Morgan pushed open the creaky door of the thrift store hoping this place would have what she needed. She had already been to 5 other stores looking for the right doll for her bitchy step sister Emma but had come up empty each time. No store had the exact one she knew her sister wanted and she was starting to get frustrated. To her they all looked the same.
Emma was a collector of dolls and especially of ones that looked like her so naturally she had basically every Barbie you could buy. Emma was the epitome of a spoilt brat who had no time for Morgan and her tomboyish style. Morgan hoped if she could find her some rare doll that maybe she could be on her step sisters good side for once.
As Morgan scanned the shelves of various knick knacks her eyes fell on a peculiar looking doll. Picking it up she found a label on it that said it’s name was Cordelia from a doll line called ‘Slutz’. Morgan would have chuckled at the obvious ‘Bratz’ rip off sounding name if she wasn’t suddenly and inexplicably enamoured with it.
Cordelia was unlike any other doll Morgan had ever seen, embodying a dark, gothic charm with her long, straight black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her attire, a blend of lace, leather, and studs. Cordelia’s pale face, red lips, and big eyes gave her a haunting yet captivating appearance, one that Morgan felt a magnetic pull towards.
It was certainly nothing Emma would enjoy but in that moment she wasn’t even thinking about her step sister. Morgan weirdly wanted it for herself.
When Morgan got home, she placed Cordelia on her desk, suddenly aware of what an odd thing she had done. She was heading off to college soon, the last thing she should have bought was a childish thing like a doll. Yet, she found herself unable to look away. The doll’s dark eyes seemed to draw her in, beckoning her to stare deeper. As she gazed into those eyes, a whisper echoed in her mind, as if Cordelia was speaking right to her.
"You’re a goth, you’re a queen, you’re a bitch." The words repeated, growing louder and more insistent.
Morgan was couldn’t move, her eyes locked into Cordelia’s. She couldn’t even blink. She wanted to tear herself away but the words persisted, drilling into her consciousness causing her paralysis.
"You’re a goth, you’re a queen, you’re a bitch." The words were in a voice that was hypnotic. Strong yet sexy. The more she heard them the more her body was starting to tingle. It felt good. Her lips moved almost involuntarily as she began to echo the words softly.
"I’m a goth, I’m a queen, I’m a bitch." At first, her voice was tentative, barely a whisper.
As Morgan repeated the mantra, a strange sensation washed over her. Her brown hair tied up into two punky pigtails as one side darkened, transforming into jet-black strands while the other dyed red. Each matching the same hair that adorned Cordelia’s head. Her lips plumped, becoming fuller and more pronounced, their color deepening to a rich, blood red hue.
"I’m a goth, I’m a queen, I’m a bitch." The words now flowed with a newfound anger and rage, resonating within her.
Morgan's tits began to expand, her figure becoming curvier and more voluptuous. Her skin grew pale, almost porcelain-like. Her nails took on a longer look, sharpening to a point, painted as black as her hair. Tattoos flowed over her arms and thighs.
"I’m a goth, I’m a queen, I’m a bitch." She repeated, her voice now dripping with a sultry purr. Her sensible jeans and sweater morphed into fishnets that barely covered anything and a shorter than short black and white skirt. The fabric clung to her newly transformed body, enhancing her curves and highlighting her new, edgy aesthetic.
She felt her body slowly unfreeze, giving her a chance to escape but she didn’t move. In fact she sat closer to the doll, straightening her back, pushing out her gloriously bigger tits.
"I’m a goth, I’m a queen, I’m a bitch… I’m Cordelia." She declared naturally, absorbing the voice fully into her psyche. The transformation was complete, Morgan was gone. Finally, she broke eye contact with the doll and turned to the mirror.
"My god, I look… so fucking good.” She murmured, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. Her mind did not register any of the dramatic changes. To her, she had always been this gothic queen. She had always been Cordelia. In fact there was no evidence around her to convince her otherwise.
Her bedroom, once filled with cozy, nerdy decor, had transformed into a haven of dark elegance. Black lace curtains, gothic art, and dark-colored furniture filled the space, reflecting her new identity perfectly. It all felt natural to her, as if nothing had changed.
Turning back to the doll, the new goth looked at it with disdain. The once gothic doll now appeared as a regular boring doll, eerily resembling how she used to look. It was simple, with brown hair and modest attire. Its label now read ‘Morgan’.
"What a fucking boring bitch.” She muttered, her voice dripping with contempt.
Without a second thought, she grabbed the doll and tossed it into the trash. The old Morgan, both in doll and memory, was discarded without a second glance. Cordelia strutted back to the mirror to take in her glorious appearance.
A knock on the door pulled her from her self-admiration. Her sister called from the other side, "Cordelia, are you there?"
Cordelia rolled her eyes. Her girly step sister was the bane of her existence. She strode to the door, her voice sharp and cruel. "What do you want bitch?”
Emma hesitated, fearful of her step sister. "My friends are coming over soon for my party, you’re not going to crash it like last time are you?"
Cordelia made a gagging gesture, the words barely registering as significant. Flinging open the door she looked at her sister, in her pink dress with disgust.
Emma may have been the undisputed queen bee at their school but she knew not to cross Cordelia. Her step sister had what could gently be put a gang of devoted followers. Before she had come along the goths had been outcasts but under her leadership they had become a formidable power. She could have run the school if she wanted but was happier causing trouble.
“I have better fucking things then to go to your boring ass party. So fuck off now little princess, I’m getting sick just looking at your face.” Cordelia snarled.
Cordelia didn’t need to be told twice and turned quickly on her heel and headed towards the stairs. However that’s when Cordelia remembered something.
“Not so fast basic bitch Barbie, I have something for you.” Cordelia said with a smirk on her lips as Emma reluctantly returned.
Cordelia walked over to the trash and fished out the doll. Walking back to her step sister she thrust it into Emma’s hands.
"Here, happy fucking birthday. Now piss off!" Cordelia spat, her tone laced with disdain.
Emma stood there, stunned, clutching the doll. Without another word, Emma turned and fled down the hallway, the sight causing Cordelia to be turned on.
Taking out her phone she took a picture of herself and texted it to her regular fuck Damien. She lay down on her bed and stuck her fingers under her skirt waiting for him to call. She had barely gotten her fingers in before he called.
“Hey hot stuff, guess what I’m doing?” She purred down the line. She put the phone to her pussy and let Damien hear the sounds of her fingers going in and out of the wetness. Satisfied he heard enough she put it back to her ear.
“Get the fuck over here before I finish.” She commanded. She hung up the phone without another work and continued to pleasure herself. Whether Damien made it over in time wasn’t the point, she just needed him in the house so she could crash Emma’s party. Once he was there they would get the rest of the gang over and it would become their party instead. After a quick fuck of course. Cordelia loved being a goth slut.
Emma walked down the hall to her room, pushing open the pink door, all the while staring at the doll Cordelia had given her. She was weirdly taken by it. It was no where near as beautiful or as fashionable as her Barbie’s but it held some sort of draw to her.
“Morgan? That's a nice name.” She said to herself reading the tag on the doll and slowly locking eyes with it, not feeling her blonde hair lose its colour or her tight pink top grow into a baggy sweater.
Meanwhile across town, the shop owner of the thrift store noticed the space on the shelf where Cordelia had sat and went into the back room. She went to a box marked 'Slutz' and gazed into it's contents, a pile of other dolls. Cordelia was the last of the goth style dolls she had. There was a nurse, a cheerleader, a biker chick, a housewife and a myriad of other. Maybe one of the other dolls could catch someone's eye....
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