Published: Feb 7, 2024

My ninety-third caption, this time featuring a gal who broke into the wrong manor.

(THIS CAPTION HAS THEMES OF BODY HORROR. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!)

Auicia LeBeau is a professional thief, infamous for having stolen many items across the globe. However, when she breaks into the manor of reclusive rich boy Girout Blackthrorn to look for valuables, she finds she may be staying around longer than she ever could have imagined…

Art was generated and edited by myself using NovelAI.

All image credits go to their respective artists. I have and never will claim ownership over any image I've used or modified for a caption, and I always encourage you to check out the artist and their wider body of work when possible.

My name was Auicia LeBeau, 24-year old professional thief. Over my years, I had skillfully stolen many valuable works of art, including Renaissance paintings, some of Leonardo da Vinci’s original design documents, and I even stole (and now owned) the famous Hope Diamond. There was no score I wouldn’t be willing to tackle… for the right price, of course.

Right now, I was back home in France, breaking into an old Victorian-era manor as quietly as I could, hoping to find some nice jewelry or art inside to fence with my contacts. I had cased this manor for the better part of a week, barely seeing any activity, if any at all, from its reclusive owner. Said owner was Girout Cuvier Blackthrorn, an “old money” rich boy who never seemed to make any public appearances. Unlike the rest of his family, who were all quite happy to soak in the limelight, Girout was something of a social recluse. People had been trying to find out what he looked like for years, but after so long, even the most dedicated of paparazzi had pretty much given up any hope of seeing his facial features.

That, of course, wasn’t what I was focused on. I didn’t care about Girout. In fact, I hoped to avoid him entirely during this little incursion. No, I just wanted to rob him blind so I’d have enough money to buy something special for my fiancé in Luberon this weekend. Hell, it was possible I might find something nice enough in this manor to give him instead.

Making my way through the manor, I was actually rather disappointed with what I was finding. It seemed like no parts of this manor were even being lived in. All the furniture in each of the rooms was covered in protective cloth, and it seemed there were no signs of any valuables. Even the rooms on the second floor were the same. It didn’t make any sense. There had been trucks the last few days making deliveries to the manor, and I knew someone must have been living here. Not willing to give up, I went back downstairs and began looking for some kind of hidden door or passageway. Eventually, after looking near the main staircase, I finally found a wood wall panel with some signs of wear. I pushed gently on it, revealing another staircase below the original one. I smirked at my own clever sense of intuition, quietly closing the panel behind me before proceeding downstairs.

Making my way down the older, stone stairs, I suddenly found myself in some kind of large room. The walls were dark and featureless, and the only thing in the room was a long table with what looked like really old chemistry equipment sprawled across it. I was confused by this, wondering what all of this was for before I heard the sharp pops of a dart gun firing, immediately followed by several distinct pulses of pain. Three darts had been fired into my back! I tried to turn around, to grab one of the darts, or run, but whatever these darts were loaded with, my body seized up instantly. I fell to the floor, unable to do anything but look up as my assailant walked over with a disappointed, gloomy look on his face.

“Oh… you must be another one of those people.” The gaunt-looking man calmly remarked, putting the dart gun on the table. “What a shame… you were so pretty too. Oh well…”

My breathing became more shallow as my vision began to blur. I felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue, as if I was about to fall asleep, but it never came. I was… somehow frozen.

Without another word, the man picked me up gently, carrying me over to a bare section of the large table. To my shock, he then calmly began using a boxcutter to slice apart my clothes, eventually revealing my naked form. He tossed my clothes in a nearby garbage bin, treating them like mere trash. Despite what this kind of horrifying situation might… normally imply, he did not try to assault me. In fact, he seemed to be treating me more like an object than a person. After finally cutting off my panties, leaving me completely exposed, he picked me up again, this time carrying me over to a fancy, if old, porcelain bathtub. It seemed larger than a normal bathtub, enough room for me to lay completely flat.

“This is Girout Blackthrorn, dated October 8th, 2007.” He spoke into a small recorder, looking down at my immobile, naked form. “I have acquired another volunteer for my experiments. Volunteer is female, 175cm, early to mid twenties. I will be testing Compound 82. Once subject is fully immersed, I will activate compound with an electric charge.”

Now completely terrified, I watched helplessly as he began to pour what looked like some kind of clear resin over top of me. He continued to pour for a few more minutes, eventually covering me completely. I felt panic overtake my mind as it covered my mouth and nose, but somehow I was still conscious, even without access to air. I had no idea what was happening anymore, or what this maniac had done to me. None of this seemed possible. By all regards, I should have been dead by now, but I could still feel all my senses. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt a strong jolt of electricity hit me. What happened next seemed even crazier than before. All of this “Compound 82” was now flowing directly into my body, absorbed by my skin! Before I knew it, my whole body had turned as white as snow, and my senses had dulled even further. Eventually, it was just me again in the tub.

“From the looks of it, the volunteer's body has fully assimilated Compound 82.” Girout nodded, still speaking into his recorder as his expression became slightly more interested. He then pulled me back out, putting me on the table again. This time he did squeeze one of my breasts, though now it didn’t move like flesh. It moved more like silicone or rubber. “Good. Most primary sex characteristics have faded. It appears epidermal conversion has been a complete success. Next, I will have to check the quality of bone conversion.”

To my sudden, incredible horror, I watched as he picked up a scalpel, unable to look down as I could feel him grab one of my fingers. I heard him slice into it, but I felt nothing but a dull thud. I began to scream internally as I caught a glimpse of my now-severed index finger in his hand, quickly moving out of my cone of vision. I was in some kind of special hell.

Hours eventually turned to days, and I was still, likely permanently trapped in this new, unmoving body. From what little I could gleam from his comments or dictation, Girout had somehow… converted me into a doll, mannequin, or something along those lines. All my skin had been turned into some kind of soft, flesh-like rubber or silicon substance, while my bones had turned to pure plastic, something called “polypropylene”. Even my hair had turned, becoming more-or-less one solid piece similar to my previous hairstyle. That wasn’t the worst of my situation, however. Apparently my “new” joints weren’t flexible enough for his liking, so he began to “rework” my body over the course of several more months.

Cutting off my arms, legs, and parts of my hips, he began “hollowing out” and making connection points for new, “more efficient” ball joints using my “new” bones. If having my finger cut off was enough to send me into an irrecoverable spiral of despair, watching him remove all my limbs entirely was more than enough to completely break the few remaining remnants of my mind. By the time he had reattached everything, making me fully-articulating, I had retreated so deeply into myself that there was no chance I’d ever come back again if such a thing were possible. After a while of being left alone in this unfeeling, lifeless form, I wasn’t even sure if I had ever been a person to begin with anymore.

Those months began to blur, eventually turning into years. Girout spent all of that time continuing his experiments, turning many other people into “figures” such as myself for well-paying clients around the world. I seemed to be his favorite though. Every once and a while he’d put me in a dress or some kind of costume, posing me however he wanted before sitting down with a glass of scotch to simply… stare at me for hours on end. Aside from when he had tested my skin years ago, he never once did anything sexual with me. The lack of touch brought back memories of my old fiancé in Luberon, who I knew must have moved on to some other living, breathing woman after I had been gone for so long…