Chapter Six

Well, there I was. A lass, sitting in an attic, staring at a witch who’d gotten her dress covered in chalk. But “being a lass” only got me so far, because despite everything Verona said, I looked no different. And then there was the matter of my wife—and my father, the neighbors, my cousins, my Aunt and Uncle, and McRinner and his Bandymen. Oh, Highest, I had no idea what to do.

But then again, this person, this stranger, said she saw me as a woman. And out of all the things swirling in my head, that was what broke the dam and sent me weeping yet again.

“Hey, hey, R,” Verona said. “It’s okay! It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Trust me, you’re gonna be gorgeous. And again, you don’t have to start right away, and even once you do, you don’t have to deal with it all at once. It’ll be slow, trust me.”

“B-but I mean, w-what about L-Lynn? She’s, I mean, she’s not—I don’t know how she’ll—I mean—”

“Shhh,” Verona said. “I know it must be a lot. And I can’t tell you how other people will react—I mean, the townsfolk won’t care much, beyond the usual gossip. It’s not too unheard of for young men to become young women, even if it is a little odd to some. But your family? Your friends? I can’t guarantee they’ll be onboard. What I can say is that anyone who sees you poorly for this? That’s on them, not on you. You’re who matters right now. If someone is cruel to you, then that just makes them a cruel person, nothing more.”

“Not unheard of?” I said, tracing the grain of the floorboards with my finger. “It’s unheard of to me! I might not know everyone in town, but I’ve never met anyone like this before.”

“Yes,” Verona said. “I don’t doubt you’ve missed talk on these sorts of subjects. The Archivists could stand to include more folks in their discussions. Morreton’s only got what, seven thousand folks in it? And yet, I know at least eighty young lads, lasses, and folks just like you. Myself included, as a matter of fact.”

Squinting, I tried to make sense of what she’d just said. She didn’t look like a lad—not at all. I was short as it was, and yet she had to crane her neck to look me in the eye.

“Nonsense,” I said. “That’s—that can’t be true.”

“I get that a lot.”

“What, does this medicine make you shrink?”

“No—er, I started taking the medicine when I was younger, and my folks were rather short themselves, so I didn’t get the chance to grow much.”

Taking all that in, I stared out the window, gazing at the sunny grove of endelwood outside. The vines were starting to darken—soon, they’d take on that oily winter look, but now they seemed to glisten in the midday sunlight. I couldn’t believe how early it still was—this morning had seemed like an eternity.

“I assume I’d have to take this medicine forever, then?” I asked.

“I make three-month batches, so you wouldn’t have to come every day. I’ve got a good system worked out with the Garrisons and the Brandyfalls, among others. They help supply some of the necessary components for the drugs.”

“The Brandyfalls—you mean the stablefolks? Don’t they tend the Bandymen’s horses? What kind of components—”

“Let’s avoid that particular line of questioning, shall we?” she interrupted. “I’d rather not go into exactly how the sausage gets made. Or—unmade in this case.”

“Yes, er… about that—”

“Sadly,” Verona said, “I don’t have the expertise to deal with that particular issue. For what it’s worth, it should shrink, become… softer in general, but you’d need a surgeon for anything more. I know of one a couple hundred leagues South, right at the edge of Suffhelm, but he’s not a part of the Rural Guild, so he’d charge coin for his services.”

Sighing, I shrugged. “I suppose I’ve gotten ahead of myself anyway. I don’t want to start taking anything until I’ve told Lynn. She deserves to know, and—Highest, I can’t believe I’m even considering this, I mean, what does it say about me that—”

“Shhh,” Verona said again, bringing her finger up to my lips. “It doesn’t say a speck about you. You are a good person, R. A bit on the shy side, but I consider myself a good judge of character, and you deserve to wear something other than a big, floppy coat and a frown.”

We exchanged a few more words, but Verona eventually took to ushering me down the stairwell, whereupon she stopped me by a small door and took me into a room full of yet more glass tubes and vials and beakers and cups and such. She palmed two small jars from her cupboard and shoved them into my hands. The first contained several hundred tiny, yellow discs, which she called “Stoppers,” explaining that they’d simply stop my body from becoming more masculine as I aged. In the second were an equal number of slightly larger, red discs, which she called “Starters,” as they would encourage my body to become more feminine over time. For the next few hours, we discussed my goals, the medicine’s effects and side effects, and what I’d need to do on a daily basis to care for myself. Having prescribed me a daily routine, she then ushered me back into the living room.

My wife lay there on the couch, snoozing with her long, red, curly hair mussed up all over her cheeks. A small pile of books had suspiciously arranged themselves around her, and I smiled, grateful she’d been so patient with me, despite what I was about to put her through—assuming I went through with all of it. I tapped her on the shoulder, and her eyes fluttered open for a moment, but she turned away and curled up ever further.

So, I plopped my rear right onto her hips and sat there until she shoved me off.

“Gerofffff,” she groaned, sitting up and shifting around so her head somehow wound up on my lap. “Tirrrrrreddddd.”

As Verona scooted into the kitchen to prepare another round of tea, I leaned over and hugged Lynn as tight as I could. At first, she sighed, smiling—then, she started to gag as my hug became too much for her.

She wiggled free and bapped me on the nose with one of the books.

“You! You—you ruffian!” she said tackling me in an equally tight hug. She only let up once Verona walked back in. Lynn quickly sat straight and rearranged her hair, flushing.

“Well, Mrs. McReid,” Verona said, “I daresay that went about the way I expected, and by that, I mean it went well, plus or minus a few hiccups.”

“Really?” Lynn said. She glanced down at the pill jars in my hands and smiled. “Are those the mind pills, then?”

“Not exactly, Mrs. McReid. As I’m sure you’re aware, your partner has spent the last few years becoming more withdrawn. Well, I had a hunch about that, just in seeing the two of you for a moment, and I’m afraid to say my hunch was right on the mark.”

Lynn glanced toward me, but I looked away, shame welling in my gut.

“Mrs. McReid,” Verona said, “while we were upstairs, your partner and I had a long discussion about the origin of this particular discomfort, and we, as you might recall from earlier, confirmed that a lot of these depressive episodes have stemmed from a… bodily issue.”

Nodding, Lynn leaned in, taking a small honey cake from the tea dish the witch had brought out.

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“It was confirmed to me that the issue of your partner’s wellbeing has largely stemmed from their body being too… masculine, as you might say.”

At that, Lynn looked remarkably skeptical. “Too masculine?” She scanned me up and down. “Ronny, too masculine? What’s this all about? Hon, you’ve never been a manly man—I mean, why do you think McRinner always called you a dandy? I’d’ve assumed that you’d want to be more masculine, hon.”

For a few moments, I tried to articulate myself, but I just ended up stammering. Verona, thankfully stepped in.

“I suppose you might say,” Verona said, “that your partner is more struggling with the idea of being masculine at all.”

“What’s with the whole ‘your partner’ business?” Lynn said, glancing between Verona and myself. “‘Masculine at all…’ What, you’re saying he’d rather be a lass or summat?”

Verona quietly nodded, while I slipped back into my cloak and hid, desperate to avoid my wife’s gaze.

“Wait, are you serious?” Lynn said, speaking much softer. “Are—are you saying Ronny is… a trans?”

“Well, er, that particular phrasing of it isn’t really considered correct, but… yes, I suppose.”

Lynn went awfully quiet. So did the room. I was left huddling under my cloak, staring uncomfortably at my own body in the dim light that trickled through the fabric. Only the birds outside spoke.

Lynn cleared her throat and slowly began to speak, her voice wavering. “Well, I hesitate to say I’m not… terribly surprised in hindsight, but you caught me a bit off-guard, I’ll be honest. I’m—I don’t really know what to say, considering. But, eh, I mean, I d-did promise in my vows t-that we’d always be together, in sickness and health a-and all that. S-so, uh, I hope this doesn’t mean that y-you would actually rather see me as just a f-friend or anything.”

I popped my head out of my cocoon and stared at her now tear-streaked face, and for the third time that day, I burst into tears as well.

“N-no, Lynn,” I said. “Never! Never, never! I wanted you to marry me; I’d never make a fool of you by asking something like that if I didn’t really, genuinely love you. I’m so sorry, Lynn, I’m—I—I’m so sorry.”

Once again, Lynn tackled me and squeezed twice as hard as before. “No, no, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do, Ronny—or, whatever you’d prefer to be called—but I don’t want to run away just because this isn’t what I… anticipated from our relationship. I mean, I have four grandmothers, so it’s not as though the thought has never crossed my mind about… you know… other lasses. But I just never thought that was me, and now I’m a bit—I don’t know—because all of this just came out of nowhere, and I thought you were just depressed; I mean, this changes everything I ever knew about you, but it also shouldn’t affect that much, but if you really are a trans… or, er, if you are a transgender, that is, then I suppose I’d have a good amount of time to get used to it, right? I mean, I know one of my third cousins turned out to be a lad, even though he was supposed to be a lass, and it took him a fair bit to make the change. And even though I don’t know him too well, he just looks like a normal lad now, I suppose. But then, what does that mean for me? Because if you really are a lass, and if you end up looking like a lass, then can I really imagine myself k-kissing you like that? I mean, could I really kiss another woman? Or have I already been kissing another woman this whole time? It’s—it's—”

Her face became beet red as she continued to ramble, words tumbling out of her mouth faster and faster, scooting closer and closer until she and I were tangled together, our collective tears forming a puddle on the couch.

“D-do you think,” I started, forcing my strangled voice to produce any sound at all, “you could call me R-Rosalie?”

She looked at me, blinking, as her mind creaked over what I’d just said. But then, her eyes lit up. “And instead of Ronny, I could call you Rosie, for short! Is that okay?”

I couldn’t nod fast enough.

Like a viper, she darted forward and kissed me on the nose. Then, she flushed bright red to the tips of her ears and looked away, like I would tease her for kissing me—something she hadn’t done in years.

“So,” she said, still looking away, “how does this… change… work? I assume there’s some sort of potion or tincture that will get it started. How long will it take to prepare?”

“Actually, the drug is contained in those pills Rosalie is holding,” Verona said.

Lynn slapped her hands over her face. “I’m an utter fool.”

“In essence, these drugs will change Rosalie’s body. Subtly in some areas, not-so-subtly in others. Actually,” Verona trailed off, rummaging through one of the shelves behind her and produced a loose-leaf flier, hand drawn with curly calligraphy.

“I made these a few years back—I only got around to making three or four, actually, so I’d like it back if you don’t mind. Anyway,” she said, handing the pamphlet to Lynn. “This is a short overview of the effects of these drugs, along with usage information and a timeline so you know how long things will take. Oh—er, you do know your letters, right?”

“Of course!” my wife said, looking a bit offended as she started scanning the page. I leaned over, catching the phrase “breast growth” in several places. Lynn caught my eyes after a while, and we ended up staring at each other for a moment, our cheeks red as poppies.

“So,” Lynn said. “Uh, this is… confusing.”

“Oh,” Verona said, “I’m sorry, is it mixed up? I was a bit tossed when I wrote these, it’s not my best handwriting I swear.”

“No, no,” Lynn said, “your writing is beautiful. It’s more that, well, I’m feeling some weird things right now, and I have to say, I’m not sure how I ought to be reacting, but… of all things, I feel… giddy?”

“Giddy good or giddy bad?” I asked.

Squinting, Lynn cocked her head. “Uh—not bad. I’m not sure, but not bad. I’m… this is a lot to take in, and it’s all moving so fast, and there’s parts I’m worried about and parts I think I’m confused about, but I don’t really think that’s all that I’m feeling, either; there’s a lot of big things swirling around in my head, but there’s also a lot of little things, and I’m not sure what thoughts are big and which are small, and it’s all quite strange. I mean, what does it say if a part of me felt… excited to read… some of the things on that list?”

Verona raised her eyebrows, tutting under her breath. “Well, I’d say it’s a good sign.”

 

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