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Jane’s eyes snapped open to a sterile, unfamiliar light.

Her reflection stared back.

A sharp, hitching gasp sucked the air from her lungs. The woman in the mirror wasn't her. It was a doll. A thing of plastic perfection. Massive, platinum-blonde hair was piled in a high, tight ponytail, pulling her eyes wide. Her face was a mask of dramatic makeup, her lips swollen into an impossible, glossy pink pout.

Her hands rose, trembling, but they weren't her hands. They were tipped with long, square, bubblegum-pink acrylic nails. They looked absurd, fake.

She tentatively touched the lips in the mirror. They felt numb, puffy. The long nails raked through the voluminous hair—it felt coarse, yet it was rooted in her scalp. Her gaze dropped to her chest. Encased in a pink silk robe were two enormous, perfectly round orbs, straining the fabric. They were alien. Massive.

Tears welled, smudging the perfect eyeliner. A strangled whisper escaped the huge, painted mouth.

"This..."

The voice was hers, but higher, breathier.

"...this isn't me..."

The reflection's face crumpled, the perfect bimbo mask dissolving into pure, uncomprehending terror.