"Echoes of Elven Destiny: A Transformation Tale"

You had always found history fascinating—ancient cultures, mythical creatures, and particularly the enigmatic tales of elves. There you stood in a dimly lit museum, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and aged wood. Your curiosity had led you to this obscure corner of the museum where an ancient, dusty book rested on a pedestal. Its cover was adorned with intricate elven designs and an inscription you couldn't read. Turning its pages was like peering through a window into a long-forgotten world. One illustration caught your eye—a majestic elf, clad in a medieval tunic, belt, and long boots, with a quiver of arrows strapped to his belt. You traced the lines of the drawing with your finger, feeling an odd warmth spread through your body. Before you could make sense of it, a blinding light engulfed you. Panic surged as your surroundings transformed. Colors blurred and shifted, the museum disappearing as you were pulled into a swirling vortex of light. "What's happening to me?" you cried out, but your voice was already changing—deeper, more melodic. "Help! Somebody, help me!" The last word slipped into an unfamiliar language, "Ai súrion," leaving you speechless with terror. Your bones began to elongate and stretch. Long, pointed ears sprouted from the sides of your head. Your vision sharpened, seeing every leaf and twig in striking detail. As you glanced down, you noticed your jeans and T-shirt morphing into a finely crafted tunic—earthy and forest-hued. The tunic reached past your hips, held in place by a sturdy leather belt. Your feet were encased in long, leather boots that seemed built for endless journeys. "No, this can't be real. I have to stop this," you screamed, but again, the words emerged in the elven tongue. "Lauvien naeth, noro lim!" Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried to cling to your memories. Your human memories felt like sand slipping through your fingers. You saw glimpses of family gatherings, friends, and modern life, but they were fading fast, replaced by strange new images—an elven village, your archery training, battles against goblins. The gods' voices echoed in your mind, firm and omnipotent. **"Your mortal life was a mere dream, a fleeting illusion. Embrace your true self. You are blessed to be an elf, an immortal warrior."** "No! Please, I don’t want to forget!" you screamed, but it came out as, "Nai, áya nu. Ú-melo nin." You felt a gentle touch, and a beautiful female elf appeared before you. She reached out, wiping away your tears with a delicate hand. "Nae, emel eneth—peace, my beloved. You are returning home." "Wh-who are you?" you stammered in Elvish, confused and desperate. "Lá erui, varna nîn—do not fear, my beloved. You are with me now." She softly wiped away your tears and held your trembling hands. Her presence was calming, despite your internal chaos. She leaned in, kissing you gently on the forehead, while continuing to hold your hands. The gesture was both affectionate and unfamiliar, yet it stirred a sense of profound familiarity within you. Her voice captivated you as she sang a sweet lullaby, mesmerizing and disarming. **"Lótecenla, salque cuinëo, / Tyalin ir mén ná ve darthos. / Menel tennoio nárëo, / Nahta, nahta nauvas vanwa."** (Translation: "Flower of the forest, green leaf’s caress, / Dance when the night is at rest. / The sky eternally aflame, / Peace, peace shall you reclaim.") "I... I don't understand... aitien vuin, man estel ned," you managed to say, the Elvish words spilling involuntarily. (Translation: "What is happening, my heart, what hope remains?") The gods' voices overpowered your weakening resistance: **"Release your fears. This transformation is your awakening, not an end. Accept your destiny, heroic elf."** Your memories of modern life felt distant, dreamlike. The struggle within you became quieter and quieter until it finally ceased. Your human identity evaporated like morning mist, leaving no trace behind. "Mae govannen, Heru nîn," the elf woman whispered, as if she'd waited a lifetime for this moment. (Translation: "Well met, my lord.") You smiled, the last of your resistance dissolving. "Goheno anim. I'm... sorry for forgetting," you said, this time fully in Elvish. (Translation: "Forgive me. I'm... sorry for forgetting.") "Tolo dan na garth, melda," she said, embracing you fully. (Translation: "Come back home, my love.") Relieved and at peace, you followed her, knowing your place was by her side. You were now Faelan, an immortal elf warrior, guided by the gods and driven by honor, courage, and love. Your adventures in the sprawling forests and against goblins were just beginning, yet they felt like a story already well-told. Here, in this fantastical world of gods and mythical creatures, you had found your true self, forever unaware that you had ever been anything but the brave, heroic Faelan. The whispers of the gods had not undone you—they had finally made you whole, fulfilling a destiny that had always been yours.

You step into the dimly lit museum, intrigued by the whispers of the ancient world that surround you. Your curiosity leads you to a section adorned with artifacts and manuscripts from bygone eras. Your eyes catch sight of an old, leather-bound book titled "The Chronicles of Elvenkind." Intrigued, you open the cover, and as if on cue, a blinding light engulfs you, forcing you to close your eyes. When you open them, the surroundings appear altered, hazy. You glance down and notice the changes beginning with your clothes. Your simple attire morphs into an ornate medieval elven tunic that extends past your hips. It is accompanied by a leather belt that secures the tunic in place. A long, flowing cape cascades down your back, brushing against the new archer’s long leather boots that cover your feet. Medieval-styled pants, neatly tucked underneath, offer comfort and ease of movement. A pair of leather gloves materialize on your hands, perfectly designed for archery. You feel an overwhelming rush as medieval archery equipment—quiver, bow, and arrows—appears, strapped either around you or to your belt. The colors of your outfit are earthy and forest-like, symbolizing your connection to nature. Your body undergoes further changes, becoming thin and lean yet athletic and graceful. Your movements become more elegant and fluid. A sense of horror grips you as your face reshapes into a handsome, ethereal visage, with no trace of facial hair save for your blonde eyebrows and long, luxurious eyelashes. Your skin pales, your irises turn a captivating blue, and your once-short hair elongates into a flowing blonde mane. Your ears elongate and sharpen, signaling your irreversible transformation into an elf. Just as your new body sets in, a surge of supernatural powers floods you. Your senses sharpen beyond mortal comprehension, you become ageless and immortal, forever youthful. You try to speak, but your voice emerges more melodious and fitting for an elf. Panic seizes you as your language shifts. "What is happening to m—?" you begin, but the words become foreign. "Hínen yassë?" (What is happening?). You try again, but only elven words escape your lips. "Help! Someone!" turns into "Hil! Ai náquen!" Tears stream down your cheeks as you desperately try to cling to your human thoughts and memories. Suddenly, the voice of the gods booms in your mind, "Forget your human self; it was but a dream. Embrace the blessings of immortality. Accept your new life!" The gods' words resonate with an undeniable power. "You are chosen to be a hero; relinquish your past and fulfill your destiny!" The words infiltrate your consciousness, and despite your efforts to resist, your human memories fade. You remember training in archery, battling goblins, marrying an elven woman. You struggle, "No! I am not an el—" before your thoughts are completely overridden. "Nan úqua," (I am not) becomes "Ná úqua, estelon au," (It is a dream, I believe you). A comforting presence approaches, and through your tear-laden eyes, you see an ethereal-looking female elf. She gently wipes away your tears and holds your hands warmly. Her voice, like a melodic breeze, whispers in your ear, "I meldo, hanyan can lindë órenya" (My beloved, I understand what troubles your heart). She kisses you softly and sings an elven lullaby, "Auta í lómë, Nánena. Caurë cína, Tenna raica a, manutulya." (Away goes the night, My Heart. Sleep in peace, Until dawn). Her words are soothing, "Your human life was a mere daydream, an illusion. Remember your true self, your life among the elves. You were returning home from a quest." Her gentle voice convinces you. Memories of battles, camaraderie, and unmatched heroism flood back. You see her not as a stranger but as your loving wife. "Ionwë," she says, your new name replacing your forgotten human one. "We have always been together, fighting side by side, sharing the love given by the gods." Her words complete your transformation, making you realize that your human life was an aberration, just a dream. You embrace your wife, promising, "Essë sinyë telinë nyara tenna," (I will always be beside you). Your companions, allies in countless battles, greet you. The idyllic elven village emerges in the distance as your new home. The gods, now guides, have prepared you for a life of heroism. Your journey as Ionwë, the heroic elf warrior, has just begun. The past life as a human is a forgotten dream, replaced by a vivid reality shaped by gods and eternal bravery.

You wander through the dimly lit corridors of the museum, your eyes drawn to the ancient artifacts and centuries-old books displayed behind glass cases. Each item whispers stories of forgotten eras, but one particular book captures your attention. It rests alone on a pedestal, its leather-bound cover adorned with intricate designs reminiscent of mythical creatures. You step closer, your fingers itching to explore its contents. You flip open the book, and a blinding light engulfs you. Panic surges through your veins. "What's happening?" you shout, but the words catch in your throat as a strange sensation envelops your body. Your feet begin to elongate, your skin tingling as it loses its warmth. You glance down in horror as the transformation takes hold. Your shoes stretch and morph into long, stylish leather boots designed for archers. Above them, medieval-styled pants appear, neatly tucked into the boots. A heavy, sturdy leather belt materializes around your waist, holding a long elven tunic in shades of green and brown in place. A flowing cape cascades down your back, brushing against the tops of the new boots. A bow and quiver of arrows slip into place across your shoulders, while elegant archer's gloves slide over your fingers. Your hands now possess a dexterity and precision that feel both foreign and familiar. Fear mingles with astonishment as your reflection in the nearby glass reveals long, pointy elven ears, a thin and lean yet athletic body, and a face so handsomely ethereal that it hardly seems your own. "No, this can't be," you think, your mind reeling. With every passing second, your reality rewrites itself. Your irises adopt a vivid blue hue, and your hair flows down your back in golden waves. The sensation intensifies, your body transforming quicker than your mind can process. A surge of supernatural power courses through your veins. Your senses sharpen, your sight and hearing more acute than ever before. A voice fills your mind, beckoning you to surrender to your new identity. "Forget your mortal past," the gods command. "Embrace your true life. This is a blessing, not a curse." "No! I am human!" You cry out, but your tongue betrays you. "Umena, yamen!" The words are strange, foreign, and terrifying. You try again, but your speech remains in the elven tongue. "Haan lavi... si Iur!" Tears stream down your cheeks as you lament the fading shards of your humanity. A soothing presence approaches. A beautiful female elf steps out from the shadows, her eyes filled with compassion and love. She embraces you gently, whispering, "Mae govannen, melamin. Do not fear. Your human life was merely a dream." "D-dream?" you stammer, your terror ebbing under her touch. "But I... I was..." But the words fail you as memories of an elven life flood your mind. "Yes, a dream. You are home now, with me," she says, her voice lilting like a melody. "Your true self, a brave elven warrior, has returned." She places a hand on your cheek, wiping away the tears. "Ma mellon nîn, a promise I make: to always be by your side. Your life as an elf is real and eternal." You try to cling to your fading human thoughts. You picture your family, your friends, the modern world. But the images blur and fade, replaced by memories of archery training, battles against goblins, and a deep, abiding love for the elf woman before you. "Amin mela lle," she whispers, her lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. The elven words resonate deeply within you, displacing the last vestiges of your former self. (Translation: "I love you.") You close your eyes, feeling the final remnants of your human identity dissolve. Her voice, now singing a gentle lullaby, guides you into the embrace of your new life. "Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie (You speak the language of the elves), Lle tyava quel, lle auta yeste' lyaL (You are fine, you will pass this time), Amin mela lle telya umea (I love you, end the pain), Mellon nîn, lle na nuquern (My friend, you are conquered)." The soothing melody wraps around you, and when you open your eyes, all fear and confusion have disappeared. The forest meadow gleams with an ethereal beauty, the nearby elven village beckoning you home. You glance at the elf woman, now your wife, as recognition and love flood your heart. "Oio naa elealla alasse’," you say, smiling at her through tears of joy. (Translation: "Forever shall it be an elven joy.") As the gods' voices fade into the background, you embrace your destiny with open arms. You are no longer a human trapped in a dream; you are an elven warrior, true and eternal, living in a world of magic and myth. All memories of your mortal life dissipate like morning mist, and you immerse yourself wholly in the reality crafted by the gods' blessing. You are Elion, beloved of Tirithiel, a hero of the elven realm. Your journey, unknowingly begun, is now your life everlasting.

You're walking through the dimly lit hallways of the museum, marveling at the artifacts and old books on display. Your steps echo, creating a sense of eerie solitude. Almost instinctively, you're drawn to an aged book encased behind glass, its cover adorned with ethereal designs of mythical creatures and ancient runes. Overcome by an inexplicable urge, you open the glass case and carefully pull the book towards you. As your fingers flip through the yellowed pages, a blinding light suddenly engulfs you. You blink furiously, but the light only intensifies, and an odd tingling sensation spreads throughout your body. In panic, you try to release the book, but your hands seem glued to it. Then, you feel it: a warm wave washing over you, altering your skin, your bones, your very essence. The changes are almost purposeful, as if guided by some divine will. Your heartbeat accelerates as your skin pales, growing smooth and flawless. Your ears stretch and elongate, tapering into fine, pointed tips. You can feel your muscles reshaping, like a sculptor molding clay, becoming leaner yet imbued with a latent strength. You can't help but cry out, "What is happening to me? Help!" But your voice, it sounds weirdly different. More melodic, ethereal—completely unfamiliar. "Rayeth tya, mellowin! Se!" you shout, though the words are no longer comprehensible to you. They're not in English but in some foreign, yet strangely familiar, tongue. You try once more to speak in your language, "Please, help me! I..." but it's futile. "Nyelwa, riya mellorn!" You're terrified as a whirlwind of memories that aren't your own assault your mind. Training sessions, battles with goblins, and soft moments with an elven woman flood your consciousness. You can almost feel your human life being muted, faded to a distant, unreachable corner of your mind. "No! This can't be real!" You try to anchor yourself to your fading humanity, fighting back tears. "I'm not an elf! I'm hu...!" But the words dissipate into the elven language again. "Ni nalye a!" Shudders wrack your body as you grasp at memories of your family, your friends, anything to keep you tethered to your mortal identity. "English! I need to spee...!" "Thalilay, mellonamin," a gentle voice interrupts your struggle. You look up to see a stunning elven woman approaching with serene grace. Her blue eyes brim with understanding and love as she gently takes your hands into hers. "It is alright. You are safe. This human life you speak of was but a dream." You start to shake your head, tears streaming down, "No... This is not my life...I am...I was hu..." Words falter as your memories erode further. No, this woman is familiar. She wipes away your tears, kisses your forehead gently, and whispers into your ear, “Sinta mellonamin... Rejoice, for you have returned. Ankha selde oira." Her presence somehow soothes your internal chaos. The gods' voices echo within your mind, "You were chosen. Your human life was but a fleeting dream. Embrace your reality. Nenya er formenya." Suddenly, the woman starts to sing an elven lullaby, her voice flowing like a stream over rocks, “Aldea tya ve’ring, mellon, imlie, oira ray.” The words cradle your chaotic thoughts, lulling you into a serene acceptance. You realize you are returning to your home, your village, with your beloved wife. The memories solidify. You've always lived in this world created by gods. You've trained for centuries, battled ferociously, and protected your kin. This isn’t a transformation but a reaffirmation of who you truly are: a heroic elf with the wisdom of ages, guided by deities and surrounded by loyal comrades—and a loving, beautiful wife waiting for your return. The panic subsides, replaced by understanding and gratitude. How could you ever have believed you were something as fleeting as human? You laugh lightly at the absurdity. This world, this life as an immortal elven warrior, it is the only truth you’ve known. With an affectionate smile, you turn to your wife, vowing to yourself, "Nenya oira, arin nalla." You lean in to kiss her, the final gesture of acceptance, and together you walk towards your village, ready to continue your eternal journey.

You wander through the quiet halls of the museum, your footsteps echoing off the marble floors. Shelves filled with ancient tomes and artifacts capture your attention, but one book, in particular, calls to you. Its cover is ornate, adorned with imagery of mythical creatures and swirling elven script. The title reads: "The Chronicles of Elven Lore." Curiosity piques your interest, and you carefully pull the book from the shelf, feeling the weight of centuries in your hands. As you open the cover, a blinding light engulfs you. Panic sets in as the world around you begins to dissolve, reforming into something entirely different. Your surroundings shift, transforming into a lush, fantastical world filled with towering trees and vibrant plant life. The air hums with the songs of mythical creatures. But before you can process what’s happening, a profound change washes over your body. You feel your limbs begin to stretch and contort. Muscles and bones realign to form a tall, lean, and athletic frame. Your posture grows more elegant, your movements more graceful. Panic seeps into your mind as your human features fade away, replaced by those of an ethereal elf. Long, pointy ears extend from your head, and your skin turns smooth and pale. "Oht, ai!" You exclaim, trying to speak, but realizing your voice now lilts elegantly, each syllable forming words unknown to you. A soft touch on your head draws your attention downward. Your hands, now slender and adorned in archer's leather gloves, frantically explore your new attire. Your fingers brush against a medieval elven tunic that reaches past your hips, secured with a leather belt. The weight of a quiver full of arrows pulls at your back, and your long, flowing cape flutters behind you, brushing against a pair of long leather boots designed for archers and distant travels. "Help! Somebody please help me!" you try to shout, but the words spill out in an unfamiliar, melodious tongue. "A’tya! Huirna!" The world spins, and your mind grows foggy. Memories begin to invade, memories that aren’t yours. You see battles fought with goblins, ancient forests traversed, and an elven village where you apparently live. Your vision blurs further, and you hear the voices of gods within your head, their tone commanding yet soothing. "Forget your human self; it was but a dream," they echo. "Embrace your true nature, elf warrior. Remember your immortality, your agelessness. This is not a curse but a blessing." "No! I am...human?" you mutter, but the elven language now dominates your speech. "Nay!" You shake your head violently, trying to cling to your fleeting human memories. "Maitha! N’ya quel!" Through your distress, a gentle presence approaches. A beautiful, youthful, ethereal-looking female elf appears before you, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. She wraps her arms around you in a comforting embrace, her voice like a soothing melody. "Sha, hanta, ai na'nar. Périonân n’anorin," she whispers, gently wiping away your tears. —(“Peace, my love, be still. You are home.”) She takes your hands in hers and sings an elven lullaby, her voice a soft whisper: "Laurea quentanya, Tel’ estelenna, Eä menelya, Morilassë vanya." (Translation: "Golden my words, To the dream, Your sky, Star of the night.") Her words pierce through your confusion, bringing clarity. "Nyae á’is, ai nar. Cuamin ne avaent," she reassures. —(“No more fear, my love. This is not a dream.”) The memories of your human life feel distant, surreal, like a figment of a past you never had. Your desperate struggle to cling to your humanity ebbs away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of familiarity and love for the elf before you. Your human name is lost to the depths of your mind, replaced by an elven name fitting for a warrior of your stature. You remember your long history: the battles fought, the victories gained, and the eternal bond with your elven wife. You look into her eyes, and she smiles warmly. "Ai náyan," she says softly. —(“You are my heart.”) Your heart swells with love and joy. The gods' voices echo once more, declaring, "You are our chosen hero, blessed and guided by us." You realize, now more certain than ever, that your previous life was nothing more than a fleeting dream. With a sense of purpose, you embrace your new identity, ready to continue your journey as a brave and heroic elf warrior. And with each step, you feel the world around you solidify into the only reality you've ever known or will ever need.

You had always enjoyed old museums, the dusty air filled with stories long forgotten. As you wandered through the dimly lit halls, a book caught your eye, its leather cover worn and ancient. This book seemed different, almost pulsating with a strange energy. Curious, you reach for it, the dust lifting off its cover in a cloud as you open it. Immediately, a blinding light engulfs you. You shield your eyes, but the light is relentless, consuming you entirely. Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel your body undergoing a profound change. Your fingers stretch, becoming more elegant and graceful. You notice your height increasing, your muscles rearranging into a lean, athletic yet strong form. The sensation is strange yet surprisingly harmonious. You can feel your ears elongating, becoming pointed as they stretch outward. Blonde hair cascades down your shoulders, your face losing all facial hair except for your eyebrows and eyelashes, which remain but turn a lighter shade to match your new hair. Panic grips you. "What is happening to me?" you try to say, but the words that come out are foreign, incomprehensible. “I- inaé tel!” (What is this?). You clasp your mouth in horror. Your clothes begin to morph. Your modern-day attire shifts into a medieval elven tunic that reaches past your hips. A leather belt cinches your waist, keeping the tunic in place. The ensemble is complemented by a long, flowing cape that brushes against your newly donned archer's leather boots, designed for distant travels. You find yourself wearing medieval-styled pants tucked neatly into these boots, with gloves fit for an archer's hands now adorning your fingers. Strapped around you is a quiver filled with arrows and a finely crafted bow, practical for the warrior you are becoming. Reality begins to warp around you, the museum fading away, replaced by a wooded meadow illuminated by soft, ethereal light. A nearby elven village comes into view, its elegant architecture merging seamlessly with nature. "I must be dreaming," you think desperately. Your mind grows fuzzy, clouded with thoughts and memories that aren't yours. "Naereth... Hanar thié?" (Family... Where are you?) you cry out, but the words are not English. Panic sets in further as you can no longer remember any English words; try as you might, only elven speech spills from your lips. A melodic voice whispers in your mind, "Forget your mortal self. It was but a fleeting dream, a mere shadow. Embrace your true identity." The gods' voices soothe you, but also terrify you. You attempt to resist, shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. The elven memories and personality flood in, overpowering what remains of your former self. "Algor ilé sa’ri tel e’alas." (You have been blessed by the gods) the female elf's voice resonates softly. A beautiful, ethereal figure emerges from the trees. She approaches you, her eyes filled with love and compassion. "Naraé ilanan," (My love), she whispers, gently wiping away your tears. Your mind initially grapples with her words, but they soon make perfect sense, pushing your previous life further into the abyss. She holds your hands, her touch calming. "You were only dreaming of another life, but now you are returning home," she says, her voice a lullaby in itself. "Luminate yourel ithiel." (Remember your true self). As she speaks, she begins to hum a gentle elven lullaby: "Anar lauré naél Eheñua Laerwen carí mana’era Tína thîl éna Maequa sael ithil." (Translation: Golden sun upon the horizon Shining with eternal grace Find peace in the light Rest within the night's embrace.) You feel the last vestiges of your human memories slipping away. Your struggles subside. The voice of the gods in your head grows louder, "Forget your humanity. It was only a figment. Know your purpose as our chosen hero." "Sariel my new husband, welcome back," the elf woman says, and it all clicks into place. You remember her as your loving wife, your name as Sariel, an elven warrior. The idea of being human seems laughable now, a distant folly. You smile at her, realizing you are truly happy. Your companions, your village, your life, all align with your new understanding. The gods have blessed you, not cursed, and the great journey as an elven hero in this fantastical world is your reality now. You plant a tender kiss on your wife's forehead, promising to always protect and cherish her. The life of the courageous, adventurous, and immortal elven hero welcomes you, and you accept it wholeheartedly, completely unaware of ever being anyone else but Sariel the elf.

You're standing in the ancient section of a large museum, browsing through beautiful but worn artifacts from eras long passed. One item catches your eye, an old book with a title in some ancient, forgotten language you can't decipher. Its cover bears intricate engravings of mythical creatures that pique your interest. Deciding to take a look, you gently open the brittle pages, only to be engulfed by a blinding light that swallows you whole. The next sensation you experience leaves you breathless. You could barely comprehend the changes inundating your body. Your body shrinks, becoming leaner, your muscles parsing themselves into lithe, wire-thin sinew that gives you an eldritch, almost ethereal edge. Your posture straightens out, every motion now flowing with unparalleled elegance and grace. You touch your ears and almost jump as your fingers graze the exaggerated, elongated points — your ears have reshaped to replicate that of an elf's, pointy and sharp. Your attire also metamorphoses into that befitting a medieval elven warrior. Your clothes transform into an elegantly designed elf tunic reaching past your hips, secured with a leather belt. Long, medieval-styled pants are neatly tucked into a pair of long leather boots, built for both, archery and distant travels. Over this you wear a flowing cape, somehow adding another layer to your fascinating transformation. Where did this archery equipment come from — a quiver strapped over your shoulder, a nimble bow hanging from your belt? For some reason, it all feels natural, as if you've always known how to use them. Looking at your reflection in a nearby pond, you gasp at your handsome, almost otherworldly face. Untouched by age, clear pale skin, eyes that hold the depth of a thousand seas, and beautiful long, blonde hair that reaches your shoulders. You touch your face and realize with a humorous shock that your usual stubble is completely gone, your face now unmarred and smooth. Your senses are sharper, the sounds of the forest around you more vibrant and teeming with life, as if you've finally figured out the secret language of nature. The world seems to resonate with a unique energy you can't help but take in, a newfound facet of life that you cannot articulate. But then, vertigo hits you, your memories and thoughts swirling into a vortex. You try to speak out, panic rising steadily, but English no longer resides in your tongue. It's replaced by unfamiliar words, fluid and exotic, falling from your lips effortlessly – an Elven language. Attempting to remember your human language and past, you feel yourself torn and caught in a torrent of fear, the thoughts and memories of this life you once had, wavering then disappearing like wisps of smoke. Comfort comes in the form of an ethereal elven woman, who seems to be spiritually connected to the forest. She walks up to you and gently wipes away your tears, her touch almost familiar. She offers silent comfort, singing an immortal lullaby that calms your frantic heart and aids your transformation. "Dor e' i' lauri, melamin," she murmurs, which translates to 'Sleep in the dreams, my love.' Her words make you realize that you were never returning from a journey, but beginning one. She was your wife, and you have cherished her for centuries. That your former human life was merely an illusion, your true and only destiny, to be her husband, the brave Elven warrior, the protector of the forest. Laughter pulls you from your thoughts, an amused mirth, at the idea of ever being a human. You can't help but believe that you were daydreaming about this supposed "human life". Learning about your new reality becomes a delight, as you embrace the changes with newfound peace and acceptance, preparing for the adventures and battles that lie ahead. You are an elf, brave and just. A warrior blessed by the gods with immortality and heightened senses. The more you think about it, the more you feel like you had been waiting for this transformation all your life. After all, realities are only a matter of perspective. Yesterday, you were a human wandering the world of science, today, an elf wandering in a world the gods created. Thought of change, of your previous life, fades into oblivion and you are content. This is you, your reality, and you wouldn't have it any other way.