Waking up in Forks was like waking up on the set of a psychological horror film—at least for the ex-man now trapped in a teenage girl's body. And worse, one who had grown up genuinely liking mall shopping and pastel sweaters.
Marcus—now Annabelle—stared at her reflection. She was pretty. Like, Instagram-pretty. Long brown hair, full lips, wide eyes with that innocent please protect me look. And… was that highlighter?
"Oh no. I'm a teenage girl. I moisturize."
And the worst part?
He kind of liked it.
Annabelle Swan continued to stare at the girl in the mirror.
Long brunette hair. Big brown eyes with curled lashes. Lips with a hint of strawberry gloss. A pale lavender blouse with tiny embroidered daisies. Matching hair clip.
"I… look like I cry when puppies get adopted."
She took a step back. Then another. Then stopped when her dainty ankle bumped the bed behind her and nearly sent her flying onto the floral duvet.
"No. Nope. Not doing this."
Annabelle—no, Marcus—ran a hand through her hair. Or tried to. Her fingers caught in the silken curls and she hissed.
"HOW do girls not go bald from this? It's like fishing line dipped in conditioner!"
Across the room, Bella looked up from unpacking. "What's wrong with you?"
Annabelle froze. She couldn't tell her twin sister that she used to be a 32-year-old gym rat who once tried to grill a steak with a blowtorch.
So she blinked. Twice.
Then smiled. "Jet lag?"
Bella gave her that trademark I'm too tired for this stare and went back to stacking books by author, as if alphabetical order could keep her from imploding in a rain-soaked town with their father. A father who didn't know how to talk to girls—and now had two daughters who came with matching emotional complexity and seasonal skincare routines.
Later That Night – Bathroom Breakdown
It was past midnight. The house was silent. Rain tapped gently on the windows like a sad metronome.
Annabelle stood in front of the bathroom mirror in pink plaid pajamas, gripping the counter like it was a deadlift bar.
"Okay. Breathe. You're not crazy. You're just… a reincarnated man in a teenage girl's body. With glitter lotion. And a Lisa Frank diary. And a Pinterest account.""…Oh God, I have a Pinterest account."
She opened the medicine cabinet and found bubblegum toothpaste and a rose quartz face roller.
"What even is this?" she whispered, turning the roller over. "Is it a rock? Why is it cold? Why do I want to use it?!"
The urge to cry hit her, but she held the line. Marcus Steel didn't cry. He once got a hernia doing deadlifts and walked home like a champion.
"You're Marcus. Big, beefy, no-nonsense Marcus."
She glanced down.
A C-cup stared back at her from beneath a fluffy bunny pajama top.
"You were Marcus."
She rubbed her face. With the roller. And sighed.
Day One at Forks High
The twins were the talk of the cafeteria before the first bell had even rung.
Bella was doing her best leave me alone routine, but Annabelle—bless her—was surrounded.
Mike Newton, Eric Yorkie, Tyler Crowley—every guy within fifty feet had sensed a new aura of "cute, approachable girl" and swarmed like moths to a lavender-scented flame.
Annabelle wanted to scream.
"Mike, is it? No, I don't want to see your snowboarding pics. That's not a personality."
"Yes, I do have a skincare routine. No, you can't borrow it."
"Please stop calling me 'Belle.' I already have identity issues without sounding like a Disney princess."
By lunch, she was mentally exhausted.
Bella sat across from her, picking at a salad. "You're popular."
"Kill me."
"Maybe later."
Annabelle sighed dramatically. "I used to have a beard, you know."
Bella blinked. "Excuse me?"
"…Nothing."
Enter Edward Cullen
It happened in biology.
She took the only remaining seat—next to him.
Tall. Pale. Beautiful in a way that made statues look like trolls.
Edward Cullen.
He turned to her slowly, eyes dark, nostrils flaring like she'd farted glitter. His jaw clenched. His fingers tightened on the desk like it had insulted his ancestors.
Annabelle's inner Marcus perked up.
"Oh yeah. This guy. This guy gets angry because you smell like Suave shampoo and a lack of vampire consent."
She tried not to smirk. "Hi."
He stared.
She raised a brow. "You okay? You look constipated."
Edward blinked. Visibly startled.
"...Interesting." he finally said, voice like crushed velvet.
Annabelle leaned closer. "I bite."
He flinched.
She grinned.