Note: All characters mentioned in this story are over 18 years old.

Ryan Fowler, a 38-year-old man, stood backstage, heart pounding, as he adjusted the oversized bow in his blond hair. Using the GLAM, a device that altered how he appeared to others, he looks like Amber, a 7-year-old girl with wide eyes and a cherubic smile. His adult body is unaltered, only in how he appears to others.

The beauty pageant for 6-8-year-old girls was his latest venture, a whimsical challenge he thought would be a breeze. He glanced at the other contestants, their pigtails bouncing and dresses sparkling under the stage lights, never suspecting they were anything but young girls. Unbeknownst to Ryan, every single one of them was an adult man, each wielding their own GLAM to craft a similar illusion. The stage, adorned with balloons and streamers in pastel hues, buzzed with a joyful, innocent energy that masked the underlying deception.

To prepare, Ryan had hired weeks before a pageant coach, Ms. Clara, a kind but firm woman who believed Amber was a genuine 7-year-old girl. Ms. Clara drilled him on poise, posture, and charm, guiding him through the intricacies of pageant performance. She adjusted his stance, taught him to smile brightly, and choreographed a simple dance routine for the talent portion. Ryan, as Amber, absorbed her lessons eagerly, though he sometimes struggled to suppress his adult mannerisms. Ms. Clara’s encouragement was unwavering, her belief in Amber’s potential boosting Ryan’s confidence. He never let on that he was anything other than the sweet, eager girl she saw, and she never suspected otherwise.

Ms. Clara had meticulously chosen Amber’s outfit to fit the part. His light pink dress, adorned with childish ruffles and delicate lace, swished as he moved, carefully selected to avoid anything too mature or revealing. Paired with it were cheerful, colorful tights covered in playful patterns-hearts and stars-that added a youthful charm. His shoes, bright and glittery with oversized bows, sparkled with every step, catching the stage lights. Simple jewelry completed the look: tiny stud earrings and a delicate necklace with a small heart pendant, adding just a touch of sparkle without overdoing it. His makeup was minimal, a light blush and a hint of lip gloss to enhance his natural, youthful glow. The big, cheerful bow in his hair, perfectly matching the dress, tied the ensemble together, making Amber the picture of innocence.

Ryan remembered the boutique where it had been purchased. Crown & Glitter smelled like vanilla body spray and new fabric. Mannequins in sequined gowns and feathered capes lined the walls, their glass eyes staring down as Ryan clung to Ms. Clara’s hand. “We’re building your brand, sweetie,” Ms. Clara said, steering him toward a rack of formal dresses. “First impressions matter. You need to sparkle before you even walk onstage.”

Ryan’s eyes lit up at first. The dresses were like princess costumes, all tulle and glitter. But when Ms. Clara held up a hot-pink gown with a sash that read “Future Star,” Ryan wrinkled his nose. “Pink’s okay, but… can I try the blue one? With the stars?” He pointed to a periwinkle dress with constellations sewn into the skirt.

“Blue’s for ice queens, and you’re a sunshine girl,” Ms. Clara said, already unzipping the pink gown. “Trust me-this color pops under stage lights. Now, arms up!”

Ryan obeyed, but the satin felt scratchy against his skin. “It tickles,” he mumbled.

“Fabric softener will fix that,” Ms. Clara said, adjusting the neckline. “Next: leotards for the talent segment. You need something that moves and sparkles.”

The leotards were worse. One was neon green with cutouts at the hips (“Too flashy,” Ms. Clara said, “judges like elegance”), another had a turtle neck (“No, you need to show your posture”). Ryan pointed to a lavender one with tiny stars. “This one’s soft!”

“Stars are for the dance costume, not the leotard,” Ms. Clara said, holding up a black number with a plunging back. “Black is sophisticated. You’ll pair it with your rhinestone earrings.”

By the time they got to swimwear, Ryan’s feet ached from standing in strappy sandals that “matched the formal gown” but pinched his toes. The swimsuits were all ruffles and bows-“modest but showstopping,” Ms. Clara said. Ryan tried on a pink one with a skirted bottom. “It feels… tight,” he said, tugging at the elastic.