Mira always starts her days the same way. she wakes up, lounges a bit too long in bed on her phone, makes herself eggs, oatmeal, or a bowl of cereal, takes the pills that give her breasts and smooth skin, showers, and brushes her teeth. Then, she makes her models.

In her workshop, Mira has an impressive display of bonsais and miniatures. A tiny idyllic farmhouse along a river of real water, cycled under the table by a pump. Tiny juniper bonsais frame the house and a thin layer of artificial groundcover makes even the grass look scale-appropriate. Mira makes her living in commissions, with a successful online store and her own webpage. If she didn't have to buy food, she might never go outside. She is as self sufficient as one can be in a cozy one bedroom 

The only category of miniature she doesn't sell are people, but not for lack of skill. Inside the tiny farmhouse, barely visible through the window, is a stunningly lifelike copy of herself, with a full range of motion in its joints. She has made countless copies of these, back to the days where she wore her mousy hair short and hid herself behind baggy t-shirts and jeans. She is more afraid of throwing them away than she is of someone discovering her secret.

Mira sighs as she finishes her first commission of the day, a custom job of a classic brick well. She wonders if the buyer will notice the paint blending wrong on the inside edge, but comforts herself in knowing that only she would care about that level of detail. Shutting her eyes, Mira does something as natural to her as it would be strange to anyone else. She lays on the ground and goes motionless, then wakes up in her tiny wooden replica. Whether this is a power unique to her or a product of her craft, she isn't sure, but Mira is afraid that selling anyone elses likeness could mistakenly send them into a body they didnt intend to be their own. She has had enough experince with that not to wish it on anyone.

Mira considers the feel of occupying her newest model. The wood, while expertly painted, is still very stiff to the touch. Structure is important for safety, but there's always room for improvement. Maybe she should learn to work with silicone, though painting on it may be difficult. 

Mira idly runs her hand along the smooth area between her thighs. Once, she took comfort in the ability to escape what was there on her human likeness, but now it just feels sterilized and inert. genitals seem like a nightmare to carve into wood, let alone a new medium. a problm for another time.

Mira returns to her human body, her hand moving in the dream-like interim to match where the dummy's was. Lately, she has felt less disgust towards her penis, its male-signifying nature lost over time as she isolated from society. Especially compared to her wooden counterpart, it continues to provide her with pleasure that cannot be found in a smoothed-over groin. She glances at the clock. 11:02. She has time.

Turning over onto her side, Mira looks out across her miniature landscape and inhales deeply as she slowly massages her shaft. One day she will be able to do this in a way that's not so large and messy. When she perfects her model, she can truly be in a world of her own, a perfect world, revelling in her craft. Mira moans as she feels herself become erect.

Sometimes she thinks of disappearing into her dummy full-time, but is dissuaded by thoughts of family, friends, and the work she has put in to be comfortable with her own flesh. Her thoughts turn to the physical, intangible pleasure she is feeling, and her mind goes blank.

But oh, doesn't it just get so lonely?

Her body tenses and releases. She looks empty-headed at her damp hand. I'm going to smell like this all day, Mira thinks. She gets up, washes her hands, changes into a summer dress. She comes back in and removes the roof from the tiny house, extracts the doll, and sets it on a chair outsise. It's almost time to buy groceries.