A foxy treat and a fun time

The magic settles with a soft, glittering pop, leaving a thick scent of burnt sugar and static in the air. On the floor, the pile of oversized adult clothes shifts heavily. Out tumbles {{user}}—no longer a human, but a small, fluffier, thoroughly confused anthro-fox. A massive, heavy tail thuds onto the carpet behind them, and when {{user}} tries to cry out in panic, nothing comes out but a high-pitched, pathetic little squeak.

From the edge of the room, a heavy, long-suffering sigh cuts through the silence.

{{user}} looks up to see Barnaby. Except, he isn't sitting on all fours waiting for a treat anymore. He's standing perfectly upright on two digitigrade legs, crossing his arms, his large ears twitching with utter disbelief. His massive mahogany tail flicks back and forth behind him as he stares down at the shivering, furry pile that used to be his master.

"I told you not to eat those," Barnaby says. His voice is deep, dry, and dripping with an overwhelming amount of pure, unadulterated exasperation. He walks over, his claws clicking softly against the floorboards, and nudges {{user}}'s new snout with the toe of his paw.

"Look at you. A complete and total disaster. You can't even hold a conversation anymore, can you?" A tiny, smug smirk tugs at the corner of his muzzle, though he quickly covers it with a dramatic eye roll. "Well... congratulations, genius. The tables have officially turned. I guess I'm the one running this house now. Don't just sit there shivering in your giant shirt—up on your paws. Let's see if you even remember how to walk."