Everything started after I died. The first time, not the second time. I had just woken up, rising out from my slumber into a new world, one completely alien to me and everything I'd ever known. Faced with this eerie situation, I responded to it in the most sensible and rational way I knew how.

     Why am I a femboy?! I woke up, realized I've no idea where in God's name I am, looked around, saw myself in the mirror, and subsequently realized that I've become a GODDAMNED FEMBOY. Seriously, I have a stupid baby face, the complexion of a fucking snowman, stupid white hair down to my waist, and my proportions make me look around 4-5 feet-fucking-tall.

     As a side note, every wall in this room is a mirror. Why?! Replacing the wall serves no purpose for them, other than to nauseate and confuse me. I hate them. Everywhere I look they're forcing me to see my shrunken cock. This body is probably under 10. Well, I should at least by glad that I've had sex before—I won't have to be stuck in a child's body as a virgin.

     Moving on, when I looked around the room I also spotted a podium with a letter and a paperweight on it. It was kind of hard not to spot seeing as it's the only piece of furniture in this one-room-funhouse. Some jackass decided to nail the paperweight to the podium though, so it's completely useless. I've already read—well, skimmed—the letter. Says some bullshit about me being the new Prince of Hell. Ridiculous...

     I've also tried to break down the walls. I can't. The walls are hard as shit, and I learned that at the expense of my hand's pleasure. I'm pretty sure my body's as weak as a child's too. I need to stop thinking about my body, it'll only anger me further. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts...

     I'm bored. I'm so bored. I can't leave this room, and there's nothing to do. Should I read the letter? I should, shouldn't I? I'm gonna read the letter. Thoroughly. For real this time.

Dear Belphegor,

     You're probably wondering what's happening to you right now, and, simply-put, you were reincarnated as a new god. We need new gods. We're desperate. So yeah, you're now the Lord of Sloth Belphegor. You're gonna rule over part of Hell. Oh right, did I mention that a new Hell is being made? It's where the new demon-gods (that's the prototype name for you folks) are gonna dictate. That's right. You're the first god of Hell. Congratulations!

     Anyways, you're probably wondering why your body looks like that. Well, since gods are beings with spiritual bodies, your body is formed to suit your soul. Your body should match your original body—to an extent. It's probably a younger you, straight out of your glory days, or perhaps it's an older you, if you died when you were a child. My deepest condolences for you if that is the case.

     Oh yeah, also, because you're a god, you're extremely strong. Please don't try to test your strength through some practical means, because I can guarantee you'll end up breaking something—or many things—unintentionally.

Sincerely, Michael

     "As a being with a spiritual body, your body is formed in the image of your soul." What's that supposed to mean? I have the soul of a femboy?! Bullshit. Complete bullshit.

     "Fuck you, Michael." I muttered to myself. And, right as I said that, the room collapsed in on itself. With me in it. Thanks, Michael. I appreciate it.