OMG I WISH THE ELIXIR WAS REAL!l
If the Elixir Was Real? Oh, Honey...
You guys ask me this a lot. In my DMs, in the comments – "Evie, what if it was real? What if you found a little pink bottle of Elixir tomorrow?" It’s cute. It’s a sweet little fantasy you all like to toy with while you’re jerking off in the dark.
But I don’t have to wonder. I know exactly what you would do. Because I’ve thought about it. A lot. I’ve read your comments. I've seen your pathetic DMs. You're not that complicated.
First of all, let's be clear. The moment any of you got your hands on that bottle, there would be no hesitation. No "Should I? What if?" bullshit. It would be gone. Down the hatch. One pink, shimmering gulp and you'd be ready for the show. You'd strip down, stand in front of your full-length mirror, and watch. You'd want to see every second of it. You'd want to feel the bones crack and shift. You'd want to hear the wet, tearing sound of your skin reforming into something perfect. You'd want to watch your hair spill down your back, growing thicker, silkier, blonder with every passing second.
And when it was over, when the new you was standing there – a 5'9", tanned, blonde goddess with a pair of 34DD tits that could stop traffic - the first thing you'd do is smile. A real, predatory, bitchy smile. Because the world would no longer be a place you just lived in. It would be a buffet.
Your first thought wouldn't be about power, or money, or taking over the world. It would be about your sister's wardrobe. You'd sneak into her room, your new body feeling electric, and you'd pull out her hottest, sluttiest lingerie. That black lace set you've always stared at. You'd put it on, and it would fit perfectly. You'd look in the mirror and you wouldn't see a man in a costume. You'd see her. The girl of your dreams. The bitch you've always wanted to be.
Your next thought? Your bully. That big, arrogant jock who made your life hell. You'd find his number. Your hands would be shaking as you typed the message, a picture of you in the lingerie, your new body on full display. "Miss me?" You'd send it. And within minutes, he'd reply. He wouldn't recognise you. He'd just see a hot piece of ass.
He'd come over. You'd let him in. And he'd fuck you. He'd throw you onto your childhood bed and use you like the cheap little slut you've always dreamed of being. He'd be rough, he'd be callous, and as he's pounding your new, tight pussy, he'd mock you. He'd talk about what a loser that guy you used to be was. And you'd cum. You'd cum harder than you ever have in your pathetic life, because his mockery of your old self is the ultimate affirmation of your new one.
You'd let him cum all over your face and your new tits. And as he's leaving, you'd know what you have to do. You'd go find your ex-girlfriend, the one who left you because you were too "nice." You'd use your new pheromones, your new body, and you'd make her fall desperately in love with you. You'd make her cheat on her new boyfriend with you. You'd steal her life, not for power, but for the sheer, bitchy joy of it.
Once you've had your fun with the small stuff, you'd get a taste for real power. You'd go to the nearest luxury car dealership. You'd find the richest, most arrogant salesman there – you know the type, middle-aged, thinks his money makes him a god. You'd let your new pheromones do the work. You'd lean over the hood of a Lamborghini, let your new tits press against the glass, and ask him to explain the financing in a way a "silly little girl" could understand. He’d be drooling, his mind a mushy, obedient puddle in sixty seconds. You'd walk out of there with the keys to a new car, a maxed-out company credit card in his name, and his dignity in your hand. Rinse and repeat for a penthouse apartment, a black card of your own, and a wardrobe that would make influencers weep.
Once you had the funds and the fear, you'd start the real work. You'd create a brand. A lifestyle. You'd find the source, whatever it is, and you'd control it. You'd recruit. You'd find other girls like you – the ones who are already mean, who already crave power – and you'd turn them. You'd be an army of perfect, cruel, hyper-feminine goddesses. You'd infiltrate every industry, every level of society. You wouldn't be running the world from the shadows; you'd be on the covers of the magazines you own, walking the red carpets for the studios you control, and passing the laws in the governments you've brainwashed.
So, what would you do if the Elixir was real?
You wouldn't just take it. You would become it. You would be the living, breathing, fucking embodiment of its promise. You would be the end of your pathetic little world and the glorious, bitchy dawn of a new one.
And the best part? Everyone would thank you for it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a story to write. 😈🤭
