Maeve O’Connell had always been the odd one out. A lanky, bookish girl with thick glasses and a nervous stutter, she had never quite fit in with the other girls at school. They gossiped about boys and makeup, while she spent her lunch breaks in the library, nose-deep in fantasy novels. More than anything, she wished she could be confident, strong—someone people actually respected.
That wish took a turn for the bizarre on her walk home.
She had been taking her usual shortcut through the woods when something glimmered in the underbrush. Pushing aside the ferns, her breath caught—there, nestled in the dirt, was a small, shining pot of gold.
Her fingers had barely brushed the surface when a furious voice rang out.
“Oi! That be my gold, lass!”
Maeve spun around, heart pounding. Standing before her was a tiny, bearded man in a green coat, his sharp eyes glaring up at her.
“You weren’t guarding it very well,” she muttered.
The leprechaun’s scowl deepened. “You’ll be givin’ that back now.”
Maeve tightened her grip. This was magic. A chance at something more. “Not until you grant me a wish.”
The leprechaun let out a huff. “Fine. What’s the wish?”
“I… I want to be respected. To be strong, confident—someone people listen to.”
The leprechaun’s grin sent a shiver down her spine. “Ah, so that’s what ya want, is it?” He tapped his cane against the ground. “Granted.”
The world around her spun. Maeve gasped, the trees blurring into streaks of green and gold until darkness swallowed her whole.
The next morning, Maeve awoke to foreign sensations.
Her bed felt smaller, her limbs heavier. Blinking blearily, she lifted her hands—bigger, rougher than before.
Then she grabbed her phone and opened the front camera.
Staring back at her was not Maeve O’Connell—at least, not as she had known herself.
A broad-shouldered young man with messy red hair and a stubbled jawline stared at her in shock. His muscular arms flexed involuntarily as he clutched the blanket around his chest. His jaw dropped—his voice was deep.
Maeve scrambled out of bed, almost tripping over her own legs. Her pajamas had vanished, she quickly grabbed the towel on the floor and wrapped it around her, hanging low on her hips.
Heart racing, she unlocked her phone. Every message, every photo—all of it had shifted. Reality had rewritten itself. And now, she was him.
Happy early St. Patrick’s Day to everyone! I’m am going to be on vacation next week (post to come about that) and wanted to make sure I got a fun story out for the holiday before then!
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