Fatal Perfume
Queenie Livingston, my best friend whom I have cared for over the years, gives me a bottle of perfume.
I immediately turn around and pour its contents down the toilet.
In my previous life, that perfume made me sprout hair all over my body and reek. I was shunned by my colleagues, and my then-boyfriend and superior, Preston Zimmerman, wasted no time in dumping me and hooking up with Queenie.
I desperately sought medical treatment back then, but with nowhere left to turn, I died in utter agony and despair.
Only after my death did I learn that the grotesque condition was caused by the perfume Queenie had maliciously tampered with.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the exact day Queenie gave me the perfume.