Barry wandered through the bustling mall, his 54-year-old frame moving with the aimless shuffle of someone with too much time and too little purpose. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow on the shoppers rushing by, but Barry barely noticed them. He was lost in his own thoughts, reflecting on the years that had slipped away, leaving him with a paunch, thinning hair, and a wardrobe of faded shirts and slacks that screamed mediocrity.

Then, he spotted her. A young woman in her early twenties, perched on a bench near a fountain, scrolling through her phone with a detached air. She had fully embraced the goth lifestyle: clad head to toe in black Victorian-inspired apparel---a corseted top with lace accents, a long flowing skirt that brushed the floor, and heavy boots that clunked with every shift of her feet. Her skin was unnaturally pale, enhanced by layers of white powder that gave her an ethereal, almost ghostly pallor. Black lipstick and eyeliner framed her features, but beneath it all, Barry could see the potential---the high cheekbones, the striking green eyes, the full lips that could light up a room if not hidden under that somber mask.

What a waste, Barry thought, his gaze lingering. She's burying her natural beauty under all that gloom. If she wants to play goth, she can do it in any body---not this one. Not hers. An impulsive idea sparked in his mind, fueled by some inexplicable surge of envy and whimsy. In a moment that defied logic or reason---perhaps a glitch in the universe itself---Barry willed a swap. Their essences traded places in an instant, seamless and silent. He blinked, and suddenly he was looking out from her eyes, feeling the youthful vitality coursing through her lithe, feminine form. She---or rather, the woman now in his old body---blinked back at him from his former shell, confusion flickering across his weathered face before settling into an odd acceptance. She adjusted her new posture, straightened the collar of his drab shirt, and wandered off, seemingly content to embrace her goth attitude in this new, unassuming vessel.

Barry, now in her body, felt a rush of exhilaration. This was his chance to reclaim what he saw as squandered potential. He glanced down at the black attire clinging to his new curves and shuddered. First things first: a complete makeover. He hurried to the nearest restroom, locking himself in a stall to begin the transformation.

Stripping off the gothic Victorian apparel felt like shedding a heavy shroud. The corseted top came first, unlaced with eager fingers, revealing soft, smooth skin underneath. He tossed it aside, along with the long black skirt that pooled at his feet like spilled ink. The heavy boots followed, kicked off with a satisfying thud. Standing there in just her undergarments, Barry examined his new reflection in the mirror---a canvas of youth, with gentle curves, toned legs from years of whatever youthful activities she pursued, and that flawless skin begging to be showcased.