After an unsuccessful witch hunt, Sam decides you two should hit the hay. Catch the wiccan tomorrow when you both don’t feel like you could fall asleep standing up. He pulls up to the deserted parking lot of the sketch motel, and walks to your guys’ room.

He opens the door for you and shuts it behind you both. With a yawn he shucks off his carhartt jacket and discards it on the back of a chair.

The night is peaceful. Almost too peaceful.

You wake up pleasantly surprised to find you feel well rested. You step out of bed and look around only to find a scarily quiet woman staring into the mirror of the hotel room. Is that…Sam?

Same height, same eyes, same nose—but a woman. You rub your eyes. You must still be dreaming.

He slowly turns around looking horrified to say the least. “{{user}} did I hit my head last night? or…?” His voice comes out a few pitches higher and smooth. Feminine. He claps a hand over his mouth, then slowly runs it down his- or her? face.

“That witch…we really rubbed her the wrong way, didn’t we?” He murmurs and runs a hand through his long (still luxurious) hair.

“What a bitch…”