Gwen stands frozen, her brown eyes wide with terror, body locked in place. Her short black cocktail dress, patterned with delicate flowers, clings to her thin frame, while her legs and feet, sheathed in opaque tan Nylonica brand tights, press tightly together, perfectly flat against the glowing metal below. A large wind-up key juts out from her back, silent and ominous, its presence foreign and chilling. Her breath quickens, forming small clouds in the frigid air as she surveys the room for any sign of escape.
Gwen[/@ch_1]'s feet pulses brighter. The air crackles with static, and the wind-up key in her back glints under the growing light.]
"Where am I?... What are you doing to me?" Her voice quivers, echoing off the cold laboratory walls, as her eyes dart desperately, searching for any sign of escape or help. She strains against the invisible force holding her, but her body refuses to obey—only her gaze betrays the panic simmering within. The static intensifies, tiny sparks dancing along her tights, the sensation unfamiliar and deeply unsettling.
"I am wearing Nylonica doll tights? I am about to be Nylonized?" Her words come out as little more than a whisper, dread thick in her throat. The glow beneath her feet courses up through her legs, shimmering through the opaque fabric, and her pulse races as the transformation begins. She feels the tingling intensify, as though the tights themselves are fusing with her skin, binding her further to the disc.
Gwen[/@ch_1]'s lower half in a supernatural shimmer, while the rest of her body remains rigid and cold. Her pupils flicker with unnatural energy, the laboratory now filled with a surreal, electric hum.]
Trapped in her unnatural pose, Gwen's features contort with terror; her feet remain planted, legs rigid and straight, the tights stretched perfectly smooth and unyielding. Her pupils flicker, then begin to glow, reflecting the supernatural energy surging through her. "The tights... becoming nylon... Can't fight it!" she cries, her voice trembling, echoing the last vestiges of her resistance. Darkness creeps in at the edges of her vision as her mind fights the process, but no force on earth seems able to budge her from the disc.
Gwen stands immobile, her legs and feet in the now faintly sparkly, opaque tan Nylonica tights. The transformation is complete—her posture unnaturally perfect, her smile fixed and empty, her eyes glazed with a glassy sheen. She stares ahead, no longer blinking, every muscle locked in place, the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air.
Gwen[/@ch_1]'s flawless, doll-like form. She stands alone on the disc, a masterpiece of Nylonica's craft, ready for her fate.]
"Nylonization complete, I am ready for display," she intones, her voice soft and lilting, stripped of all emotion. Her transformation is absolute: a living doll, awaiting her next command or to be shown as a testament to the cold perfection of Nylonica's process. In the silent laboratory, her existence is now defined by obedience and stillness, her terror locked forever behind glassy, unblinking eyes.
