Thread: Turned in to a Doll! [Closed]

For every ticking second sitting at the cold, alienating reception area of the clinic, Priscilla Connolly felt a growing urge to just stand up and leave. She'd never trusted doctors and clinics... and this particular clinic is the worst kind. The chilly and sterilized air, the avant garde and spotless decor not emanating any kind of warmth, the letters DR. GREGORY FOXLEY in large silver chrome... Priscilla struggled to recall what made her come in the first place. It was the morning after of a late night partying session at a downtown LA club. Priscilla was sticking her hand inside her jean pocket, trying to locate her phone, when her fingertips found what appeared to be a namecard... only it wasn't. It contained just a name, a short title, and a number. She had no idea how it'd ended up in her pocket, but her interest was piqued. And she had a few weeks off until her next album starts sound-testing. She asked her assistant to give that number a call. Priscilla thumbed through the glossy fashion magazine on her lap, still contemplating whether to leave or not. Until, on page 59, she came face to face with... herself. It was an interview she'd done a few months back. The popstar was a meticulously made-up and airbrushed image of perfection. Her long straight hair a sheet of shiny black that cascaded over her bare shoulders, her eyes a tantalizing brown that gave off a blend of innocence and mischief, her pale olive skin taut, smooth, and poreless. Her pouty lips painted a shade of dark crimson. Priscilla ran a finger over her own self printed on paper, her mind swimming. She looked nothing like that today. Her hair is tied into a simple ponytail, thick-rimmed black glasses framed her large eyes, and she wore little make-up. She had on a long designer t-shirt, black tights underneath, and ballet flats. Simplicity. There was no point dressing up to a medical appointment. Today's Priscilla Connolly, in glasses and sans make-up, is barely recognizable as the teen starlet who'd released 3 albums by the time she turned 21. But make no mistake, she'd still command a double-take from 95 of the boys. And then, staring blanking at herself on the two-page spread, she'd remembered why she was here. The doctor has promised eternal youth. Told her of a revolutionary way to preserve her beauty. The cost of the procedure, unfortunately, made his clientele very limited. Girls like Priscilla young, rich, and beautiful... are the ideal candidates.It took Pris very little time to say yes. Well, what's to lose? If the 'procedure' fails she'd have wasted an afternoon and suffered a small dent in her ever-increasing bank account. If it works, though, she could look exactly like that years down the line. A door clicked and the doctor walked into the reception area. Priscilla would've preferred a woman, but Dr. Foxley looked professional and seemed to be good at what he does, which was good enough for her. Yes, she replied to his question resolutely.... he spent no time fawning over her fame, which she appreciated. Priscilla took the swim cap from him and went behind the curtains, quickly stripping off her clothes and putting on the one-piece swimsuit she'd brought along. With the white swimcap scrunched up in her right palm, Priscilla pulled the curtain back.