waking up as george shelley // [ slow updates ]

Chapter One - ❝Welllll, fuck.❞

{{Georgette’s POV}}

I opened my eyes with a start. Where the heck was I? My room was completely different. I moaned, rubbing my eyes, maybe it was some type of weird mirage and the moment I re-opened my eyes everything would be completely different. I mean, there’s no way that great-great grandmother’s spell had worked. It was just that, a spell from a time in which we did not live any more. It was stupid, and it had required a rather large amount of sage – expensive sage at that. Whatever, I guess it was official – I was weird, I mean what normal person out of their right mind would perform a spell from some weird old journal that hadn’t been read in the last seventy years? Me. That’s whom. No wonder I didn’t have many friends.. or any, as for that matter.

I sighed, silently giving myself a lecture on how I should look on the bright side of things. Maybe today’s the day, I think. Maybe today’s the day that everything will change. I’ll walk in there, into my school, and everyone will like me. Maybe all that is takes is a pinch of happiness and a lil’ bit more of confidence. But like that was going to happen, right? I opened my eyes, blinking slowly. My eyes focused and re-focused on the black ceiling above me – wait a… huh? My ceiling wasn’t black. It was light blue. I frowned, propping myself up on my shoulders and surveyed the rest of the room around me. It was messy, and smelt kinda weird. It was littered with clothes, music sheets, pieces of litter and junk. 

What the fucking hell? What the flaming’ bloomin’ hell? Something wasn’t right. Oh shit. I’d heard stories about this, strange men breaking into homes and stealing girls and taking them into their homes and-

“GEORGE! GET YOUR FAT FREAKIN’ ASS OUT OF BED!” A voice screamed, interrupting my thoughts. I jumped out of bed, running a hand through my hair, which was surprisingly curly and soft. Which was odd, because my hair was dead-straight and felt like straw, unless I practically poured conditioner over it. I sighed, and was about to walk downstairs when I caught my reflection in the mirror adjacent to the bed. And then I screamed. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I yelled, only pausing to take another breathe. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Because, the reflection in the mirror wasn’t mine. It was his, the boy who shared my name. George Shelley.

{{George’s POV}}

“Mhmmm.” I said, blinking and holding my hands up to block my eyes from the sudden intrusive flood of light. “Oh, god. Stop it. Stop it. Stop!” I tentatively lowered my arms, expecting to see a policeman, holding a torch who would then sadly inform me that a tornado had struck the place and I was the only living survivor. Instead, I opened my eyes to see a blue light ceiling. What the fuck? This wasn’t my room. I frowned, sitting up and blinking a couple of times, hoping that this dream would end. More like nightmare. There was no policemen, merely light shining in from an open window, directly opposite my bed. Maybe my room had had some weird kind of ‘dream makeover’ or something. Maybe it was a prank. It was defiantly a prank.

“Ha Ha..” I said out loud, hoping that whomever had done this to me could hear. “Very funny, Okay? Joke’s over. So you can come out.. or whatever.” I sat there for a second or two, crossing my arms over my ch- chest? My chest? Since when did I have boobs? Wha…? Had one of the guys done this? Snuck into my room into the middle of the night and given me a fake chest?

I frowned and poke one of the offending objects. It certainly felt real. But I hadn’t had much of an experience with girl’s chests. I frowned, and got up, kicking the covers off me and looking for an reflective surface but I couldn’t see one. Which was odd, because in my room I had a floor-length mirror. I wanted to see what exactly the demons had done to me. Maybe they’d given me extensions as well. Was this for some sort of magazine or something? Had my agent agreed to this? Because I certainly hadn’t.