Finding My Voice In Her Skin

Creating an account should be a breeze—grab a fresh email, toss in some personal deets like your birthday, gender, and a password, slap on a profile pic, and voilà! You're all set.

But right now? Angel couldn't summon the motivation to even start. Instead, she found herself tangled in a dilemma that felt way bigger than it should've been.

"Hmm… How should I take my picture?"

Her eyebrows furrowed in frustration, eyes narrowing at the camera like it had personally wronged her. Who knew a single photo could be such a headache?

"This angle looks good… but it kind of emphasizes my chest a bit…"

She tilted her phone, trying a lower angle—a three-quarter candid shot this time.

"This one looks cool, mysterious even… but something's off. Ughhh!"

Angel had assumed girls just knew how to work the camera, like some innate superpower. Turns out, it's more trial and error than magic. And in her case? Error was winning.

Even with her admittedly mediocre camera skills, Angel still looked stunning. The problem was capturing that essence of herself—the vibe, the energy, the her-ness. It was like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands.

Switching to selfie mode, she groaned.

"Fine, maybe something cute? Just a poorly taken candid shot… whatever happens, I'll roll with it."

But before she could snap the photo, her thumb instinctively swiped over to Pinterest. There, she spotted a woman posing effortlessly—leaning forward, fingers in a V, radiating cuteness.

"Ah hah! This would suit me well!"

Angel's frustration melted into excitement. She began prancing on the spot, giggling softly. To anyone watching, she'd just look like a bubbly young woman lost in her own world. But Angel, who once lived as a man, seemed to have completely forgotten that part of herself.

"Now let's see… Like this… and this?"

Mimicking the pose, she leaned forward, eyes darting between her phone and the reference image.

"Perfect!"

With a V-sign and a soft, closed-lip smile, she snapped the photo.

SNAP.

When the image loaded, Angel's jaw dropped.

"This is…"

The photo was undeniably cute. But there was a catch. Her sundress, while modest, had betrayed her. The slight looseness of the fabric, the strap slipping off her shoulder, the hint of cleavage—it turned her wholesome, Pinterest-inspired pose into something… teasing. Cute, yes, but with a side of naughty.

"GAHH!"

Angel wanted to throw herself to the ground and burrow into the earth. This was too much! Way too much!

If she were some cliché anime protagonist, her nose would've been a fountain of blood by now. Thankfully, she wasn't… right?

Covering her slightly flushed face, she groaned again.

She'd made a promise to herself—this photo would be her profile picture.

"I guess I have no choice."

Angel sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable. She created a new email—@Angel_Ramondezz. It felt like a small step, but it was hers.

Now, the question was: which platform? Facebook, X, or Instagram? After a moment of deliberation, she settled on Facebook. It was quieter there, more peaceful. Plus, Angel wasn't expecting much. Clout? Nah, that sounded exhausting. She wasn't about that life.

Setting up the account was a breeze. Two minutes flat—birthday, password, done. Her profile picture? Easy. A quick upload, and just like that, her social media presence was alive. For a brief moment, Angel felt a flicker of accomplishment.

But then it hit her. Friends. Or rather, the lack thereof. Her mood dipped as she realized how empty her friend list was. What was the point of this new account anyway? If it was for Raymundo… ugh, yucky. But technically, he was Angel's first friend. She sighed again, her thoughts spiraling as she stared at her profile picture.

Why had she adjusted so easily to being a girl? Most people in her situation would've been freaking out, right? A full-blown identity crisis, maybe? But not Angel. She'd read enough light novels to know how these stories usually went—protagonists panicking, questioning their existence, the whole nine yards. Yet here she was, oddly… fine. Was it the numbing effect of all those stories she'd consumed? Or was she just built different?

Now, with the account created, Angel found herself in a weird limbo. What was next? What did she even want?

"Well, I am pretty,"

she mused aloud.

"I could just do cosplays for a living. But… that's not really what I want, is it?"

She stared at her phone, a tiny spark of hope flickering in her chest. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe she'd finally find her audience. She didn't want to rely on her looks for fame or money—that felt cheap, shallow. But what other options did she have? If she wanted to draw people in, she'd have to use every tool at her disposal. Looks included.

Still, she had her dignity. She wasn't about to do anything naughty for clout. Absolutely not! No lewdness, no scandalous posts—nothing! Her name was Angel, after all. She couldn't be lewd. Never, ever!

Feeling content, Angel set her phone down. She'd add Raymundo later—right now, her fingers were itching for the familiar rhythm of her favorite games. It had been a while, and she couldn't shake the nagging fear that her skills might've dulled from the hiatus.

Besides, what else was there to do? Her light novel about her life? Pfft. That could wait. Right now, the good stuff took priority—the kind of stuff that made her heart race and her fingers fly across the keyboard.

As Angel left her phone on the bed and settled in front of her computer, she had no idea what was brewing in the digital world. Little by little, her friend requests began to pile up like wildfire. Posts started popping up, each one more urgent than the last:

"We found her!!"

Maybe this time would be different. Maybe it'd be chaotic. Maybe it'd be the turning point she needed—a push to stop procrastinating and finally give her light novels the spotlight they deserved. But who could say? Right now, Angel wasn't thinking about her earlier introspections or whether her writing would ever pay the bills. Nope. All that mattered was hitting every single note, perfectly in sync with the beat. The rest could wait.