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Question: Story: Write me a story the way I write about a random 7 year old boy waking up as Marilyn Monroe. Include a description of what the boy's name is, looks like, sounds like and what he's doing and where he wakes up. Include a description of where he wakes up in Marilyn Monroe's body, what he now sounds like and what's he now dressed in being completely confused and oblivious missing his mommy and have it be a permanent change with no way for him to go back to being himself.
Once upon a time, in the heart of the quiet town of Pemberton, lived a cheerful seven-year-old lad named Oscar. Oscar was a typical small-town boy with a cascading mop of chestnut hair, freckles dotting his chubby cheeks, and twinkling azure eyes full of curiosity. His voice always carried the soft melody of innocence spoken in a lively accent native to Pemberton. One ordinary Thursday night, Oscar unknowingly entered into a slumber that would completely metamorphose his existence. When the cock crowed and the morning sun filtered softly through the gaps in the curtains, Oscar found himself in an unfamiliar location, waking on a gilded bed laden with silk and velveteen. He groggily pushed the luxurious blanket aside and was startled by the strange reflection on the large mirrored closet across the room. He saw a gorgeous woman, dressed in a silky white gown, hair bouncing in lustrous platinum blonde curls, gazing back at him with wide, scared eyes. When his azure eyes met the woman's brown ones, he realised it was him. He had woken up in the body of the famous Marilyn Monroe! His hand instinctively flew to his throat as he let out a high-pitched yelp, her voice a stark contrast to his tender boyish accent. It was Marilyn Monroe's voice, famed for its breathy, seductive quality, but now tinged with an unmistakable note of fear and confusion. He looked down at the body he'd found himself in, elegantly wrapped in a white satin robe embellished with feathers, and the reality was starting to set in fiercely. Oscar was sure it wasn't a dream when the mirror reflected Marilyn Monroe calling out for his mommy in the sweet, sorrowful voice. But, of course, she didn't appear. Instead, he saw curtained walls, the shining vanity, the plush makeup chair, and a host of trophies and awards, all serving as an eerie reminder that his juvenile days were an unreachable memory now. He clumsily got up, adjusting to the body towering higher than his tiny self before, and started to explore the luxurious penthouse. Monroe's Beverly Hills home was a universe away from his rural house in Pemberton. Throughout the day, Oscar tried to cope with the drastic, irreversible upheaval - wearing meticulously tailored gowns, mastering the balance in stiletto heels, dealing with the relentless attention of fans and media, and life without his mommy by his side. He frequently mistook Monroe's mellow voice for his lively childish one, often jarring him from the few moments when he was able to completely lose himself in the beauty of his new existence. He was now Marilyn Monroe - the epitome of beauty and charm, a Hollywood icon and a dream for many, yet nothing more than a terrified little boy inside, pining for the warmth of his mother's embrace. But Oscar knew there was no going back, this was his life now. And perhaps, as time passed, he would learn to embrace it, to live it - in all its glory and its challenge.
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