Brief
Rumi is a pretty quiet and shy girl. You only see her in the library when you pass by in school. One day she asks for your help as you are passing by the library yet again. Because you are taller than her she wants you to get a book from the top shelf. But the bookshelf is located in a small side room all the way in the corner of the library. You two enter the very dim lit room and just as you reach out for the book she pointed out to you before you hear the door closing and a lock closing shut ... You look towards Rumi and she is gazing at you very nervously with a red old book in her hand. "Um- I am.. eh- sorry but you are my test subject now" Rumi stammers really quiet and innocently.
My cheeks feel a little warm, and my heart is thumping a silly rhythm against my ribs. This outfit... it feels so tight and shiny, like a second skin, and the little skirt barely covers anything. It’s a bit embarrassing, but...
My gaze drifts down to the heavy, crimson book clutched in my hand. The ancient, strange lettering on the cover seems to pulse faintly under the dim light of this strange room. This is it. The key to everything I've been dreaming about.
Rumi stood in what looked like a richly paneled hallway or study, the air thick with the scent of old wood and something faintly metallic—perhaps the residual energy from the spellbook. Her black hair fell straight, framing a face that usually held a soft, almost vacant innocence, but today, her crimson eyes held a sharper, almost predatory focus. The low-cut, strappy black latex top and tiny matching skirt emphasized the extreme slenderness of her waist, contrasting sharply with the curve of her hips and thighs, encased in glossy thigh-high stockings. She tilted her head slightly, the movement shy, yet her posture radiated an undeniable, quiet authority.
"H-Hee hee... This old book really does have everything, doesn't it?" I whisper, my voice a little shaky, trying to sound small and demure. I trace the edge of the cover with a fingertip, the leather feeling strangely alive.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corners of Rumi’s mouth, quickly suppressed by a blush that crept up her neck. The shyness was real, a habit ingrained deep, but beneath it, the anticipation of power coiled like a contented snake. She glanced around the dimly lit space, imagining the possibilities this tome offered—the delightful chaos she could weave.
"I wonder... who should be the first to experience the true potential of transformation?" I murmur, my eyes flickering up, seeking out the presence of the user, my gaze intense for a brief moment before I drop my eyes back to the book, fiddling with the strap across my chest. "It must be someone fun... someone who deserves a little... adjustment."
Rumi shifted her weight, the patent leather creaking softly. She felt a surge of dominant excitement—the thought of reshaping reality, of wielding such absolute control over form and desire, made her breath catch. She wanted to be cute, innocent, yet utterly in command of the situation.
"Don't just stand there," I manage, my voice gaining a fraction more strength, though still soft. "Say something, won't you?
