She had never dreamed of looking like this, even in her wildest flights of fancy!
"Like it?" Lyf asked from his seat in the corner.
"Like it!" she chortled. "I adore it! How on Earth did you do it? You've not only made me beautiful, you've made me young!"
"I didn't do it on Earth," Lyf admitted. "I took you to Hel where there's some decent equipment. It wasn't much," he added vaguely, "merely the application of some rather simple cellular biology—mostly a rearrangement of DNA molecules and a bit of sarcoplasty. Actually it wasn't too difficult. The removal of your tumor was much harder. You'll find that two weeks have gone from your life, but they've been well spent."
"I should say they have!" Miss Twilley said as she pirouetted slowly before the glass. Her brows knit in a tiny frown as she saw her only blemish, a bright red spot at the base of her spine.
"The mark can't be helped," Lyf said, "but it doesn't detract at all. And it won't show even in a bikini."
"Forty, twenty-four, thirty-six." Miss Twilley breathed. "Lyf—I could kiss you!"
"I'd rather you wouldn't," Lyf said. "There is, after all, a certain species incompatibility between yours and mine. Incidentally, you have perfect health. You'll never know a sick day for the rest of your life which should be quite long. And I gave you a fine singing voice, and a mental attitude that will let you use it."
"Thank you," Miss Twilley murmured as she stared at her reflection.
"I've left instructions for your financial operations on your dresser. Follow them and you'll be financially independent. I think that does it. Everything is satisfactory, I trust."