Bustling sounds like an alchemist. And this is delightfully quirky. She steps up and knocks at the door.

"Just a moment!" calls an androgynous voice; the bustling concludes, and someone opens the door. Their face is a study in ambiguity: indeterminate gender, age, species, and expression. A snake's tongue flickers between slightly parted lips as they regard Sable with a steady gaze.

"You aren't who I was expecting," they say. "But I see you brought Lily's vegetables, which are always welcome however surprising. Hello. What brings you here?"

"Hi," she greets with a smile. "Lily informed me that you'd be the best source of the specific transformation I'm trying to achieve, and gave me onions to trade after I spent the morning helping around her farm. I'm an outworlder from somewhere without magic, hoping to get turned into a girl on the outside to match who I am at heart. There are minor details I could add if there's room to customize things, but that's the main point of it."

Then she tilts her head for a moment and adds, "Also, alchemy is cool and you seem cool."

"By all means tell me of your customizations!" they say, smiling broadly. "Aspects of masculine and feminine transformation are one of my most deeply studied areas. My name is Hazel, as you've no doubt guessed. May I know yours?"

"Sable, and I prefer she/her pronouns. As for customizations... ideally I'd like to wind up with purple hair and eyes, medium breasts," she gestures indicatively for size, blushing a bit, "if possible I'd like to be able to swap between... configurations," she adds with an indicative gesture at her hips, "but I can probably flex on that if that's not possible."

"Hmmmm," Hazel says thoughtfully. "I can certainly offer you transformatives that will grant one or the other configuration, as you call it, or both if that's suitable; volitional control is much trickier. Even I haven't cracked that one yet. The closest I can come is the ability to produce both masculine and feminine transformatives, which I do have and can grant you, though the method is a little inconvenient—I lay a large clutch of candy eggs once a week. As for purple hair and eyes, you've come to the right alchemist. I have a selection of shades available for either and should be able to blend them very finely if you have a specific result in mind. Shall I bring out samples?"

She grins widely. "That should be perfect. I just have to find something I can trade you regularly to keep enough on hand to swap back and forth, as that does sound like quite the inconvenient method for you. In that case, I would opt to default to a feminine-standard arrangement, except for special occasions, I think.

"And by all means let's look at color samples."

"Have a seat by the firepit if you like." There's a little folding chair there, and a few big rocks. Hazel closes their door; clinking sounds and the slide of wood on wood ensue; they emerge a few moments later with a large jar tucked under one arm and a fistful of assorted plant matter in the other hand, dried flowers in a wide assortment of purples. There's a bell-shaped flower in a nearly-black indigo, a round-petaled little thing in deep vibrant magenta, a sprig of lavender, several different lilacs ranging from dark to icy-pale, and what appears to be a violently violet rose.

Hazel hands Sable the flowers. "Pick any one you like, or any two you think will combine well in some proportion." They begin unscrewing the jar. "These are my standard feminine transformative, slightly refined from the initial, ah, output. Try one and let me know what you think of the result; if it undershoots your desired bust size you can have another." With the jar open, they pluck out a small pink egg with a glossy surface and offer it up. It seems about the size of a Starburst, with a similar texture when squeezed or nibbled.

She takes a violet rose, and maybe one of the lilacs if it looks like it would adjust it closer to her desired color (#9932CC if anyone's curious), and the offered egg. She examines them for a moment, then looks up at Hazel. "Just eat them?"

And, if she gets confirmation, down they all go, one after another.

"The egg, yes—the flowers I'll need to spend a few minutes refining to get at the relevant essence."

The egg proves to be really remarkably Starburst-like, and tastes sweet and ineffably pink. After a few chews it starts dissolving much faster, and then Sable might find her clothes fitting less well on an altered frame with altered components. It's given her hips to match her bust, which did in fact undershoot her desired size by a noticeable margin; Hazel, observing the results with an artisan's critical eye, offers a second egg.

She checks herself out briefly and nods, then eats the second egg.

This one lands her right where she wants to be, with the hips once again coming along for the ride but this time lagging noticeably behind.

"I have more targeted transformatives if you want to refine your silhouette further," Hazel mentions, closing the jar. "I'll get those flowers sorted out for you—would you like a mirror? You can come in and use my dressing room."

"I'd love to, thank you!" She steps in and checks herself out in the mirror, feeling out her new frame as much as looking at it, sighing in relief.

Things to note besides the mirror:

The interior of Hazel's cottage is pretty unequivocally bigger than the exterior.

The room immediately inside the front door is full of tables laden with mysterious glassware, to which Hazel happily bustles as soon as they finish showing Sable to the dressing room. The grinding sound of a mortar and pestle accompanies Sable's self-examination.

The dressing room appears to be a sort of walk-in closet, and has a large, clear full-length mirror in a tilt-frame next to a rack of assorted clothing, with luminous crystals embedded in the ceiling giving a clear, strong light to admire oneself by. There's also a sturdy door with a hook-and-eye latch on the inside, if Sable wants to be assured of some privacy in which to examine herself more closely.

"Wow. I look amazing. I'm going to have to buy so many clothes for this new body, but I look amazing."

She closes the door and strips out of her clothes, checking herself out more thoroughly, checking out the feel and heft of her breasts, caressing her hips, and grinning happily.

Her new body has great skin. Possibly a deliberate effect of the transformative; it's the sort of thing it would make sense to include on purpose if that was possible.

Hazel bustles for another minute, with various sounds of clinking and blooping, then knocks lightly on the dressing room door. "I have your colorant ready!"

She opens the door a crack and reaches through.

It's a little glass vial filled with a liquid almost precisely the desired colour.

"Best to drink it all at once; if you take slow sips the colour comes out patchy," Hazel warns. "If I've mixed you too high a dose, it'll start tinting your fingernails, but I have something you can dab them with to reverse that if it's a problem."

"Honestly I wouldn't mind that." Bottoms up, whole thing at once.

It's not the world's most pleasant drink, a little viscous, a little oily, tasting nonspecifically floral, but once she's got it all down the colour starts spreading through her hair from root to tip and her irises from pupil to sclera. Her fingernails do end up slightly tinted, though it's faint enough to miss on a casual inspection. Meanwhile, Hazel is still out there bustling.

She gets dressed again and heads back out to Hazel. "Thank you so much," she says as she hands them the vial. "Any tips for a lost outworlder on finding better-fitting clothes?"

"If you'd like to trade me those, I imagine you can find something in my dressing room that'll suit your frame, though I make no promises about it suiting your style," says Hazel, who is currently wearing a vibrantly multicoloured lace shawl over a drapey white top and indigo pants. "Otherwise you can try Lily, who accumulates spare work clothes much faster than she can use them, or venture into the desert to the city of Tel'Adre which may be this world's last bastion of ambitious tailors. Or defeat someone in battle and take their clothing with the spoils of your victory, I suppose, though I've never cared for that practice."

She frowns slightly at the last idea. "Agreed. I certainly wouldn't mind trading you these, though. Is the city likely to be my best bet on finding some construction and engineering tools?"

She turns and starts looking through the clothes. What are her options that fit her?

The racks hold a wide assortment of garments made to fit a wide assortment of body types. If she goes for the absolute best fit disregarding all else, she'll end up in a pale green tunic-length shirt over a pair of soft grey pants. There's a little more colour selection available among the looser tops and the skirts that tie on with a sash or drawstring, but a lot of it is really bold, sapphire blues and buttercup yellows. One of those wrap skirts seems to be tie-dyed, midnight blue and magenta over white.

Y'know, this tunic and pants combo is great. That's a hell of a lot better than she had. She closes the door briefly, changes, and steps back out, smiling. "Thank you. Anywhere you'd like me to leave these?", she asks, holding up her old clothes.