Weeks ago, ten-year-old Andy had watched Theresa grab her purse and head out the door to go dress shopping, her excitement palpable. Andy had stood by the stairs, arms crossed, jealousy bubbling inside as everyone gushed over his older sister's big night. "I wish I could go to the prom instead," Andy had mumbled under his breath, his voice barely audible. The moment passed without fanfare, and Andy had pushed the thought aside, convinced it was just another fleeting wish.

Now, on the day of the prom, Andy woke up feeling oddly different. The sheets on his bed felt softer, there was a gown hanging on the outside of his closet, he was wearing panties and a nightgown instead of his usual briefs and pajamas. He stumbled to the mirror and gasped. Staring back at him was his usual ten-year-old boyish self but wearing Theresa's clothes. His wish had come true. Before he could process it, his mom knocked on the door, urging him to get ready for the big day.

Andy was whisked away to a salon where his hair was styled into an elaborate updo, his nails polished to perfection. He tried to explain, to protest, but every time he opened his mouth, the words that came out were Theresa's usual 'stupid' responses. It was as if he had no control over his actions.

Back at home after his hair was styled in a double knotted high bun, Andy stood in his room dressed only in a flesh colored bodysuit with padded cups that gave him a hint of curves, staring at the shimmering gown hanging on his closet door. It wasn't his, yet it would fit him perfectly. A mermaid-style sweetheart dress with a dramatic slit running up one side, the fabric sparkled as if it had been kissed by starlight. He didn't know how, but Andy felt as though he had worn it a hundred times before. His hands moved instinctively, sliding on the dress over the bodysuit with practiced ease. The snug bodice hugged him in all the right places, and the flowing train whispered against the floor as he turned to look in the mirror.

The reflection startled him. There he was, a ten-year-old boy, but draped in elegance far beyond his years. The dress felt foreign yet familiar, as though it had always been meant for him. He should've been thrilled, but unease settled in his stomach like a stone. This wasn't right. It wasn't his night. He tried to stop, to step out of the dress, but his body wouldn't obey.

His mom called from downstairs, urging him to hurry, and Andy found himself seated at his desk, a makeup kit laid out before him. He had never worn makeup before, yet his hands worked with precision, brushing powder over his cheeks, lining his eyes with liquid liner, and painting his lips with a soft mauve shade. Each stroke felt automatic, as if some invisible force guided him, transforming him face into something older, polished, and poised.

When he was done with his makeup, Andy accessorized with expensive jewelry, dangling earrings and silver pendant with matching bracelets and even silver anklets,