~*articulate what forever smoulders*~
You look down at yourself, giving yourself a quick once-over to see if there are any obvious implants or taped-on technological nodes which would explain your predicament, but you see nothing at all. It's actually quite fitting: you look exactly as you remember, your clothes how you remember them being, down to every torn seam and coffee stain. A few little things, things only you would notice, are different, of course, but other than that there is no obvious piece of machinery on you that explains your predicament.
Then you notice it. While everything else in this shadow reality is subtly different, the thought that it would extend to your personal manifestation never occurred to you until now - but apparently it has. The thousand and one imperfections, little bits of you that you despise but only you would notice, aren't there: the rash at the base of your neck, that irritating bit of dandruff, the oil caught under your fingers, the extra bit of fat on your hips and sunkenness in your eyes. Though the more obvious imperfections are there, and you are the same general size and shape as you should be, you look almost an idealized version of yourself, with all these minor blemishes smoothed away.
A quick look up in your desk mirror sees a single stray eyebrow hair, an irritating bit of folicle that always annoyed you but never merited plucking, sink into your perfect skin, soundlessly erased as if it were never there.
You ARE an idealized version of yourself, and you're getting worse and worse every minute.
Then you notice it. While everything else in this shadow reality is subtly different, the thought that it would extend to your personal manifestation never occurred to you until now - but apparently it has. The thousand and one imperfections, little bits of you that you despise but only you would notice, aren't there: the rash at the base of your neck, that irritating bit of dandruff, the oil caught under your fingers, the extra bit of fat on your hips and sunkenness in your eyes. Though the more obvious imperfections are there, and you are the same general size and shape as you should be, you look almost an idealized version of yourself, with all these minor blemishes smoothed away.
A quick look up in your desk mirror sees a single stray eyebrow hair, an irritating bit of folicle that always annoyed you but never merited plucking, sink into your perfect skin, soundlessly erased as if it were never there.
You ARE an idealized version of yourself, and you're getting worse and worse every minute.