Picture by Mikan_Zakuro

Dearest Adam,

As you no doubt have found out, I am gone along with a substantial amount of your savings, consider it payment for what you have done to my body. When my first suspicions that you were spiking my food and drinks came to light, I dismissed them. After all, I thought you were a friend, but I write this letter with a delicate hand that has painted nails, something I never would've done if you had not screwed with my mind. With that considered, you should feel lucky that I only took money and not your life.

When I initially came up to you, confiding that my mind had felt weird as if I was being subliminally messaged to, you laughed it off, causing me to think maybe I was overreacting. Then my body started to change, becoming softer and smaller. You still blew me off, telling me that maybe I was crazy and imagining things. Once again, I trusted my friend, whom I had an artificially planted attraction to growing. A straight man doesn't wake up attracted to his male roommate one day; that's something that takes years to cultivate, and only if he were bisexual or gay, but yet my feelings for you grew significantly over a single week.

Then, when the changes to my body were undeniable, you were there for me, a shoulder to cry on as I had to accept my feminizing body. Your care cemented my feelings for you as you helped me shop for new clothes to cover my new curves or embrace them. I caught you sneaking looks at my chest or ass as they grew, a smirk on your face, but I was too stupid to see it as anything but mutual love. You could've gotten away with it, making me your perfect, hypnotized girlfriend, but you got sloppy.

I entered your room the other night to leave a gift I had bought for you when I found it in a slightly open drawer. There was a set of headphones and an MP3 player with the screen lit. Curiosity got the better of me, and I looked through the music, seeing what the man I thought I loved, but imagine my horror when I found nothing but track after track of sleep hypnosis designed to make people fall in love. A deeper dive into your drawer showed your true intentions when I found the bottle of pills you've been using on me.

Despite the evidence in my hands, I still couldn't believe you would betray me, either out of ignorance or the thoughts you had put into my head. Luckily, though you may have changed my thoughts, you didn't make me stupid, so I trusted my gut. I observed you for the next few days, finding more damning evidence, like a film in my drinks or a bit of powder on my plate. My mind told me to trust you, but my gut told me to run, so I did so.

Now that I'm away from you, my attraction hasn't faded, my heart still longs for you, but looking at my cleavage as I write this letter has shown me I shouldn't. The doctors told me that what you've done is irreversible, and I should get used to living as a woman, so I must. I've attached a picture to remember me by, a memento of your cruelty. Don't try to find me, because you won't.

Signed,
Your Victim