Martha pulled at the wrapper, carefully separating tape from paper, not leaving a single tear, ready to fold it up and place it neatly in her wrapping paper organizer to reuse later.
Any day now, she was ready, any day now she would know how to use it, that little chemical switch in her brain, she knew it was there, that switch that would let her change her shape at will, like the Ayahuasca dreams of Amazon tribes, only it would be real, she would walk into the bedroom one night and Brad would look up at her gaping, he'd know it was her, it was Martha, but not the same woman he'd said could stand to lose a few, whose nose he'd called lumpy, he'd tremble at her terrible beauty, she would stand above Brad and he'd fall on his knees at her feet and beg her forgiveness, dedicate his life to the Worship of Martha, but it would be too late, too little, she would watch him shaking and sobbing at her feet, just for a minute, then turn and walk away, not even pack, she wouldn't have any use for those dull things anymore, left behind like Brad, like a suit jacket outgrown, lying empty on a chair.
Martha looked up, past Brad and into the mirror behind him, it was starting already, the woman in the glass wasn't the grotesque Brad saw but someone else, someone new and strong.
The paper fell away to show her present, a silk blouse with a bow at the neck, she almost laughed, she'd never even try it on.
"It's fine, honey."
She kissed him on the forehead and glanced up again at the mirror.
It was starting.