Ronald was already up by dawn. Even though he wasn't in his original body, his discipline remained unshaken. Muscles strained and joints popped as he forced Mr. Lerrington's frail limbs through a daily ritual: stretching, push‑ups, even a few squats that looked comically stiff. A towel hung over his shoulder like a soldier's sash, and once he'd worked up a sweat, he turned to scrubbing the shed from top to bottom.
By the time sunlight pooled through the cracks in the wooden walls, the once‑dusty shack looked more like a cozy hideout than a prisoner's refuge. A single decorative flowerpot brightened the room—though the plant inside was suspiciously plastic.
And me? I remained perfectly, blissfully unconscious.
"Llyne. Llyne!" Ronald called softly, nudging my shoulder.
No response.
He poked my side, gently at first. "Come on, it's almost afternoon."
"Mmm…"
A few more pokes to the cheek. That was his mistake.
Eyes still closed, I turned my head and bit his finger.
"Ow!" Ronald yelped, shaking his hand and blowing on the reddened spot.
I sat up with a slow, offended hiss, spitting on the floor like a cat whose nap had been disturbed. "That's what happens when you mess with my beauty sleep."
Ronald met my gaze with helpless puppy eyes. "But… it's almost afternoon."
Blinking away the last fog of sleep, I took in the clean floor, the swept corners, the faint scent of furniture oil. I froze.
"Where are we?" I mumbled.
Ronald puffed up a bit. "Still in the shed. I cleaned and redecorated it."
I stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Were you a maid in your past life?"
Ronald blinked. "What?"
"Never mind," I muttered. My hand crept up to my nose—an old reflex honed by boredom. Mid‑pick, I caught myself and gasped. "Ack! My bad habit. If I pick my nose again, I'll be dead."
Ronald tilted his head, baffled. "It's just nose picking. It won't kill you."
I laid my hand on his shoulder, solemn as a priest. "Ronald, trust me. Nose‑picking can lead to death."
He flinched, scrubbing my hand away with a cloth. "Because you'll get a nosebleed? But nosebleeds don't kill you."
"No," I sighed, "but being beaten to death is a guaranteed free pass."
Ronald's brow furrowed. "Why is your life so... exaggerated?"
I rose to my feet, striking a heroic pose. "Let's go, Ronald. There's plenty to do."
"Like what?" he asked, standing reluctantly.
"We plan as we go," I declared.
A thought sparked, curling my lips into a devilish grin. "Oh, right. You can't go out looking like that—everyone will recognize you."
Ronald saw the look in my eyes and immediately backed away, dread draining the color from his face.
"No. No! NNOOOO!"
His scream ripped down the alleyway, probably scaring half the pigeons in town—and possibly two other neighborhoods.
An hour later, I stepped back, hands on my hips, and admired my work.
Before me stood a beautiful brunette: long, glossy hair, puffed‑up bangs, big doe‑eyes, V‑shaped face, slender figure. A perfect disguise—still nimble enough to flee when the inevitable chaos arrived.
'A flat beauty has its own charm,' I mused. 'Let's leave it at that.'
"If Master Vod saw you now, he'd never tease you again," I said, nodding with genuine pride.
"Really?" Ronald asked, hope flickering in his big brown eyes.
"Yup. Instead, he'd probably treat you like his long‑lost daughter and name you something like… Ronette."
Ronald's shoulders slumped. "…"
I slung an arm around him. "Come on! You look like the female lead of a romance drama. You're so beautiful, even a prince would fall head over heels."
"But… I'm not interested in males…"
I blinked, shrugged. "Can't you just praise me for doing such a good job?"
Ronald hesitated, then surrendered with a small thumbs‑up. "You're the best."
"Thank you."
We gathered our few things and stepped into daylight. I walked with a swagger, clad in a flamboyant minstrel's outfit, a borrowed fiddle resting against my shoulder like a badge of mischief.
Ronald eyed me, unimpressed.
"What?" I asked.
"How come you get to dress like a handsome minstrel? And where did you even get that?" He jabbed a finger at the fiddle.
"This fiddle? I borrowed it."
"You mean stole."
"You should use positive words to get positive results, my dear Ronette. And call me, Louis."
*From this point on, Ronald will be referred to as Ronette, and Llyne as Louis, until they transform again. Their genders remain the same—Ronette as he and Louis as she.*
Ronette tugged at the frilly skirt, cheeks pink with embarrassment. "Must I wear this? It feels... airy down there."
"Of course! Don't you feel all giddy while cross‑dressing?" I spun dramatically, cloak fluttering.
"If I did, I wouldn't be asking," Ronette deadpanned.
The streets were eerily empty. Silence pooled in the alleys like spilled ink.
"Where is everyone?" I muttered, scanning the dusty storefronts. "I don't remember this place being a ghost town."
Ronette crouched, massaging his feet. "These shoes are killing me."
"Women's shoes are meant to hurt."
"Why?"
"How should I know? Ah, the pain people endure for beauty." I twirled away, half amused, half resigned.
Then—a noise.
I froze. Ears perked. "Ronette! Wait here. I'll be right back."
"Huh? Lly—No! Louis—wai—"
I didn't wait. I darted down the alley, cloak snapping behind me. Ronette groaned, forced to follow, skirts rustling.
We rounded a corner—and stopped short.
A huge crowd had gathered around the town's central announcement board.
Curious, I pulled Ronette closer, pushing through the crush of townsfolk.
Then I saw it.
Front and center, a wanted poster. My face sketched in bold, almost heroic lines. Beneath, the words:
WANTED: DEAD FOR KIDNAPPING THE LORD
REWARD: 1000 GOLD COINS
I flipped my hair flamboyantly, striking a pose. "I clearly look more dashing than the drawing. As they always say, a picture can never capture the true essence of the real thing."
Ronette's jaw dropped. "What are we going to do now? You're going to get killed!"
"That's why we're cross‑dressing, Ronette." I grinned, patting his shoulder. "Now smile for the people, Ronette."
"My name is Ronald!" he protested, arms crossed.
"You're dressed like a girl, so now you must have a girl's name."
"Can't you at least give me a neutral name?"
"This is the olden times. There's no such thing as a neutral name," I said, smug. "So suck it up."
As we bickered like alley cats, an elderly lady approached, eyes twinkling, smile gentle.
"My, my. I've never seen such attractive people like you two," she cooed.
I turned to her with my most gallant flourish, sweeping her hand into mine. With a minstrel's purr and roguish glint, I bowed low.
"Madam, the stars weep in envy of your grace, and the flowers wilt, for they cannot compete. But your compliment, fair as spring, has given this poor minstrel new life. Shall I sing of your beauty, or weep for joy in silence?"
The old lady blushed, hand to cheek. "Oh my... such silver‑tongued charm!"
Ronette turned to me slowly, horror dawning. 'He's a menace', his eyes screamed.
I winked, giving the signal with a subtle flick of my wrist. "Don't just stand there, Ronette. Blow her a kiss!"
Ronette hesitated—then, cheeks crimson, blew a trembling kiss. His hands shook so badly he nearly poked his own eye.
The old lady chuckled, delighted. "What delightful little darlings you both are!"
Ronette let out a silent scream, mortified, and I patted his back, barely hiding my laughter.
"Did you two just arrive?" the old lady asked, dabbing her eyes.
"Ah! Indeed, m'lady," I replied, voice soft as silk. "We stepped into this quaint haven but minutes ago, only to find the streets as still as a sleeping forest—until we followed the echo of voices here."
She nodded solemnly. "That's because an officer just made an announcement… Our dear lord has been kidnapped."
I gasped, clutching my chest theatrically. "What scoundrel dares commit such a vile transgression? That poor, noble soul! The lord must be beside himself with terror."
"Oh, our poor lord," she whimpered. "He's so delicate—why, even a summer breeze could blow him away. And now this heartless crook has taken him… Oh! My heart can't bear it!" Tears welled.
I slipped a silken handkerchief from my sleeve, gently blotting her tears. "Fret not, fair madam. I vow, upon my honor and art, that justice shall descend like thunder upon that cowardly villain. The lord will be safe, and the wrongdoer? Exposed beneath the spotlight of truth!"
Her sorrow melted into a hopeful smile. "You speak like someone who's lived here all your life."
I leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "M'lady, I do not believe in curses… but I do believe in the catharsis of the heart. Let us not fester in silence and turn bitter. Let our words fly like arrows of song, striking terror into the fiend who dared disrupt this peace!"
A man in the crowd raised his fist. "Hear, hear! If we can't drag that cursed kidnapper through the streets, let's compose a ballad that'll haunt him!"
A roar of agreement swept the square. Instruments appeared from pockets and satchels, and the air filled with music. Laughter mixed with fury. A mocking, vengeful chorus rose against the "heinous kidnapper."
Ronette stood frozen, eyes locked on me. 'How could you help them write a song that curses you?!', his look screamed.
I caught his gaze and smirked, fiddle balanced on my shoulder. 'Trust me.'
He trembled, imagining the chaos if the truth spilled out. Still, the music swelled around us, and I danced along its melody like any good minstrel would—right at the edge of the fire.