Welcome to

March arrived with a whisper—no fanfare, no warning—just the quiet, shifting magic in the air as Gena blinked up at me from her place on the couch, her plush lips parting in surprise.

“Oh my…”

The words slipped from her mouth already changed—softer, slower, with a husky tremor that hadn’t been there a second before. Her hands—oh God, her hands—twitched as she lifted them in front of her face, watching as the skin wrinkled slightly, veins tracing delicate paths beneath paper-thin skin.

I couldn’t breathe.

It was happening again.

And this time, it was fast.

Gena gasped as her blonde locks streaked with silver, her ponytail loosening as her hair thickened into a voluminous mane. Her face—fuck, her face—melted into something regal, mature, framed by laugh lines and the faintest hint of crow’s feet that only made her piercing blue eyes pop.

But her body—

Oh, fuck no.

Her tits sagged—heavy, pendulous, drooping into perfect T-cup globes that spilled over the cups of her tight top. Her waist nipped in, but her hips flared wider, her ass growing rounder, softer—a thick, lush playground meant to be gripped by desperate hands.

I was hard before I realized it.

Gena—no, not Gena anymore—blinked slowly, her manicured fingers (now lined with age but still elegant) plucking at her suddenly-too-tight shirt with a bemused frown.

“Goodness, what in the world am I wearing?” she chuckled, her voice like honey and crushed velvet.

I swallowed. “Gr-Grandma?”

Her gaze flicked to mine, bright with recognition. “Oh! Nicholas, my sweet boy!” She cupped my cheek, her palm warm and slightly wrinkled. “Look at you, all grown up and handsome as ever.”

My chest ached.

Because she didn’t know.

She didn’t remember.

To her, I’d always been her grandson.

Granny Gretchen (because of course that was her name now) tutted as she glanced down at her clothes again—Gena’s tight crop top barely containing those monumental T-cup udders, her shorts straining against her newly thickened thighs.

“This simply won’t do,” she murmured, standing with effortless grace despite her age—because magic, because fuck logic—before shuffling toward the bedroom with a sway in her hips that made my mouth water.

I followed like a puppy.By the time I reached the doorway, she was already digging through the closet, humming some old-timey tune under her breath as she …