Doctor Jefferies finished her translation, and then looked down at the jewelry lying before her. The scroll told of a high priestess of Isis wearing the jewelry, and taking on the attributes of the goddess; a priestess who at the time must have been ninety years old. Obviously, the writer must have exaggerated in here somewhere, and yet.
Jefferies put aside her glasses, and put her wrinkled hands on the headband. Sheer folly she knew, yet she went ahead and fastened the headband beneath her own thinning white hair. She then took each silver wristlet, and draped and fastened them on her own boney hands.
Standing, with an effort, she walked towards the mirrored closet door, and pronounced the phrase of power, just as a high priestess would. A surge traveled up her frail body, like an electric shock. She watched, stunned as her skin smoothed and the hair on her head filled out and turned the red of her youth. Her breathing eased, and she felt her breast lift and swell on her body. Taking off her clothes, she stepped right next to the closet and put her hands above her breast.
The scroll had not lied. Jennifer Jefferies stood in the body of an elder goddess; a goddess of sex and fertility.
