Sasha—that was the name of the girl whose body I currently inhabited.
A corporate slave through and through.
If stress and overwork hadn't eaten away at her, she might have been stunning. She had those natural, tumbling curls of deep violet, the kind of hair women spent thousands of dollars trying to dye into perfection. They shimmered when the light hit them, trailing down her back like ribbons of silk.
Her face, small and heart-shaped, carried an innocent, almost shy charm. She could have passed for a sweet college student if not for the dark circles under her eyes and the way her spine curved from endless hours at the desk.
But that Sasha—the meek, overworked office drone—was gone. Her body now housed a different soul. Stronger in character. Sharper in will.
The timid way she hunched in meetings was replaced by a straight back and calculating eyes. Where she once muttered apologies, now there was only certainty in her tone.
