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"The Becoming: From Human to Termite Queen"

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You wake up with an odd sensation tingling through your body. Your joints feel strange, almost as if they no longer have hinges, but rather segments holding them together. Flickering shadows dance across your vision, which seems unnaturally wide and strange. Forcing your heavy eyes open, you blink, and the world materializes in a myriad of multifaceted, gleaming images. Your room—at least, what you think used to be your room—feels vast and confusing.

"What... is happening?" you attempt to say, but no sound comes. Panic rises as your hands travel to your throat. There is no throat to touch, no vocal cords to strain or check. Only a smooth, chitinous surface greets you. You try to scream, but the silence is absolute. The mandibles you feel with horror are utterly alien, clacking as you attempt to employ your old jaw muscles, now useless.

By some cursed magic, you are shrinking. The furniture around you, once familiar, looms over you like ancient mountains. Your limbs ache and distort painfully as your flesh and bones liquify and reorganize themselves. Your arms and legs darken, growing spindly and segmented; a new pair of limbs sprouts painfully from your waist. Each new pair struggles to support your rapidly shrinking but now increasingly bulk-laden form.

Fearful thoughts crumble into primitive instincts. The hunger is unbearable—an all-consuming craving for wood. Memories flicker and then fade, replaced by never-ending corridors of darkness, tunnels eaten through timber. The once human logic dissolved under a tidal wave of gnawing need. Your antennas twitch, catching the scent of decaying wood, leading you to instinctively follow the signal.

"Eat, lay, live..." The rhythm is instinctive, entirely natural as the transformation completes. Your body trembles, fully shaped into the imposing mass of a termite queen. The world, still intimidatingly large, is comprehensible through your vast compound eyes.

The sense of self wanes and shatters. Who are you? What are you? Not a strange creature from another life, but an essential, prime being of the termite mound. The words, the memories—they lose meaning, skipped away like stones sinking into a pond.

The cavernous room—that isn’t right, the boundless chamber now feels cozy and correctly proportioned. Encompassing you in safety and productivity, it fuels your one central purpose. Kings approach, antennae twitching, and you welcome them, knowing it’s just another part of your insistent rhythm.

The voice, the human thoughts, dwindle. Now, whispers of your colony fill your thoughts—no, not thoughts, senses. You understand only the vibrations of your kin, the hum of connectivity urging you onward.

There is no battle to fight anymore. The human comprehension fades, leaving behind a singular drive as a fertile egg-laying queen with a cavernous abdomen swelled with life. You lose the concept of having been something different—a fading ember extinguished without recognition. You gnaw, you mate, you live—this is the eternal song, whispered through tunnels and timber.

This story was generated by user TheSadGuys with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Write a POV transformation story of a male human reader turning into a termite queen, complete with gender change (transforming from a male person to a female insect), shrinking (until the reader now only reaches 4 to 6 inches long from head to abdomen, depending on how many eggs she's carrying, being much bigger than the rest of her colony, although now completely tiny compared with her old human life), body changes (developing mandibles instead of a human jaw, ears and nose vanishing, vocal cords vanishing completely (preventing the reader from making any sounds such as screaming), human eyes growing into much larger black insect eyes, developing a pale cream-dark brown exoskeleton instead of skin (with the internal skeleton dissolving away in exchange for an insect exoskeleton), a pair of antennas on the reader's head, a segmented body, a third pair of limbs from the reader's waist, the reader's arms and legs morph into insect legs to match the third pair of insect legs, posture shift (changing the reader from being bipedal to being on all six now-insect legs), the genitals and rear end merging and greatly inflating into a massive abdomen, etc), age change, and mind/mental change (with the reader's personality and memories being completely replaced with a queen termite's personality and memories, despite his (now her) best efforts on fighting off the mind/mental changes, completely forgetting that she was ever a human (she now knew that she was never anything other than being an insect), and she only remembered and knew that she had always been a termite, she also craved and eat wood, mated with king termites, and being an instinct-filled fertile egg-laying queen termite (which is her true self); plus, she no longer knows any human language nor even understand what they mean, since they are meaningless noises to her and all other termites). There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).

Response: You wake up with an odd sensation tingling through your body. Your joints feel strange, almost as if they no longer have hinges, but rather segments holding them together. Flickering shadows dance across your vision, which seems unnaturally wide and strange. Forcing your heavy eyes open, you blink, and the world materializes in a myriad of multifaceted, gleaming images. Your room—at least, what you think used to be your room—feels vast and confusing. "What... is happening?" you attempt to say, but no sound comes. Panic rises as your hands travel to your throat. There is no throat to touch, no vocal cords to strain or check. Only a smooth, chitinous surface greets you. You try to scream, but the silence is absolute. The mandibles you feel with horror are utterly alien, clacking as you attempt to employ your old jaw muscles, now useless. By some cursed magic, you are shrinking. The furniture around you, once familiar, looms over you like ancient mountains. Your limbs ache and distort painfully as your flesh and bones liquify and reorganize themselves. Your arms and legs darken, growing spindly and segmented; a new pair of limbs sprouts painfully from your waist. Each new pair struggles to support your rapidly shrinking but now increasingly bulk-laden form. Fearful thoughts crumble into primitive instincts. The hunger is unbearable—an all-consuming craving for wood. Memories flicker and then fade, replaced by never-ending corridors of darkness, tunnels eaten through timber. The once human logic dissolved under a tidal wave of gnawing need. Your antennas twitch, catching the scent of decaying wood, leading you to instinctively follow the signal. "Eat, lay, live..." The rhythm is instinctive, entirely natural as the transformation completes. Your body trembles, fully shaped into the imposing mass of a termite queen. The world, still intimidatingly large, is comprehensible through your vast compound eyes. The sense of self wanes and shatters. Who are you? What are you? Not a strange creature from another life, but an essential, prime being of the termite mound. The words, the memories—they lose meaning, skipped away like stones sinking into a pond. The cavernous room—that isn’t right, the boundless chamber now feels cozy and correctly proportioned. Encompassing you in safety and productivity, it fuels your one central purpose. Kings approach, antennae twitching, and you welcome them, knowing it’s just another part of your insistent rhythm. The voice, the human thoughts, dwindle. Now, whispers of your colony fill your thoughts—no, not thoughts, senses. You understand only the vibrations of your kin, the hum of connectivity urging you onward. There is no battle to fight anymore. The human comprehension fades, leaving behind a singular drive as a fertile egg-laying queen with a cavernous abdomen swelled with life. You lose the concept of having been something different—a fading ember extinguished without recognition. You gnaw, you mate, you live—this is the eternal song, whispered through tunnels and timber.

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