They called him Ellis—but that wasn’t always the face in his mirror.
In his mid-forties, with thinning brown hair and pale skin that sunburned too easily, Ellis looked like a regular guy. The kind who might teach history at a community college or spend weekends tinkering with old radios. But beneath that unassuming exterior was a secret only he knew: he could shapeshift into anyone, as long as he wore something they once wore.
It was magic. At least, not the kind you find in books. It was something stranger—something older and ancient. A gift he discovered in his twenties when he slipped on a leather jacket from a thrift store and emerged looking like someone else entirely.
That’s why he practically lived in thrift shops. Places where people unknowingly left pieces of themselves behind.
Today, it was a pair of white dress pants. Crisp. Slim fit. A faint trace of cologne clung to the waistband—rich, woodsy. Someone stylish had worn these. Someone confident.
Ellis stepped into the changing room and slipped them on.
The transformation was instant.
His breath hitched as warmth bloomed beneath his skin, like stepping into sunlight. He watched in awe as his pale skin darkened shade by shade, the pinkish undertone fading into a deep, smooth brown. His arms lengthened, veins disappearing beneath firm, toned muscle. His midsection pulled tight, abs forming in places he hadn’t seen them since college. His jaw sharpened, and the fine lines around his eyes vanished completely.
He reached up—his hair had changed too, buzzed short and perfectly clean. Even his posture was different, more relaxed, more powerful. He looked up at the mirror.
A young Black man stared back. Shirtless, strong, striking.
Ellis let out a breathless chuckle. “Damn…”
He raised his phone and snapped a mirror selfie, capturing the moment like he always did after a successful shift.
This wasn’t just a body—it was an experience, a perspective, a life. And for now, it was his.
And he wasn’t planning on changing back anytime soon.
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