Tour De Heart - Chapter 1 [TG Lesbian Romance]

Anonymously Commissioned

Chapter 1

Ken's feet moved fluidly, pressing down on the pedals as the city blurred around him. He felt weightless like he was gliding over the earth rather than pushing against it. The bike hummed beneath him, the spokes moving so quickly they could barely be made out. The breeze caught in his hair, cool against his face. He really needed to get it cut. It didn't normally didn't grow so fast. Maybe the French air had something to do with it. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting long, golden shadows that danced across the pavement. 

The stress and frustration that had gripped him during the first part of his holiday melted away, replaced by a sense of calm focus. His body moved instinctively, muscles working in perfect harmony, every push and pull of the pedals propelling him forward with a grace he’d never known before. Thanks to this bike, even popping into town to pick up something for dinner had become fun, rather than a chore. 

Ken weaved through the traffic with ease, the cars and buses no more than obstacles in a dance he had mastered in just a few days. The city pulsed with life around him—the chatter of café patrons, the distant sound of a street musician's accordion, the laughter of children playing in a nearby park. It all felt like part of the ride, a symphony of urban energy that pushed him onward. The narrow streets opened up into a wide boulevard lined with trees whose leaves rustled softly in the evening breeze. Ken leaned into a turn, the tyres gripping the pavement as he swooped around the corner, and he felt a rush of exhilaration. He was completely in the moment. Nothing existed beyond the here and now. There were no worries, no nagging doubts or insecurities. Just the wind in his hair, the bike beneath him, and the road unfurling ahead felt like it was filled with possibilities. 

He pulled over at one of the little cafes he’d seen earlier on his ride and chained his bike with the others, wiping the sweat from his brow with a grin; it didn't bother him as much now that he felt like he’d truly earned it. He ran a palm across his face to wipe away any extra and then paused; it had been several days since his last shave and yet, as he ran his hand along the skin, there was no telltale scratch of stubble. He turned and examined himself in the glass window of the cafe. His face was totally smooth, just like the rest of his body. Surely the new, fancy bathroom couldn’t stop him needing to shave? 

Ken stared at his reflection, confused by the smooth, almost round jawline. When his finger touched his chin, he almost startled; he’d always had a cleft there, and now suddenly, it was gone. 

“Okay…that’s weird.”

Ken’s eyes darted about his reflection, trying to pinpoint any other strange changes. Outside of the smooth skin and his hair having grown a bit since he arrived, he looked normal enough. At least, he thought so until he blinked and realised how long his lashes were. 

“The cheesecake is good.”

Ken turned to see a woman with black hair and full, red lips smiling at him.

“Uh…”

“You’ve been staring in the window for a good five minutes.” She continued. “If you don’t make up your mind soon, they’ll close, the sun is setting, you know.”

“Oh no, I was just…”

Just what? Was he seriously about to admit he’d been checking out his own reflection for five minutes? Way to look like a narcissist. 

“It’s okay, I know how hard it can be to choose sometimes.” The woman continued, standing up and moving to where her own bike was leaning. “Good luck! Oh, and by the way, your French is very good!”

“My French?”

She didn't hear him. She was already peddling away with that long dark hair flying behind her, but Ken just furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“But…we were speaking English?” He murmured to himself. Of course they had been, right? He only knew a handful of words in French. The woman must have been confused, or perhaps it was some sort of French prank? That had to be it. 

Ken shrugged off the encounter and pushed open the door, strolling up and ordering a coffee.

“And a cheesecake!” He said on a whim, that woman had recommended it after all. 

The man behind the counter got to work without the usual huff and fuss of pretending to not understand him.  Giving him the most begrudging look of approval and Ken felt his chest puff up a bit. His accent was getting better! 

He sat himself down at the table by the window and smiled at his reflection; imagine if the folks back home could see him now. Looking all sophisticated in the window of a French cafe, eating cheesecake without a worry in the world for his weight. Now that he had that bike, he could actually enjoy treats like this without worrying about gaining more flab! He wolfed down the food with a grin, eager to get back out before he lost the light. 

“Who’d have thought I’d actually look forward to getting back to exercising!”

He stepped back outside and drank in a deep lungful of air. He felt ready to take on the world. Was this how he was supposed to feel when he reached the top of that hike? He stepped up to his bike, grabbed his helmet and…wait, helmet. He stared at the hardware in his hands. The helmet was pale pink with a black rim and as he raised it up, Ken discovered it fit him perfectly. A strange emotion came over him. This helmet was his. He knew it instinctually and yet…he didn’t remember buying it. But as he clipped it into place he couldn’t help but notice how right it felt. Maybe it was another gift from the mysterious woman, maybe she’d seen him in the shop and decided to leave it for him. Either way, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, wherever it came from, it was clearly supposed to be his. 

~

Over the next few days, Ken’s whole life became about his new bike. He rose early and quickly showered ready to get right to riding in the morning light. He’d ride around, visiting the sights of the city, even going out of his way to visit ones that were far away so he’d have a good excuse to ride longer. The wind whipped through his hair and across his smooth cheeks; he had no idea why he no longer had to shave but he was thankful. It saved him a few minutes in the morning at least. Perhaps it was the water here, after all, he didn't see many French men with beards. Today he’d visited several museums and decided to take the scenic route back to the apartment through the smaller cobblestone-lined streets of the old town. His wheels shook as they bounced along the cobbles and he winced, feeling the seat press up against his balls. It was a good thing he wasn’t particularly keen on having kids, it might be impossible after today! It was worth it though; the late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the square, and the breeze carried the scent of fresh bread and blooming lavender. 

As he rounded the corner by the boulangerie, a scene caught his eye, making his brow furrow. A couple, obviously foreigners like himself, stood near the fountain in the centre of the square, their faces confused and frustrated. They were gesturing at a map, trying to speak to anyone who would listen, but each time they approached someone, the locals would give a disinterested glance and either wave them off or pretend not to understand. A well-dressed woman, her nose held high, passed them without a word, and an older man simply muttered something under his breath before continuing on. It was something Ken could sympathise with, the same thing had happened to him the day he landed in Paris and had spent several hours trying to find the bus station to take him out of town. 

Ken slowed his bike, watching the couple’s increasingly desperate attempts. The man, dressed in a baseball cap and a too-large backpack, was flipping the map over and over, while his wife tried speaking louder in what she clearly thought was passable French.

“Excusez-moi, we’re trying to get to—uh, La Rue... something?” Her voice wavered as she glanced at her husband for help.

Ken winced; her pronunciation was terrible. Even worse than his had been. They must have just arrived. 

“Hey, do you need help!” He called, clearing his throat and chuckling at the thick French accent that had coated his words for a moment. He’d gotten so used to speaking French it took him a moment to adjust back to his native language. 

“Yes please.” The woman groaned. “I just want to get to this one museum, La Rue…ugh, this one.”

She pointed to the map and Ken chuckled, he’d just gone there the other day. 

“Easy, here, follow this route and you’ll get there, but it’s getting late. You might want to go…uh…um…”

His tongue seemed to tie on itself he’d…forgotten the word he was looking for. He paused, forcing each word out slowly and carefully, consciously trying to keep that accent out of his voice despite its stubborn insistence on staying.

“You might want to go…demain.” He said. “Non, uh, tomorrow! Yes! You might want to go tomorrow.”

“Ah, what a shame. Thank you very much.” The husband said, speaking a little slower and clearer for Ken’s benefit. He wasn't sure what was more irritating, the fact that the man was doing it, or the fact that it seemed to help. All of a sudden his brain seemed to be flowing like molasse. Just thinking of the words seemed to be difficult. 

“Je vous en prie.” Ken replied without thinking.

The couple just gave him a polite smile, clearly having no idea what he’d just said and continued on their way, chatting as they went.

“See? I told you not all the locals would be rude.”

“We got lucky. His English was pretty good.”

Ken just gaped, staring as they went. Where had that come from? He had no idea what he’d just said in French, except he did. He never learned that phrase but it came as naturally as speaking English should have. Instead, somehow, the languages seemed to have gotten reversed in his brain. He knew immersing himself in the culture would help his language skills but he’d been here less than a week! That wasn’t enough time to completely switch his dominant language! Let alone start forgetting the English word for ‘tomorrow’! A few days ago all he’d known were a handful of phrases!

“Something weird is happening…” He muttered to himself, forcing the words out in English and hearing a thick French accent coat them. “Okay, something is wrong.”

He glanced at his reflection in a nearby mirror and, for the first time, realised what the other tourists must have been seeing. With his smooth and sunkissed skin, he looked a bit European. He’d even taken on a slightly more athletic build. Along with the strange accent he seemed to have acquired, it made sense for those two tourists to think he was a local. Ken felt an odd sort of pride well up inside him; he’d made such a huge change in such a short time! It was incredible! And it was all thanks to his bike! When he got home, people weren’t even going to recognise him. He chuckled a little, fantasising about not matching his passport photo when he went to return home. 

“There is no way this schlubby American in the photo is you!” The security officer would cry, looking at Ken’s handsome, smooth face. 

The daydream left a stupid smile on his face. It was a bit vain, but as he slowly rode back to the apartment he couldn’t help but admire himself in the passing windows as he rode. He’d stopped being skinny fat already and started to look toned and athletic. He was hardly a bodybuilder but had certainly gained more definition in his arms and legs. A little voice in his head whispered that there was something off about that; weight and body type didn’t just change over the course of a few days, but he waved those thoughts away. Some people, like him, must just be lucky! Now that he’d found the right exercise for him, he was shedding the weight easily, that’s all. After all, what other explanation could there possibly be? 

~

“Only one more day.” Ken sighed at his reflection. He was standing, twisting his hips back and forth and admiring his near-naked body. 

A full-length mirror had appeared in the bedroom; rather, he’d only just noticed it. He still hadn’t figured out the miraculously transforming bathroom, but he’d honestly stopped caring. Maybe he’d just been such a sad sack when he got here that he hadn't noticed how nice the apartment was. His bike had given him a new lease on life; everything felt more beautiful, even his body! 

Ken grinned at his toned calves, admiring the soft curve they had taken on. Funnily enough, the thick hair that had been covering them was gone as well. That was…odd, but at the end of the day, it was just hair, right? That little voice appeared in the back of his mind again, the one saying that something weird was going on. There was no way the bathroom had always been that way, and the fact that his body was changing so rapidly should have been concerning not to mention the fact that he kept catching himself singing in French under his breath. 

“Relax, Ken. This is fine. You’re just getting fit. There are bound to be changes.”

Still he couldn’t help but run a hand up his side with a look of concern as he noticed the slight cinching at his stomach. The slightest hint of abs had started to appear there, which would have made him happy if it weren’t for the almost hourglass figure his body was starting to take on. 

“I’m almost starting to look like a woman.” He laughed nervously, suddenly glad to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt to cover the changes. “Get a grip, just go for a ride, and everything will feel better.”

He hopped on his bike and winced as the seat crushed against his balls; he still hadn't quite figured out how to avoid that yet, but once he started riding, he’d forget about it. Except he didn’t. The blissful blankness that came with concentrating on the ride didn't come this morning. His mind kept wandering back to the strange changes his body had been experiencing each day of this trip. Niggling fear wormed its way deep into his heart and he felt his heart start hammering against his chest for reasons that had nothing to do with how hard he was peddling. He skidded to a halt, breath catching in his throat as the town clock chimed, making him almost jump out of his skin. He’d been panicking and peddling so much that the day was slipping away from him.

“Come on, Ken. Get a grip.” He hissed. “You have to go home tomorrow morning, do you really want to ruin your last day in France worrying about nothing?”

His chest felt heavy beneath his shirt, but he ignored it, trying instead to calm his frayed nerves. He couldn’t even put into words what he was afraid of but ever since he noticed how feminine his new body was starting to look, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. But he couldn’t actually be turning into a woman; that was ridiculous! 

“Are you alright?”

The voice made him jump. He turned to see a familiar face smiling at him—the dark-haired woman who had complimented his French the other day. 

“You were muttering to yourself.” She continued. 

“Yes, just…pumping myself up for the ride.” Ken lied with a nervous laugh. 

“Oh, I know how it is.” She giggled. “I ride myself, in fact, I own a bike shop not far from here.”

“Really?” Ken couldn’t believe his luck. “You know, now that I think about it, you might be able to help me. I am flying back to the States tomorrow and I haven’t thought about how to get this bike back with me.”

The woman wrinkled her nose a little in confusion.

“You’re American?”

“Yes, obviously.”

“Well, you speak just like a native!” She complimented, “Have you been learning long?”

“Very funny.” Ken grinned with an eye roll, only the woman didn't laugh, she looked confused and Ken felt his own brow furrowed. “I…I only got here a week ago. I barely know any French at all.”

“But…you’re speaking it now.” She said, The mood suddenly felt awkward, and her smile was a little more forced. Clearly, she regretted talking to him, thinking he was some sort of weirdo, but Ken didn't have the mental energy to worry about that right now. 

She was right.

They had been speaking French. The words had come so naturally that he hadn't even realised it was happening. He ran the conversation back through his mind, trying to translate it into English and finding the process painfully hard. Okay, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Something very weird was happening to him. Again, he thought about the weight on his chest and his hourglass figure. He swallowed nervously, that weight…it couldn’t be breasts, could it? 

“Excuse me.” Ken said hurriedly, forcing the words out in English and cringing at the thick accent that coated them. He jumped on the bike without even caring about the painful crush of his balls against the seat. He needed to get back to the apartment and see himself. If he could just do that, then he would see that he was being paranoid. The more he rode, the harder it was to continue himself through. Even his racing thoughts were in French now. 

He peddled like a madman back out of town toward the outskirts again. He couldn’t even enjoy the mountain air as it whipped through his hair anymore. Now, all he could think about was how each time he turned a corner, the long strands plastered themselves against his face and they seemed to be getting longer each time it happened, how long had his hair been this morning, not this length surely. His legs felt cold as well, the air was coming through his sweatpants somehow. The more he peddled, the more he could feel the fabric press against his skin, getting tighter and tighter until he could even feel it riding up into his ass crack. They were so tight in fact it almost felt like his legs were mostly bare. He didn’t dare look down to confirm it. There was too much on his racing mind already. 

By the time he pulled up outside his apartment, he could feel the strands tickling the back of his neck in a way they definitely weren’t a few hours ago. 

“Calm down Ken, this is probably just your imagination.” He muttered as he dismounted the bike and felt a suspicious lack of crushing between his legs. In fact, he couldn’t feel his balls at all.

“They’ve just gone numb from being crushed for so long.” He rationalised. “T-they can't have disappeared, that would be insane.”

He laughed a little to himself, trying to ignore how breathy and insane it sounded as he quickly made his way inside. Ken pushed open the door, panic building in his chest. He expected to be greeted by the same modest, somewhat drab interior he had left that morning: the worn-out sofa, the scuffed wooden table, and the half empty kitchen. But as he stepped inside, he froze. The apartment had changed again, but this time, it wasn't just the walls and floor that were neater; the entire place looked like it had been renovated from the ground up!

The old, creaky sofa had been replaced by a luxurious, velvet sectional in a deep shade of blue. A sleek glass coffee table sat in front of it, its surface covered in magazines and books with French titles he could somehow read. A plush rug with a modern geometric design stretched across the floor, and modern hanging lights had replaced the old bulbs that used to be fitted straight into the ceiling. The countertops were now polished marble, a bowl of fresh fruit sat invitingly on the counter. It was a proper fruit bowl, too, not the kind that was filled with half-mouldy peaches and ignored apples he was used to every time he convinced himself to eat better, and then he gave up a week later. There was even a row of energy drinks in a basket sitting right next to it, with a little note attached.

“You got this girl?” He read, “What? Hey! What’s happening to my voice? I sound like a girl!”

That French accent strengthened with every word, and his voice was lighter and almost musical. Ken felt almost dizzy with confusion. He tried to speak in English, but his words came out broken and thickly accented no matter how hard he tried. The words really had been slipping away from him the last few days. How had it gotten this bad without him noticing? Ken bit his lip; he had noticed; he just hadn’t wanted to admit it. 

Dazed, Ken turned back to the living area, his eyes drawn to the walls. They had been bare mere moments ago but now there were striking photographs of a woman in various cycling competitions. Her long sandy hair was flying behind her in a tight ponytail. Her eyes were vivid blue and filled with determination in each picture as her athletic body was pushed to the brink. Just looking at her made Ken’s heart stutter; she looked magnificent. She was so magnificent that he almost didn’t spot the centrepiece of the pictures: a silver-framed medal hung from a yellow ribbon. Tour de France Femme was embossed beneath it on a plaque. 

His confusion deepened. None of this made sense. He had been out for just a couple of hours, a simple ride through the city, and now this? He hadn’t left his door unlocked, even if he had, nobody could have done this so quickly. And yet, here it was—his apartment, but not his apartment or his voice and body! Speaking of his body, he still couldn’t feel his balls.

Ken looked down at the tight bike shorts he suddenly realised he was wearing. He couldn’t deny it anymore; he was sure he’d been wearing sweatpants only a few minutes ago, but now he was in skin-tight sportswear that left nothing to the imagination. He didn’t remember buying them; if he did, he certainly wouldn’t have picked the odd shade of powder blue. It didn’t match his pale complexion; wait, since when did he think about that? Colour? Complexion? 

“What the hell is wrong with me? And…where are my balls?”

The front of the tight-fitting pants lacked a very distinct bulge. Despite his panic, Ken couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous as he moved to cup himself in the middle of the room. He felt nothing but a smooth, slightly warm mound. Immediately, his mind had flashbacks to his last girlfriend, feeling her up in the night and sliding his hand between her legs when she was still wearing her panties. It felt exactly the same.  

“No way…no way…”

Ken rushed to the bathroom, completely ignoring the fact that it had been upgraded once again. He ripped off the shorts and stared between his legs; that couldn’t be right, it just couldn’t. But no matter how long he looked, it didn't change. Between his legs was a warm mound in place of his cock and balls.

“I…I’ve been turned into a chick?!”

His heart was hammering in his chest; this couldn’t be right. He must have been going crazy or something. He posed in front of the mirror, turning from side to side, waiting for the light to catch in such a way that he would see his manhood again, and everything would magically go back to the way it was supposed to be. But it didn’t. He felt ridiculous, standing there with his pants around his ankles but he just couldn’t stop staring. There was a light dusting of blonde hair coating the mound, making it appear even more delicate. Timidly, he stepped out of his shorts, trying to ignore the feeling of his smooth thighs and pussy lips rubbing together. It was such an odd sensation, not bad, just…different. He reached down with trembling fingers, pressed them to the hair, and felt his body instantly respond. Heat burned across his cheeks and as he slipped one finger between the folds. Velvety wetness; soft and supple where it should have been hard. His mouth had gone dry, all the moisture having fled between his legs. That finger rested against his folds and the skin there burned, tempting him to stroke along the sensitive skin. He might have been tempted to follow the instinct if he hadn't been in such a state of shock. 

“N-no time for that now…”

Ken pulled up his bike shorts and started to pace while running a hand over the rest of his body; it felt male enough, his torso was still square, his shoulders still broad and straight, but the more he looked, the less masculine features he could find. His throat was smooth and devoid of Adam’s apple, his skin devoid of stubble. Once again, his fingers brushed across his chin, feeling for the cleft that had always been there until today. 

“Calm down, man. There has to be an explanation for all this.”

But no matter how much he paced and tried to calm his racing thoughts, they only got faster. He couldn’t come up with any sort of logical explanation for what was happening. As if by some strange connection, he could feel his new bike calling to him. Compelling him to ride again, if only for the distraction. 

“I…I need to clear my head.” He rationalised. 

Ken’s feet almost moved of their own accord, racing back down to where his new, beloved bike was sitting and waiting. He hoped on painlessly, leaning into the handlebars and pushing off. He flew down the road into the early evening light, peddling madly in an effort to burn the nervous energy coursing through his body. The feel of the wind whooshing past and the burn in his legs calmed him. It felt right. What didn't feel right was the heaviness in his chest. Alarm bells went off, was he pushing too hard? He could see the stupid headlines now: ‘Lazy American Tries to Exercise Abroad; Has Heart Attack’. 

Ken waited for the pain or numbness to start, but it didn’t. That heavy feeling in his chest got stronger, though. It almost felt as if…something was hanging from his chest. Or rather, two somethings. He peddled faster, as if riding could somehow take him away from this feeling, but it only seemed to speed up the changes. He could feel his position on the seat changing slightly as his hips got wider and the curve of his spine changing as his shoulders sloped. 

He was so focused on the changes that he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. There was a sudden jolt as the wheel hit a rock, and the bike skidded. Ken gripped the handlebars and managed to right himself, slowing to a leisurely pace. His breath was coming in deep, fast pants and that heavy feeling was growing every second. He was terrified to look, but knew he had to. He couldn’t even be surprised when he looked down to his chest and saw cleavage. For a second, his vision swam, partly from shock and partly from being out of breath. His shirt had been replaced with a skin-tight sports bra that matched his new bike shorts. He would have been freezing if it weren’t for the intense riding. His chest heaved and he could only stare at the lovely curves it seemed to have gained. With each rotation of his wheels, he watched as they increased. It was almost as if the bike wheels were fueling the change. The more he peddled, the bigger his boobs became until finally, when they reached a decent D cup, they stopped. Even in the sports bra, hugged tight against his chest, Ken could feel them moving ever so slightly as he did. It was an alien feeling, and again, he thought about the pusy between his legs. 

“If I have a pussy and tits…am I even a man anymore?” He asked himself. 

He’d come on this trip to try and get fit. He’d been expecting a midlife crisis; not an existential one! He squeezed his eyes closed, and took several deep breaths in, only to be startled by a sudden ringing from his thigh. He looked down and saw a phone strapped there. His hand moved and unhooked the phone out of some strange habit, clicking it open.

“Amelie.” He answered and immediately froze. Where did that name come from?

“Where are you?” A male voice asked. “I thought we agreed no riding for a week to let yourself rest.”

“I…was stressed and needed to burn some energy.”

Ken felt like he was on autopilot, following instincts he’d never had until right now. 

“Well, I dropped by the apartment to give you the latest sponsorship giveaway, protein powder. Good stuff, too.” 

The voice kept going, talking about social media and marketing opportunities that Ken didn't have the brain power to try and understand right now. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the caller ID. 

“Louis…”

“Yeah? Amelie, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m a little distracted right now.”

“Amelie, sweet stuff, you gotta get your head in the game. Eleven months seems like a long time but it’ll go quickly. I have the training program all made up. I’ll come by tomorrow and we can go over it.”

“...Okay.”

“Alright, girl, get home, shut up. Don’t overwork yourself! You’re a star!”

The line went dead and Ken numbly put the phone back in the holster at his thigh and began peddling again. What was going on? Why had he called himself Amelie? And who the hell was Louis? He rode back to the apartment slowly to make sure whoever the man was would be gone by the time he got back. Thankfully, the apartment hadn’t changed again, but he still felt like he was intruding in somebody else's space. There was a box of flyers and several tubs of protein powder sitting on the coffee table now, likely left by whoever Louis was.

“Whoever he is…apparently he has a key.”

Ken walked to the fridge to get something to drink and caught sight of his muted reflection in the shiny metal surface. Even distorted, he could tell something was wrong. Instead, he rushed to the bathroom mirror again and felt his jaw drop. A soft hand reached out to press against the glass, and he half expected to meet the skin instead of the mirror. Because the person staring back at him was a woman, and not just any woman. The woman from the photos out in the living room. The one with the long dark blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. Except instead of a look of focus and determination, she was in pure shock. 

“Amelie?” He whispered, hearing that same female voice. 

Somehow, he really had transformed into a woman and not just that, he’d transformed his holiday rental into a proper home. A quick inspection of the silver medal framed against the wall revealed the name he expected, Amelie Blanchet. Him. 

Ken flopped down onto the couch and stared at his phone, the first two digits of the emergency number dialled and then abandoned. What was he going to say? There was no way to tell this story without sounding completely crazy. No, he had to figure out what was going on. Get his story straight, then go to…somebody. There was an expensive-looking silver laptop sitting on a desk by the window, he grabbed it and booted it up. It was time to figure out who the hell he was. A quick Google of his name presented a plethora of information: press tours, interviews, articles all about him. Well, about Amelie. The first link showed a picture of his new identity standing off the side of a road with a look of frustration. A skinny man wearing too much spray tan had his hand on Amelie’s shoulder. 

“Blanchet and her coach, Louis Aubert, minutes after the Tour De France Femme’s concluded.” Ken read aloud as his eyes scanned the byline. “Most riders would be pleased to come second, but Blanchet was visibly upset today as she narrowly lost the gold to her longtime rival Kerrie McDonough from the US. Many believed this was Blanchet’s year to win.”

The article continued, and as it did, Ken felt an odd sense of familiarity washing over him. It wasn't that he remembered so much that…if somebody asked, he would suddenly know everything he needed to. Just like when he answered the phone and instinctively knew his name. He found himself wondering how far it went.

“Okay, my name is Amelie. I was born….in…uh…”

The information didn't come, clearly, there were still a lot of holes to fill in his new mind. But he couldn’t deny this was happening. He could only hope that things would somehow return to normal when he woke up in the morning.