suave, who didn’t choke around girls, who didn’t only spend his weekends playing video games and daydreaming about being cool.

God, I’m so pathetic. He was nothing, had nothing. Carrie was the one friend he’d had since kindergarten and he knew she only talked to him out of charity. Quenton’s grades ranged from average to shit and he had no prospects with girls or jobs. He was a loser and that was all he’d ever be.

With a heavy sigh, he stumbled out of bed. Laying around moping wouldn’t make him feel any better. Quenton slumped into his swivel chair and booted his pc. Resolving to play that new visual novel he’d just bought and try to forget his stupid sorry life.

He leaned his head against his hands. At least he had anime and video games, the two lights of an otherwise dismal life. With anime, he could watch men who were cool, who were tough, and alpha. Men who adventured saved the world and rode off into the sunset with a grateful heroine at their sides. Video games let him almost become those same men, to experience their adventures and badass moments.

Quenton dreamed of waking up and finding himself one of them, a hero, an adventurer, someone who was worth something.

The computer had finally booted up and he sighed once again, before opening the new visual novel. It had received good reviews, the game was about establishing a harem and saving a kingdom from a dark other-dimensional invasion.

On the title screen, he saw the hero. He looked tough as he grinned at a pretty monster girl, leaning against his muscular arm with a sword in hand.

He pictured himself with a sword and impressed Carrie smiling at him. He would save her from goblins or some shit and she would fall into his arms, grateful for his bravery.

Smiling, at the fantasy, he clicked start. The game’s theme booted up but his smile faded as a horrible cold rushed through his limbs, as though his blood had been replaced with ice. Yet no frost appeared around him, somehow

the room felt like it was getting darker.

Quenton’s arms fell limply to his sides and while gaping to call out, yet nothing came. An image appeared suddenly before him, as vivid as a photograph. A girl with long chestnut brown hair and a weird steampunk-looking dress. She looked old-fashioned, like someone out of those boring period shows his mom watched. On second thought the dress was less steampunk and more cosplay, it was red with a billowing skirt and a long blouse thing he thought might be called a petticoat.

Her gaze was so full of boredom that she almost looked in pain, staring blankly at a bush of unfamiliar red flowers. The girl turned to face him, staring at him as her boredom slowly faded into astonishment. Her hazel eyes widened and her lips moved though he could hear nothing she might’ve said.

The cold feeling was worse, it was like he’d been frozen, or been given an IV of ice water. Quenton’s head began to throb like someone was pounding inside it with a jackhammer.

The girl reached out towards him and the pounding increased, his head feeling like it would burst from the pain at any moment.

I wish…I wish. Was the only half thought he could manage as darkness rose and engulfed him.

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He awoke with his head still throbbing. Quenton pressed a hand to his head trying to get it to ease. Keeping his eyes closed, unwilling to face the daylight.

“Your Ladyship?” A feminine voice said softly. “Are you awake?”

Quenton blinked confusedly. Ladyship? He thought, utterly baffled.

“What?” Another feminine, higher-pitched voice replied. He opened his eyes slowly, confusion and shock warring for dominance as he took in the surroundings.

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The first thing he noticed was that he lay on a soft four-poster bed with dark green curtains and covers. Across from him were a large dark wardrobe, an old-fashioned desk, and a large standing mirror.

Quenton could see one of the women who had spoken, she was a pretty slender woman perhaps in her early twenties with ash brown hair, done up in a bun. She wore a maid’s outfit, not a sexy one, but a modest realistic looking one with a white frilly apron and cap. She was looking at him with concern in her eyes.

“Who’re you?” He asked groggily. The other voice, the higher once again echoed his words. Quenton looked around the room searching for who had spoken but found nothing.

Why can’t I talk? Fear rose, twisting his stomach into knots. He was in a completely unfamiliar place and he couldn’t even ask where he was.

Oh god, oh god. Keep it together. Quenton tried to take deep long breaths but they came out shallow and short. It felt like he was choking, as he struggled to breathe.

“Your Ladyship!” The maid rushed toward him, putting a hand on his shoulder and he cringed away.

“Stop!” He huffed out. The voice…his voice? Sounded weird and hoarse.

The maid paused, giving him a look of concern. “Should I fetch Doctor Silver?” She asked worriedly.

Quenton shook his head dazedly. “Where am I?” He managed to force out, horror rose in his stomach and paused in his throat as the question was asked in that same soft female voice. There was no other person in the room, that was his voice.

He slumped back against the pillows feeling suddenly faint. Quenton was god knows where with a stranger and a woman’s voice.

The maid said something but her words were garbled, indistinct as if she were speaking from far away.

I must be dreaming. Quenton thought, suddenly, relief overtaking him. It was obvious he was dreaming and if he was dreaming, he may as well relax.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and glanced curiously out the wide arched windows. It was gorgeously sunny, opening to a green yard adjacent to a forest.

“Where…where am I?” He asked, calmer this time. Marveling at the weirdness of hearing a woman's voice speak his words.

The maid paled, her brow furrowing with worry. “You’re in Faercliffe, Your Ladyship. You had a fainting spell in the garden, do you recall?”

Quenton shook his head. The garden…Something about the garden brought a twinge of familiarity. A sort of deja vu typical of dreams. Resolving to get up, he swung his legs over the bed, ignoring the maid’s concerned objections.

He wobbled on his feet as he stood, clutching the bedpost for balance. “Show me the garden,” Quenton demanded. If this was his dream, then doubtlessly the maid would obey him.

“Yes…Yes, Your Ladyship.” She said hesitantly. He smiled at her, she really was pretty. Quenton had dreamed of girls before, but never so vividly.

The maid went to the wardrobe and pulled out a pink frilly dress, a white pair of pants, and an undershirt, giving him a look after a long moment passed.

Quenton stared at her confused. “Aren’t we going to the garden?”

She gaped at him. “In your bedclothes? I shouldn’t think so!” She exclaimed. Quenton looked down for the first time, he was wearing a long white nightgown. He frowned, pulling at the fabric. It seemed girlish, trimmed in lace with a red ribbon dangling from the collar. Not something a boy would be caught dead wearing.

He moved towards the wardrobe eager to find something better to wear. The maid blinked at him as he began rifling through clothing.

“My Lady?” She asked, sounding wary.

Quenton ignored her, frowning as he revealed dress after dress, there were no pants, no shirts, only gauzy looking dresses, and weird button-up coats.

“Does this dress not suit you?” She asked, giving him a concerned look.

She received an incredulous look in reply. “Why would I wear a dress?” Quenton asked, bemused. Even in his dreams, he wasn’t some kind of crossdresser.

The maid looked even more baffled. “What else would you wear?” She asked, gaping at him.

He shut the wardrobe with a loud thunk, having found nothing a boy could wear inside. “Well, I’d like a pair of pants to start with,” Quenton said, a sarcastic edge to his voice.

“Pants?” The maid said as if she had never heard of them. “You’re not a man, your Ladyship. Why, It'd look positively absurd.”

Oh wonderful, even in my dreams I’m insulted. “I am a man.” Quenton insisted, hating the feminine voice the dream had saddled him with.

She clutched her hands to her heart. “By the Four, you must be ill.” The maid considered him for a moment, before saying slowly, “Or else you are having a laugh at my expense.”

Quenton stared at her confused before stating firmly. “Look, I think it’s pretty obvious I’m a man, boy, whatever. I’m not a lady either so you can stop with that!”

“I…I’m going to fetch the mistress, I think you ought to see Doctor Silver. Will you be alright by yourself, your Ladyship?” She asked, worriedly wringing her hands.

“I don’t need to see a doctor, I’m not sick.”

The maid smiled weakly. “Of course not Ladyship. I’ll be back in a trice!” She said, scurrying out the door with one last worried glance.

Well, that was fucking weird. He mused, sighing heavily. Quenton went to the mirror, morbidly curious to see himself in the gown.

As he caught sight of himself his jaw fell open and shock, like a bolt of lightning struck. Instead of his own appearance, a girl stared back at him.

He had turned into a girl and as he gaped at himself, a nasty thought crept spider-like into his mind.

What if I’m not dreaming after all?