Since you have no idea who this woman is, you have trouble thinking of changes to make. While you could make her tell you, that’s potentially a lot of exposition you’d have to dig for. As you ponder how to mess with her, you can’t help but think she’s pretty attractive for her age. You wonder what she would look like if she was a teenager…
“Let’s begin,” you tell her, swinging the pendulum at full speed. “You are eighteen years old.”
Upon hearing those words, her face scrunches up, as if in pain, and she clutches her temple. “I’m…eighteen y-years old? No…n-no…that c-can’t be…” she sputters, sounding very unsure. It isn’t a light change; you’d probably be shaving off almost forty years, completely altering her entire life from her birth.
“You’re eighteen,” you repeat.
“Uh…I-I…” she begins, unable to get the words out, though you already notice her body rapidly de-age. Notably, her skin was expediently losing its wrinkles, her hair starting to get longer, and her saggy breasts inflated like balloons.
“You’re eighteen,” you say a final time. “Eighteen years old.”
“I’m…eighteen…eighteen years old…” she says submissively, her body at last relaxing. You watch intently as the change completes itself. Her aging figure lost a bit of weight, though is certainly still plump and curvy. The expression on her face was more jovial and youthful. Her face itself, now as smooth as silk like the rest of her paler skin, was much cuter, her eyes now far prettier and less obscured by makeup. Her hair, now brushing against her shoulders, curls out at the ends and is now a darker crimson. Any trace of her old age is completely gone: she’s now a bubbly, smiling eighteen-year-old girl. You have to say, she looks really hot.
“Good girl,” you commend her. “You think and act like you are eighteen.”
“I…think and act like I am eighteen…” she says in a much squeakier, innocent voice. You quickly notice her outfit change, now being a sexy red top with white athletic shorts and sneakers. She’s now boasting a nice manicure and some tattoos as well.
“What’s your first name?” You ask her, figuring it doesn’t fit her new age.
“I’m… Claudia…” she mumbles, proving your right.
“You don’t have any memory of that name,” you declare.
“Uh…my na…name…” she sputters, her name already gone from her little head.
“You have absolutely no memory of that name.”
She is silent for a moment before responding. “I…what…what name?” She asks. She has no first name. Or at least she doesn’t remember having one.
“Your first name is Rose.”
“Rose! Rose…that’s my name…” she says, extremely relieved. That’s her name now. Always has been.
Rose has been fully transformed into an eighteen-year-old!