Ethan went through the old, creaky door. It slammed shut behind him. The hallway was pitch black. He felt a wave of fear. Everything ached.

He reached out, his hand touching the rough, cold wall. He walked slowly, trying not to trip. The air was damp and smelled old.

He stumbled, his ankle twisting. A sharp pain shot up his leg. "Ow! Mother...of...pearl! What is this, a trap set by clumsy gnomes?" He fell to his knees. "Okay, universe, very funny. I get it. I'm having a bad day. Can we wrap this up now? I have a pizza waiting for me, or, well, I did."

He fell to his knees. He was so tired. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't work. His breath came in short, shaky gasps. He felt cold, very cold.

He closed his eyes. "Just a little nap," he mumbled. He felt like he was falling, falling into darkness. Then, he saw something. A shadow. A dark shape moving in the blackness. He couldn't see who it was.

He felt himself slipping away.Everything went black.

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He woke with a jolt, his eyes snapping open. "Where the hell am I? Did I die and go to a freakin' furniture showroom?" He was lying on a soft bed. The sheets were smooth and cool. The room was bright, filled with a warm, golden light. "Okay, not a showroom. Maybe a rich bastard's bedroom? Did I get kidnapped by some billionaire with a thing for frilly pillows, the son of a bitch?"

He sat up, his head pounding. "Ugh, what the f*** did I drink last night? Oh, wait, I got shot. Right. That's worse, damn it." He looked around. "This place is...gaudy. Like, seriously over the top. Did a freakin' peacock throw up in here, the motherfucker?"

He looked down at himself. "What the actual f***?" He was wearing a long dress. "Is this a freakin' joke? Who dressed me like a princess, the asshole? Did I lose a bet? Wait, I don't even wear dresses, shit." His hands were small, not like his own. "Are these...my hands? Are you freakin' kidding me?"

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He stood up, his legs feeling weak. "Okay, something is seriously f*ing wrong here." He walked to a big mirror. He looked at his reflection. "Who the hell is that?" He didn't see himself. He saw a young person with pale skin and long, red hair. "Am I hallucinating? Did I get hit in the head harder than I thought, goddamn it?"

"Are you serious? Am I...a girl? No. No freakin' way. This has to be a dream. A very, very bad dream, bullshit." He touched his face. "This is not my face. This is not freakin' happening."

He walked to the window. "What the f*** is this, Versailles? Did I time travel? Did I get sucked into a freakin' history book, damn it?" He saw a big garden with green grass and tall trees. "This is not my neighborhood. Not even freakin' close."

He turned away from the window. "Okay, deep breaths," he said to himself. "Maybe I'm in a coma. Maybe this is all a coma dream. Yeah, that makes sense. A really weird, dress-wearing, palace-living coma dream, son of a bitch."

He walked around the room, looking for clues. "Where's the freakin' remote? I need to change the channel. Or, you know, wake up, goddamn it." He saw a small table with a book on it. He picked up the book. "A diary? Seriously? Who keeps a diary anymore? Oh, right, people who live in freakin' palaces."

He opened the book. "Fancy writing. Can't freakin' read this. Is this even English? Or did I travel to France, shit?" He tried to make sense of the words. "Kings, queens, balls...okay, this is definitely a history book. Or a soap opera script. Same freakin' thing, really."

He put the book down. "Okay, new plan. Find a freakin' way out. Find a doctor. Find out what the hell is going on. And find some pants. Seriously, this dress is not freakin' practical."

He remembered the dark shape in the hallway. "Someone's watching me. Great. Now I'm being followed by a ghost. Or a creepy butler. Either way, not freakin' good."

He walked to the door of the room. He turned the handle. "Locked. Of course it's freakin' locked. Because why wouldn't it be?" He tried to open the windows. "Locked too. Fantastic. I'm trapped in a freakin' princess prison."

He sat on the bed, but not in any way a princess would. He perched on the edge, legs splayed wide in a distinctly masculine posture that clashed hilariously with the flowing blue gown. "Okay, think, Ethan. Or whoever the f*** I am now. What would MacGyver do? He'd probably use a hairpin or something. Wait, I don't have hairpins. Or pockets. This freakin' dress is useless."

He closed his eyes. "This is insane. I'm a guy. I was a guy. Now I'm...this? This is not freakin' happening."

He opened his eyes. "Okay, new plan. Accept the chaos. Embrace the dress. Become the princess. Or something. Just survive. And maybe find some freakin' pants."