Laying in Teddy’s bed, Rosalind found herself staring blankly in the direction of the ceiling. Not actually at the ceiling, though, that would have required focus. It was taking her whole brain to process the revelation on how others might see her. Especially because she was running on, at best, half of power between the hangover and relatively minimal sleep she’d gotten.

But.

Woman.

She was actually woman adjacent enough for lesbians to be attracted to her? On more than just a ‘hot for a one night stand’ level. Actual romantic attraction. It turned out she wasn’t just identifying with womanhood. She actually had it. Despite having blindly stumbled into it with minimal thought. Unlike the struggle and years of self exploration moving into their ‘new’ gender had taken Logan or Frankie.

How was that fair?

Why was she given an easy path when others had to struggle so much?

Also, what was Teddy doing, confessing a romantic interest in her after she already had two proposals to deal with? Was she really so confident in the charms of her impressively beefy arms that she would win in the end?

… maybe she had grounds to be confident. They were good arms.

A soft knocking on the door forced her to pull out of her swirling thoughts and bubbling guilt.

“Uh… Rosalind?” Teddy asked in a soft voice. “I know I was going to let you sleep until breakfast was ready, but… your manager is here. I guess you left your phone tracking on again?”

An indistinct grumbling escaped her lips, but Rosalind sat up and then dragged herself out of bed. Rachel did not take being ignored in person very well. It was a short walk over to the front entrance area, were she was waiting for her. In a move of remarkable chivalry, Teddy seemed to be hiding behind Rosalind as they approached. It seemed that her knight in shining armour feared the icy dragon before them.

“Er, hey Rachel,” Rosalind managed.

“We’re in trouble,” Rachel replied flatly, the statement apparently too important to be muddied by any emotion in her voice.

“In trouble?”

“Your little public switch yesterday. It’s taken over not just the entertainment tabloids, but has spread into the general press. There’s people claiming you’re an alien because of it. Which has the whole right-wing press media jumping on a chance to hate you. Turns out the general public are far more paranoid about aliens than I realised,” Rachel explained. “We’ve sent out press releases insisting that isn’t the case, but the world is on edge about the idea and it’s not like ‘ancient Greek curse’ is more plausible to the general public right now.”

The words took a moment to sink in properly, Rosalind’s mind already too awash with confusion to process it at first. “They… they think I’m an alien?”

“Yes,” Rachel replied flatly. “And we have to figure out how to prove them wrong before we’re facing any more of any angry mob than we’ve already got to deal with.”

“More of an angry mob?” Rosalind asked.

-

Taking Rachel’s car through the city, Rosalind was left slightly overwhelmed by the amount of information she’d missed out on in the past 18 or so hours. It was amazing how fast the world worked these days, internet conspiracies springing into existence fully formed in mere minutes. Those conspiracies then got latched onto by sensationalist networks that had ‘news’ in their names, whether they were legally classified as such or not.

Apparently the most popular conspiracy was that she was some kind of a psyop to prelude an invasion. Via mind control and subliminal messaging and other things that maybe weren’t scientifically proven. Or, according to some of the more homophobic corners of the internet, an effort to turn all of humanity bi in a hopes of somehow dropping population growth rates. Apparently they thought the aliens were playing the long game.

Looking through the lists, Rosalind had to wonder about the assumption that she was a hostile alien. Why couldn’t anyone think she was just a forward agent hoping to be a goodwill ambassador? Or an alien acting independently who just liked Earth culture and was shy about being an alien?

No. Everyone assumed she was evil.

“If I were actually an alien I’d be offended by this anti-alien bias,” she mumbled, continuing to scroll through the articles on her phone as they reached downtown. 

“What are you mumbling about?” Rachel asked, glancing over as she drove.

“Nothing important,” Rosalind replied. “So, do we have a plan?”

“Yes. Though I don’t have much confidence in it. My dear father seems convinced that you coming out to give an official statement on camera about it being magic will somehow work better than the label’s official statements on the matter,” Rachel explained, mostly while they sat at a red light.

“And you don’t?” Rosalind asked.

“No,” Rachel replied, and, as she did so, they rounded a corner to let Rosalind get a view of the studio.

As well at the rather large angry mob outside. They’d made signs and everything. It was also so much more than she was prepared to deal with. Her mind not quite focusing in her current state of sleep deprivation, she had to really wonder how so many had nothing better to do with their day than to protest someone they merely suspected was an alien. 

Rachel skirted around the edge of the crowd, shouting and boos hurled at them as the mob realised she was headed for the garage entrance around the side. Security chased off a few particularly pushy and angry people, allowing the door open and the car to slip down into the basement garage. It was just fifteen or so metres to get to Rachel’s parking space and then they went upstairs to meet up with everyone else.

To Rosalind’s surprise, that ‘everyone else’ included Beata. A security guard explained that she’d been back that morning to see Rosalind again, and, while she was a headache, the mob had seemed to get aggressive when they found out she knew Rosalind. As such security had let her in for her own safety.

“This all seems a little crazy,” Rosalind said, once the rest of the band had come together in her dressing room.

“People are on edge after Halifax and all the stuff that came out of those Montgomery papers,” Jovita said, the Amazon-sized woman clearly a bit awkward in such a crowded and small room. “Not sure I can blame them.”

“Still, you’d think ‘impressive stage makeup’ or ‘a hoax’ would be more people’s go to than ‘alien’,” Logan countered. “Drag is a thing, after all.”

“Do you think it’s safe for me to go out there with that crowd? Should I do the press conference digitally?” Rosalind asked as she pulled out the magical ‘ink’ to repress the curse one again.

Even if the idea of switching back to her masculine form felt unappealing right now. Time spent with Teddy just really put her in touch with her feminine side…

“Don’t worry, a few security guards will go out with you,” Rachel explained. “As well as Jovita.”

The tall woman blinked. “Wait. What.”

“You’re the tallest person in the building. That gives you intimidation factor,” Rachel explained. “We need intimidation factor.”

“I don’t know if—” she began to protest, but a glare from Rachel scared her in line.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Rosalind said, letting out a sigh.

It was simple enough to get to the front entrance. The studio building wasn’t that large. Actually getting out the front door was trickier, however. The security guards didn’t like the idea of exposing Rosalind so directly to the crowd outside. In the end Rachel managed to convince them, via some thinly veiled insinuations that she might hire a different company for security in future should they be so incapable of protecting the label’s top star. Rosalind felt bad about it, but she supposed they were in a hurry. The mob outside might start gathering torches.

Finally, she was out front of the building, Jovita at her back and a bunch of angry people shouting at her from in front. At least there were some reporters and security guards between her and the mob, but she wasn’t sure the reporters were any friendlier. They just were after a different sort of blood.

“Hello everyone,” she began, fighting the urge to turn tail and flee back into safety. “I think you can all understand why I’m here to make a statement?”

The crowd shouted various things, some insults, some inaudibly guttural. It was possible not all of it was in English.

“I am sure everyone who’s interested has seen the little video from yesterday by now? And, um… I’ll also assume anyone who’s listening is interested,” she continued, trying to laugh a little. She quickly realised it wasn’t helping. “Erm. Well. I just want to open by saying that I am not an alien. I, Romeo Valenti, sometimes known as Rosalind Valenti, am under the effects of an ancient Greek curse… or… Hellenic might be the better word? It was in Türkiye, not Greece, but it dates to when—I probably shouldn’t get into politics here. Let me just show you how it works.”

With that, she pulled out the small well of tarry ‘ink’, dipping a brush into it. She then wrote the sigil to suppress the curse onto her arm, made awkward by the need to hold the inkwell. The mark glowed for a moment as it engaged, which she held up to show the crowd/. Then a tingling rushed up her arm and through her body, transforming him to his birth form.

The crowd did go quiet at that, thankfully.

“See? Magic. Not alien technology. I mean, unless alien technology runs on magic… I wouldn’t know, because I’m not an alien,” Romeo explained, slipping the inkwell into his pocket and then holding a hand out for Jovita to pass him a water bottle. “The annoying thing is that it isn’t waterproof though. Water based magic means the protection has an Achilles’ heel to it, I guess?”

He then poured a little water onto his forearm, the seal breaking with another shivering rush. She’d returned to female form.

There was a pause, and then the crowd burst into chaotic noise. The reporters were swarming with questions, but it was all too much for her to make out any one sentence over the roar of the crowd.

“ONE AT A TIME!” Jovita bellowed, cowing the crowd.

Most of the more unruly-mob section backed away, though the reporters seemed braver. That, or had simply lost their sense of self preservation long ago. Whatever the case, they stood their ground and began waving their hands to demand attention.

“Er… you?” Rosalind said, picking one at random.

She recognised a few of them, but didn’t exactly like any, so had no favourites.

“Jacob Seymor, CNC. Why did you cover this up initially?”

The question caught her off guard at first. Then she gestured towards the slowly reassembling angry mob behind reporters.

“Th—them?” she offered. “I didn’t think ‘magic’ would go much better than ‘aliens’ has.”

That seemed to satisfy the reporter, but the others in the press scrum demanded attention. 

“Kyle Limode, TTV. What would happen if you got pregnant?”

Rosalind stared at the man. “I am not—that isn’t—if anyone else is thinking about asking questions like that… don’t. I’ll end the press conference.”

Several hands went down at that point, lowering Rosalind’s opinion of them further. Picking from the remainder, she decided not to get her hopes up.

”Gloria Hu, HCCH. Will this be affecting future collaborations with other artists?”

“Probably?” Rosalind replied. “I hope so… I don’t want to have to try to juggle two careers any longer. I don’t need any cancellations, but… postponing things a little would be nice.”

A few more questions followed. Some were reasonable. Others tried to ask her opinions on theological matters that she knew nothing about. One or two tried to sneak in inappropriate anatomical questions, which she shot down.

“Again, I was not informed of the larger situation beyond that some of the Greco-Roman gods are apparently real on some level,” she explained, after yet another religiously inclined question. “I think I will be calling the conference here, however. Since I’ve given you about all the information I really have… and I think the angry mob are debating gathering pitchforks. So… toodles.”

With that, she hurried back into the studio, Jovita following her. After a moment’s hesitation, Rosalind decided to head towards the snackroom. She hadn’t had a proper breakfast and was still slightly hungover. So she wanted to find something to eat and get some water in her system. 

The rest of the band (minus Frankie) found her after a few moments, and began to pester her for details. After a few failed attempts to indicate that she was eating and unable to reply, she swallowed the danish she’d been chewing.

“It was mostly invasive questions about what’s in my pants and then people wanting to know if I can tell them whether there’s an afterlife or not,” she said, before taking a sip of orange juice.

“Okay, yes. The genitalia questions were probably to be expected,” Logan replied. “Sorry for not prepping you for that more.”

Rosalind gave a shrug and then continued to eat the assorted brunch buffet items she’d gathered. The others sat down around the table, discussing whether or not they thought the angry internet conspiracies would finally end or not. Whenever anyone asked Rosalind’s opinion she could, once more, only shrug. Being accused of being an extra-terrestrial had not crossed her mind in the first place, so she had no idea what would get the mob to back down. Plus, she was busy enjoying what were honestly very good little finger foods from the buffet. 

There were advantages to the Collins family being in charge of picking caterers. They liked money, but Hank loved to give those he cared about the best. So, it was fresh baked muffins and danishes from one of the better bakeries in town, and seriously high quality egg salad sandwiches. 

“Oh, by the way, Ro—” Rachel began, before trailing off as she seemed unsure whether or not to still call her Rosalind with the secret being out. “Erm, well. Your instasnaps have had some interesting traffic movements. You lost a lot of followers, but also gained a large number. I’m not sure if they’re all good followers, based on the things some of them are posting, though.”

“They want to see me changing?” Rosalind asked, leaning into her chair.

Rachel gave a small nod, before reading something that made her eyes go wide. The look filled Rosalind with a sort of morbid curiosity, the desire to find out just what got that reaction from Rachel of all people warring with… well, the fear of being scarred by whatever could make Rachel make that face. In the end curiosity won out, and Rosalind opened mouth to ask—only to be interrupted by Frankie appearing, dragging Beata along with her.

“Quick. I need someone to hide me,” the masc bassist asked, pleading eyes aimed at Rachel.

“What? Why?” Rachel asked.

“My parents…” Frankie whispered, the rest of the band nodding, realising just what that meant.

“Those were your parents?” Beata asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Why are you so scared?”

“Because they—” Frankie began.

“There you are!” Mrs. Grey said as she walked into the cafeteria room. “We heard one of the men in your band was turned into a girl somehow and we came right over.”

“We were worried about you, son,” Mr. Grey said.

It was quite easy to watch Frankie’s spirit drain from her body as her parents spoke, each word somehow making her look more broken than the last.

“Err, Mr. and Mrs. Grey… I’m the one who was transformed,” Rosalind said, raising her hand.

The two middle aged parents blinked, turning to stare at her. It took a moment for recognition to flash in their eyes.

“Oh! Romeo, is that you?” Mrs. Grey asked.

“It is.”

“You poor thing,” Mrs. Grey replied.

“It’s really not that bad,” Rosalind said with a shrug. “Apart for one or two little things, I quite like it.”

The faces the Grey parents made was almost enough to help Rosalind recover from the mind numbing process that the press conference had been. She offered a smile to Frankie, trying to share some support. After all, she’d always known the Greys were… odd.

“Well, we’re glad to hear you weren’t affected, son,” Mr. Grey said to his daughter.

Glancing briefly at Beata, Frankie then let out a sigh. “Why are you like this? You know I’m a woman… how do you keep forgetting?”

Both her parents blushed slightly, remembering they’d committed a faux-pas.

“We’re sorry, dear. It’s—” her mother began. “Well, we’re still getting used to it. You have to be patient.”

Frankie glared at them. “You’ve had my entire life… if you hadn’t been such utter weirdos and decided to get committed on a mistaken ultrasound and then tried to raise me as a boy…”

Both Logan and Rosalind had to shrug and then nod, unable to deny that it had been a rather strange move. 

“Please, dear. There’s no need to make a scene,” her mother said. “We just ask that you be patient with us.”

“It’s been 24 years… and about 13 years since I figured it out,” Frankie said, hands and shoulders raised in frustration. “We’re well past anything close to patience.”

As an awkward silence hovered between daughter and parents, Beata was visibly working out what everything meant. It clicked for her and she nodded.

“That really is quite a long time to be so wrong,” she said, largely to herself, but just loud enough for both of Frankie’s parents to hear.

The middle aged pair paled at being called out by a stranger. After blurting a weak excuse, the Greys turned and fled. It seemed to be a bit stronger of a response than Beata had expected, the Polish woman looking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to Frankie. “I did not mean to offend your parents.”

“Well, don’t worry. I did, so I appreciate the help,” Frankie said with a grin. “Er… sorry for letting you think I was a guy, though. It had just… it’s an old habit. I guess my parents aren’t the only ones not quite used to my gender.”

Looking at Rosalind briefly, Beata then shook her head slowly. “No. I think I had also wanted to be fooled… I think… I think I have much to think about.”