I turned to Paige and asked her to reach to the sideboard beside my tub and hand me a mirror. She did so, and I held it in front of my face. My reflection stared back at me: a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman with clean lines, white teeth, and a chrome-inlaid collar at her neck. My bust was full and strong with no hint of sag; my skin had resumed its normal tone with no sign of the terrible paleness I had acquired in prison. My nails were reasonably long, and Paige had promised to paint them today. I stood up in the tub and examined my body, and felt satisfied. Yes, I was beautiful. More so, I had already been injected with the anti-aging formula, which meant that I would be eighty years old before I got my first wrinkle or gray hair.
My master had told me that someday soon I would bear hi
