Bellatrix idly twisted a lock of hair, her curls no longer the brown that had belonged to the one who had owned this body before she arrived, all the lengths now far more like her own. Black curls that looped in on themselves in twists and rivulets more than the prior head of bushy and gnarled hair, her face and her form both adjusting as the days had turned to weeks, and then months. Bellatrix knew she couldn’t be quite sure of it (as there was oh so little time to theorize or experiment), but she had more than half a hunch that her continuing metamorphosis was tied more into the magic that had switched them, than her mind taking ownership of the body. Some odd and not yet settled variance was still attempting to right the wrongs between body and mind, and working damned slowly at it, if she was right.