1: You, but with a slightly better body
I'd like to make something clear: I'm a witch, and it's awesome. In fact, I'm particularly awesome. At the age of eighteen I can: cast up to three spells an hour, brew potions with more than sixty percent accuracy, and I can float on a broomstick up to a meter off of the ground. It doesn't have to be a broom, but that's not the point. You'd think being a witch, and an amazingly talented one at that, would be like winning the lottery of life; and you'd be right, except for one thing.
Everything else does our job better than us.
Three spells an hour? Your average poltergeist can cast twelve. Potions? Who needs that when any run of the mill demon could just enchant you without the prep work? You can fly a meter above the ground? That vampire can turn into an actual bat and fly wherever it likes. But that's not all! I'm a conventionally attractive person. I'm thin and fit, I have long, sleek white hair and violet eyes, and I'm just the right amount of short where it makes me cute without looking like a kid. Other than being a little... small in certain areas... I'm basically a dream girl. But that doesn't mean anything when any old succubus looks like a supermodel even before she puts her makeup on. Or, worse yet, a changeling who can look like whatever it wants too; including you, but with a slightly better body. And yes, that is oddly specific.
So in short, being a witch is like winning the lottery, but then learning that you now have to live in a fenced off community with a bunch of people who have won better lotteries than you.
It was a windy September day when I began my first year of Major Arcana (think of it a lot like College for magical creatures). I had deliberately arrived an hour before school started, but the courtyard was already packed with people, all chattering and exchanging stories about their summer break. I wasn't an introvert per se, and I could see at least a couple of people that would be more than happy to tell me all about their summer had I asked, but I was in a hurry and didn't feel like talking right now. I quickly carved my way through the crowd, getting a few passing hellos from people I half knew. The door was in sight, but then I heard the voice most likely to make me late - My own.
"Phil~ li~ pa!" My own voice sang, tackling me to the ground. My Dopple-Voice giggled. "Target Captured!" It cheered triumphantly.
I groaned, rolling over and coming face to face with myself. They were identical to me in every way, except wearing a much more revealing outfit and having a noticeably larger bra size. This walking explanation for that changeling comment I made earlier went by the name 'Simon'. I doubt that was their original name, but I also wasn't sure they even knew it anymore. Changelings had a tendency to change names and appearances so much they often forget what they had once been. I shuddered, "Please don't tell me you actually spent all summer playing with yourself in front of a mirror." The threat I was referring to was one made by Simon just before summer break. Specifically to 'dress up as me and spend all summer toying with my body'. I had obviously assumed it was a bad joke meant to force a reaction out of me, at least until now when it had finally dawned on me that they might have been serious.
Simon gave me a defensive look before replying, "Off course not. Well... I did once because I got curious, but I was dressed as someone who consented!" Simon added, "I'm a pervert, but there are some lines you just don't cross."
"Moreover!" Simon Declared, touching their finger to my nose, "I've decided that not only will I let you be my second favorite significant other, but when the time comes, I'll let you marry me before anyone else!" I gave out a loud groan, much to Simon's chagrin.
As a rule, polygamous relationships aren't exactly rare amongst supernatural beings. Specifically, the more rare a being is, the more powerful it is; and the more powerful a being is, the more likely it is to have multiple partners. Changelings specifically are almost five thousand times rarer than your run-of-the-mill human and more powerful than the majority of other species. They almost always date upwards of five people at a time. Simon was currently dating six people (two women and four men), and had desperately wanted to add me to their 'collection' for almost a year.
"I know humans are kind of greedy when it comes to love... but you have to understand how the others will feel if I just claim you as my favorite right off the bat... Not that I wouldn't be willing to discuss it later on..." Simon muttered, looking away nervously. I couldn't help but blush a little. I wasn't usually that attracted to women, and certainly not to ones that look just like me, but it was hard not to blush at Simon. Sensitive and flamboyant in perfectly timed intervals, with a friendly energy that would never fail to put a person at ease if they didn't keep their guard up. In truth, I had considered their offer a few times. A lot of changelings viewed their partners as pastimes, if not just toys, very few even giving them half the affection and effort that Simon had.
Moreover, Witches weren't really a lot of people's first choice for a date, so it was unlikely that I'd get a better offer than Simon's. Simon was actually only ever attracted to me in the first place for the soul reason that they wanted to date a human and I was attractive compared to most other witches. Although, the fact that they were still happily pursuing me almost a year later showed that they at the very least didn't want to settle for anyone else anymore. I sometimes wondered if Simon would stop asking me out if I told them to. Even while making it extremely clear that I didn't intend to date them I never directly told them to stop trying. I always felt a little bad that I didn't, but I guess I didn't really see an issue with it if they knew I wasn't going to accept...
"It's not about whether I'm your favorite or not... but I'm kind of in a hurry," I explained sheepishly, dodging the topic like the bullet it was.
"Oh!" Simon shouted in realization, "Me too actually, that one poltergeist boy wants a date before class." "He's super cute, but really high maintenance," Simon explained apologetically. They quickly pulled themselves off of me and helped me up, tapping away at a cellphone while I dusted myself off.
"Oh, before I go..."
Before I had time to react, Simon's (or rather my) silver hair transformed into a chocolate colored shaggy cut. Their face turned masculine yet soft and their clothes morphed into a two piece, dark blue suit with no tie and the shirt unbuttoned. What had just a moment ago been unarguably a woman's torso was now flat, chiseled, fully exposed, and definitely belonging to a guy. Their stomach was now lined with the kind of six-pack that would take most people, the man Simon was now impersonating included, years to work up. Yet, at the same time, if Their shirt was closed it would have been hard to tell just how fit they were. Simon blinked a few times, their eyes changing my violet tones to an entrancing baby blue. And, within a few seconds, their transformation from Phillipa Clone MKII into the man of my dreams was complete.
The guy Simon was dressed as was named Hartly Dunham, he was the lead singer of a British boy band that I was a much bigger fan of than I liked to admit. Worse yet was the fact that Hartly was only two years older than me, and that kind of tough but soft guy was exactly my type. When Simon wasn't my preferred gender or type they were cute, but staring at them now, I wasn't sure I'd be able to muster the strength to turn them down if they asked me out again. They didn't waste time closing the distance on me. In response, I quickly stumbled back. In my panic I barely noticed the feeling of one foot crushing the other. I was halfway to the ground before the sensation of falling set in. Simon wrapped an arm around me and dropped to a kneel, stopping my head less than a foot before it hit the ground.
I stared at Simon, my arms now hugging my chest submissively. My face felt hot from embarrassment, and my blush must have been clearly visible by now. Simon brought their mouth close to my ear, each breath from their cute button nose brushing my ear and making my heart skip as I searched my mind frantically for my one remaining brain cell that could manage to say something. In the silky smooth, British accent that had coated so many of my favorite songs, Simon whispered, "Simon says 'have a good day'."
It was an extremely cheesy line, that I had heard a million times from them before, but in the moment all I could manage was a weak, "thanks..." that came out more as a squeak than a word.
Maybe life wasn't so bad after all...