"From Mortal to Mythical: A Transformation into Elven Grace"

You step into the museum, the soft lighting casting a warm glow on the countless ancient artifacts and books crammed into every nook and cranny. You’ve always loved the smell of old parchment and the sense of history that permeates through these halls. Today, you find yourself particularly intrigued by a dusty, leather-bound tome tucked away in a forgotten corner. As you pull it from the shelf, it feels heavier than it should, almost pulsing with unexplained energy. Curiosity piqued, you open the book, your eyes scanning the fantastical illustrations and descriptions of medieval creatures. Suddenly, a blinding light engulfs you, and your surroundings begin to dissolve. Panic surges through you as you look down and see your body changing. Your frame elongates, becoming thin and lean yet noticeably athletic. Your skin turns pale, almost ethereal, and your face morphs into a handsome, otherworldly visage. The transformation is both rapid and disorienting. You try to scream, but your voice comes out different—layers of soft elegance replacing your normal tone. "Help!" you try to yell, but the word warps and twists, turning into something unrecognizable. "Laanë!" "That can’t be happening," you think, fear gripping your heart. You attempt to focus on your human self, desperately holding onto your memories, your identity, but they feel like water slipping through your fingers. Your ears lengthen to points, and you can feel a strange sensation spreading across your scalp as your hair grows long and blonde. As the transformation progresses, you’re horrified to realize your clothes have also changed. The medieval tunic reaches past your hips, held in place by a leather belt strapped around your waist. A long, flowing cape cascades down to your new leather boots, made for archers and distant travels. Your pants are tucked neatly underneath these boots, and archer’s gloves encase your hands. You can feel the weight of a quiver filled with arrows and a bow strapped to your back. Every piece of your new outfit is an earthy, forest color, blending perfectly with your surroundings. "Please, not my mind," you whisper, but even your pleas come out in elven tongue. "Aran ndol, non boë." The assault on your mind intensifies, memories of a life you’ve never lived pouring in unbidden. Your attempts to speak English turn futile, each word morphing into Elven as you sob. “Ni hae na-garth,” you choke out, sobbing. “An cí ni athaná.” You hear voices in your head, the gods who have transformed you whispering assurances: *"Your human life was merely a dream. You are blessed to be one of us now."* "Forget who you were," they urge. "Embrace who you are meant to be." "Anáirë nai," you whisper, your mind reeling. They insist your human life was just a dream, and you begin to believe them. Desperation surges through you as a soft, ethereal voice cuts through your panic. You turn to see a beautiful female elf with long, flowing hair and deep, compassionate eyes. She steps towards you, wrapping you in a gentle hug. Her presence feels oddly familiar, calming your racing heart. "Melamin," she whispers softly, wiping away your tears. "You’re safe. Your human life was never real. You were daydreaming while coming back home." "Ni melëath a melëath (I love and have loved you)," you find yourself saying, the words now coming naturally in the Elven tongue. You don't even realize your grip on English slipping away. "Irimë ai ysilnyë (Beautiful is the yew tree)," she begins to sing, her voice a soothing melody that washes over you. "Essë rava Inta (Its dark boughs entwined.)" As her song lulls you deeper into acceptance, the gods' voices reinforce your new reality: *"Forget your false human life; it was an illusion. Be the hero you are destined to be."* The female elf leans down to kiss you, and in that kiss, the last vestiges of your human identity dissolve. She tells you of your adventures, your battles, and your home. Her words fill the gaps in your new memories—memories of archery training, wars against goblins, the love you share with her. By the time she finishes, you can no longer recall ever being human. The notion seems laughable now. You look at her, your wife, with love and recognition. Your village awaits, your comrades at your side, and the gods guiding you. You are no longer the average human who stepped into a museum. You are an immortal elven warrior, forever youthful, and your journey has just begun.

The museum's ancient scent of old paper and dust lingered in the air as you wandered through the halls, every step echoing slightly on the cold stone tiles. Your eyes scanned the numerous artifacts, each one a relic from a distant past. There was a strange allure to this place—a pull you couldn't quite explain. You found yourself in a secluded corner of the museum, where an ancient book lay open on a pedestal. The cover, worn and etched with strange symbols, captured your attention instantly. You couldn't help but run your fingers across it gently, feeling the ridges and valleys of the carved letters. Beneath your touch, the book seemed to hum with a faint energy. Unable to resist, you opened the book. A brilliant light burst forth, engulfing you entirely. You tried to shield your eyes, but the light was too powerful. You felt your heart race, pounding against your ribs as an intense heat enveloped you. Your vision swam and distorted, the light more blinding than anything you had ever experienced. Shapes and colors twisted around you, and through this brilliant maelstrom, you could hear the distant, echoing voices of the gods. “Forget your mortal life, brave soul,” a serene, divine voice echoed in your mind. “Embrace the blessing of the gods and your true elven essence.” Panic surged through you. What were these voices? You attempted to scream, but when your voice finally emerged, it wasn’t English—it was something ancient, ethereal. “Lye lle nai odaneth!” Your limbs felt both light and heavy simultaneously, and your body began to change. You could see your hands elongating and thinning out gracefully, your nails turning perfectly manicured and elegantly pointed. Your skin paled, taking on a shimmering glow, and your clothes shifted into a medieval elven tunic reaching past your hips in earthy greens and browns. A leather belt strapped around your waist, securing the tunic in place, and a long, flowing cape appeared, caressing your new long leather boots—a design built for both archery and long-distance travel. You tried to cry out again, but once more, it came out in the elven language, “Ron ua ba ve’ sain!” (This can't be happening!) More changes followed. Your body grew thinner and more athletic, yet elegant and graceful in posture and movement. Blond hair cascaded down your shoulders to your waist, and your face shifted into an ethereal male beauty without any facial hair remaining. Your senses heightened, and you felt more connected to the world around you—a rich, fantastical world you were now realizing you were part of. Just as you attempted to grasp at your fading human memories, the divine voices spoke again. “Forget your former self, mortal. Your past was but a fleeting dream. Embrace your true destiny as an immortal elven warrior.” A beautiful, ethereal female elf approached, her eyes gleaming with a mix of joy and sympathy. She embraced you gently, wiping away the tears streaming down your transformed face. “Ress hone a’ nin, melamin,” she whispered soothingly, (Come back to me, my love), her melodic voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. She took your hands softly and sang an elven lullaby, “Lámina lai an ló, Silme i moluvta, Lantar ló’më ilú~.” (Golden leaves fall so slow, Starlight now caresses thee, Lay down now in sacred glow.) Her presence comforted you but also intensified your fear of losing yourself. You clung to the remnants of your human thoughts, attempting once again to call for help in English, but only elven words left your lips. “Amin naa utinu en toror’mal!” (I am not an elf warrior!) “Shh, melamin. Auta mi lómë,” she soothed (Go into the night), stroking your hair. “You are just returning home, from one of your many quests. The false life you saw—it was but an illusion, a trick of the mind.” Her words began to make sense, each sentence she spoke weaving into the very fabric of your essence. Slowly, your fighting spirit waned, the elven memories smothering the last vestiges of your former human self. You suddenly remembered your many battles with goblins, your marriage to this beautiful elven woman, and your adventures guided by the blessings of the gods. The feeling of dread and resistance melted away, replaced with a profound sense of belonging and love. You knew her—truly knew her, believed you always had. Her voice was your anchor to reality, reminding you always of your courage, your duty, and your love. “Shall we head home, my brave warrior?” she asked, a joyful sparkle in her eyes. “Aye, maelamin,” you replied, with a genuine smile that felt right (Yes, my beloved). The gods’ voices echoed faintly one last time, “Embrace your true form, heroic elf. Your human life was but a mere dream. Welcome your immortal self.” Your reality had shifted forever, and as an immortal elf, surrounded by mythical creatures, quests, and eternal love, you knew with unwavering certainty that this was your true life. The notion of ever being a mere human seemed laughable—a strange figment of a dream long past. As you took your wife’s hand and began your journey back to your elven village, you felt complete, ready to face whatever adventure lay ahead, bound by the gods’ blessings and love eternal.

You find yourself standing in a dimly lit, ancient hall of a museum, surrounded by aged tomes and artifacts from times long past. Your eyes land on an old, tattered book resting on the dusty shelves. Curiosity overtakes you as you browse through its yellowed pages, marveling at the intricate illustrations of fantasy creatures. Fingers trembling with excitement, you open the ancient book, and almost immediately, a bright, blinding light engulfs you. Panic seizes your heart as you feel yourself being lifted into the air, and your surroundings start to warp and twist. Suddenly, your body begins to shift and change. Your muscles feel like they are being molded by an unseen hand. The familiar sensation of stubble on your chin vanishes, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin. You feel a tug at the top of your ears as they stretch and elongate into pointed tips. You glance down and see your clothes transforming. Your shirt and jeans morph into an elegant elven tunic that reaches past your hips, strap secured by a leather belt around your slim waist. A long, flowing cape drapes behind you, brushing the tops of polished archer’s long leather boots. Leather gloves encase your hands, and a quiver of arrows, along with a finely crafted bow, find their places strapped around you. Strange powers surge through your veins. Your senses sharpen; you can hear the rustle of leaves and see the tiniest detail in your woodland surroundings. Panic sets in further as you realize your mortal memories are slipping away. You desperately try to speak, but all that come out are jumbled elven words. “No, help! Help me! Wh— Whath di siatha?!” You feel a presence within your mind, the voices of the gods resonating: “Forget your past life, mortal. It was but a fleeting dream. Embrace your true self, our chosen elven warrior.” “No! Please, please, someone hel— Alcari! Elarno dorth, alcari!” A sense of horror overwhelms you as you fight to retain your humanity, memories of your family and friends slipping further from your grasp. You cry out in tears, wailing for salvation, and attempt to shake your head vigorously to dispel the encroaching elven memories. But it is a futile struggle against the outpouring of a new identity. Amidst your despair, a beautiful, ethereal female elf steps forward from the foliage. Her touch is gentle and comforting as she pulls you into a tender embrace, wiping away your tears with delicate fingers. “Lá hesta, talaneth,” she whispers soothingly. “Cin maethor gŵer. I am your wife, your beloved. Your human life was just a dream. You are returning to our home, our village. Remember your true self.” You know her words, yet they unsettle you at first. But as she continues to speak, an unfamiliar, welcome warmth fills your heart. Her voice is a balm, a gentle rain in your turbulent storm. “Hela eneth lín,” she sings softly, an elven lullaby wrapping around you like a cocoon, “alas galas raina, alae anamē.” (Your name is, blessed my heart, come home, hero.) An odd comfort settles within you. You gaze into her eyes, finding sincere love and recognition there. Memories of battles fought, of camaraderie with loyal companions, and tender moments with her—your wife—all flood your mind. The gods’ voices speak again, softer now, guiding you with gentle insistence: “Embrace your elven essence, our favored one. Your human life is a fading dream. Accept your true purpose and destiny as an immortal warrior.” Your panic ebbs, replaced by the certitude of a different reality. You realize you are not losing yourself, merely awakening to the truth. “Maeghar,” you murmur, recognizing your elven name, an intrinsic part of your soul. The troubling idea of ever being human fades into absurdity, almost humorous—a mere childish daydream. You laugh lightly, holding onto your wife, feeling a joyous thrill at the acceptance of your true nature. You promise her, and yourself, to always protect and cherish this life. The forest around you is vibrant, a world brimming with life and magic. The gods have indeed blessed you, and with your bow in hand and your wife at your side, you are ready to face whatever challenges await, guided always by the divine voices and your undying spirit. Your journey has only just begun. An elven warrior, forever youthful and undaunted, with a heart bonded to the essence of the fantastical world you now inhabit.

--- You walk into the museum, feeling a sense of awe at the array of historical artifacts and ancient books. Your eyes scan the room, settling on an old book covered in intricate designs depicting medieval fantasy creatures. Curiosity piqued, you approach and open its cover. The moment your fingers touch the pages, a blinding light envelops you, forcing you to close your eyes. When you open them again, you find yourself standing in what appears to be a wooded meadow, surrounded by tall, ancient trees. You're disoriented, unsure whether to be amazed or terrified. You look down to find your clothes transforming. Your simple attire has been replaced by a medieval elven tunic that reaches past your hips, secured with a leather belt. A long flowing cape reaches to your new footwear—sturdy, archer's long leather boots designed for distant travels. Medieval-styled pants neatly tuck underneath the boots, and archer's leather gloves cover your hands. You notice a quiver, bow, and arrows strapped to your leather belt. The colors of your outfit blend seamlessly with the earthly and forest surroundings. Your hands go up to touch your ears, only to find them elongating into long, pointy elven ears. Your body feels different—lean yet athletic, moving with unprecedented grace and elegance. A feeling of sheer panic strikes you as you realize these changes are not just physical; they are permanent. "What's happening to me?" you ask, though the sentence feels strange on your tongue. Your voice changes, becoming smoother, more ethereal, fitting your new elven bloodline. The gods' voices echo in your mind, gentle yet insistent. "You are blessed, not cursed. Embrace your true elven self and forget your mortal past, which is but a dream." "No, this can't be real! I don't want to forget!" you scream, desperately trying to cling to your human memories, but mid-sentence, your language shifts. "Questo non può essere reale! Non voglio dimenticare!" Your heart races, tears welling up in your eyes as your mind becomes dizzy, clouded with a swirl of new memories—archery training, battling goblins, living in a peaceful elven village. You cry out for help, trying to shake these invading thoughts. "Aiutami, per favore! Ricordami!" But the words emerge in Elvish, "Aiutha'nah, veliato! Remem'ia na!" Suddenly, a beautiful, ethereal-looking female elf appears before you, her eyes filled with compassion. She pulls you into a gentle hug, her touch soothing. "Estel an i thûlal nîph," she whispers, wiping away your tears. ("Hope for the dawning peace.") You struggle to speak English, "Please, help me... I don't want to forget..." but what comes out is, "Faen, aiutha'nah... Nî i nai'ver..." "Sii, melda," she responds, her voice soft and reassuring. "Your life as a human was but a dream. Remember who you truly are—an elf, a brave warrior." Her words, spoken in Elvish, bring a strange sense of comfort. "Nai cuiniën nin, ned mud. Remene i estel lín – edhel, caun thar." As she holds your hands gently, she begins to sing a lullaby, each note wrapping around you like a warm embrace: "Sui tôl i luin, sui lasta i aerlinn, Tolog laew i harma lín, Ennas estel bamb." ("As the blue sky arrives, as the song of the sea is heard, Hold sweetly to your treasure, There, hope is safe.") Her voice is like a balm to your frayed nerves. She places a gentle kiss on your forehead, murmuring, "Return to your true self, my love. Remember our life, our adventures, our love." You find yourself calming down, your new memories overpowering the faint remnants of your human life. The thought of your time on Earth feels like nothing more than a distant, fading dream. You look into her eyes and realize she is your loving wife, your true companion. "Thank you, melda," you whisper, warmth filling your chest as you finally accept the truth. "I am home." "Úvaer," she smiles, leading you toward the nearby elven village. ("Welcome back.") The gods' voices fade, their mission complete. You've become the hero they intended—a brave, courageous, and wise elven warrior, guided by the gods and loved by your elven wife. As you walk, you think back on the quest you just completed, the goblins you defeated, the loyalty of your comrades. Your human life is forever forgotten, replaced by the joy and pride of being an elf in this fantastical world. You feel a sense of belonging that you've never known before. Embracing your new reality, you stride forward with purpose, ready for the next adventure that awaits you in your eternal, immortal elven life. --- And thus, your journey as a heroic elf continues, filled with the promise of endless tales and unwavering love, forever guided by the blessings of the gods who transformed your destiny.

### Whisper of the Elven Gods You navigated through the dimly lit halls of the museum, the air heavy with ancient whispers and the scent of old parchment. Today, you were drawn to a particular section of medieval fantasy exhibits, your curious fingers tracing over glass cases holding relics of a bygone era. Your eyes finally settle on a dusty, aged book displayed in a corner, its leather cover embossed with cryptic symbols. Curiosity piqued, you opened the book, and your world was immediately engulfed in a blinding, ethereal light. Panic surged through you, but before you could react, you were pulled into a vortex of warmth and radiance. Your senses were the first to undergo transformation. The musky scent of the museum was replaced by the fresh, earthy aroma of a wooded meadow. Birdsong and rustling leaves filled your ears, their melodies clearer than any sound you had ever heard. Your vision sharpened, colors becoming vivid and more vibrant. A shiver ran down your spine as your bones and muscles remodeled themselves. Your body elongated and grew lean, muscles reshaping into a more athletic and graceful form. Long, blonde hair cascaded down your back, while your pale skin took on a more radiant glow. Your face transformed, becoming handsomer, more elegant, with striking blue irises set beneath defined brows. You noticed the absence of any facial hair on the lower half of your face. You became aware of the changes to your clothing. Your jeans and t-shirt were replaced mid-transformation with an earthy and forest-colored elven tunic that reached past your hips, secured by a leather belt around your now slender waist. Medieval-styled pants formed and tucked themselves neatly into a pair of archer's long leather boots, designed for distant travels. A long, flowing cape draped over your shoulders, reaching down to your new footwear. Archer’s leather gloves appeared on your hands, and you felt the weight of a quiver filled with arrows, alongside a bow, strapped to your back. Your attire resembled that of an elven warrior, perfectly crafted for both battle and the wilds. Your mind began to cloud, terror gripping you as you felt your human memories slipping away. "Wha- what's happening to m-" you stammered, but your voice had already changed, becoming more melodious and ethereal. Mid-sentence, the language shifted to elven, “Móre lórë...” "No, no!" you screamed, desperately trying to speak English again, but all that left your lips were more elven words. “Ai, manen nai?” You tried to fight the encroaching fog in your mind, screaming for help from your family and friends. But you felt the powerful surge of new memories: training with the bow, battles against goblins, your elven village, your wife. “Forget your past; it was but a dream,” the voices of the gods echoed in your mind, powerful and overwhelming, “Embrace your blessing, noble elf.” You attempted to shake your head to rid yourself of these invading thoughts, your eyes welling up with tears. “Please... remember me…” As if summoned by your distress, a beautiful, youthful, ethereal-looking female elf approached you. Her expression softened as she saw your tears. "Cáno, no mír ninya," she spoke gently, her voice a soothing melody. "Please, I... I need to remember," you cried out, not even recognizing the human words you had managed to utter. She wiped your tears away with delicate fingers and held your hands softly. "It is alright, my love. Your human life was but a dream. You are home now." She kissed you lovingly. "Eri-el, túva aurë. Ar tanyamo rávinya." Her words continued to seep in, even as you tried to resist. "Amin mela lle, taurlang." ("I love you, courageous one.") The gods’ voices in your head confirmed her words, “Remember your true self, brave elf. You are blessed to live an immortal and heroic life.” Your panic ebbed away as her presence became comforting, her touch familiar. "This is your truth," she whispered, her voice a benediction against your despair. "This is your life." Finally, clarity descended upon your mind. The fog lifted, and you saw her not as a stranger, but as your beloved wife. Your memories of her, of your life as an elf, crystallized into place. You were no longer the terrified human lost in transformation. You were an elven warrior, a protector of your kin. "Amin nar quel," you whispered ("I am well"), the human language gone, the elven firmly in place. You drew her close, her kiss a seal upon your new reality. The human life you had known was but a forgotten dream, and the rest of your eternal elven life beckoned. With your ethereal wife by your side, a new journey awaited. The gods' blessing had forged you into a hero, and your elven village, your comrades, and countless adventures lay ahead. You knew, deep in your heart, that you had always been, and always would be, the brave and unfaltering elf they had crafted.

The museum is quiet, allowing you the rare opportunity to lose yourself in the history of ancient worlds. You had been wandering through corridors filled with artifacts and old texts, each piece capturing a fragment of a bygone era. Your footsteps echo softly as you make your way into a dimly lit room adorned with ancient tomes. One book in particular catches your eye, its cover shimmering with an iridescent sheen that almost seems to pulse with life. As you open the book, a blinding light engulfs you, and you feel your body seized by an overwhelming force. Your vision blurs, consciousness slipping away as a strange warmth envelops you. The transformation begins. Your bones ache and creak, reshaping themselves with shocking suddenness. Your ears elongate, becoming long and pointed. Muscles and tendons lengthen and twist, refining your once average frame into a thin, lean, yet athletic and graceful body. You watch in shock as your hands grow more delicate, gaining an ethereal elegance, and leather gloves materialize upon them. The blinding light fades, and you find yourself standing in an entirely different world—a fantasy-esque wooded meadow and forest with a small elven village nearby. You are no longer in the museum, but your mind is too fuzzy to comprehend it fully. You can feel the gods' hands upon you, their voices whispering in your head. "Řatra ilúmëa," they say, "Forget your human life; you are returning home." Fear bubbles up as your tunic transforms into fine elven garb, a leather belt securing it around your waist. A long, flowing cape cascades down your back, brushing against a pair of archer's long leather boots designed for distant travels. You try to speak, to cry out, but only find yourself uttering elven words. "N-no! This can't be... Alcarinqua, help!" The words change mid-sentence, much to your horror. A beautiful, ethereal-looking female elf emerges from the forest, her face lighting up with an affectionate smile. "Tyalie, raica ná alya," she coos, meaning, "My dear, do not be afraid." Tears stream down your cheeks as you struggle to remember your human life. Images of your family and friends grow increasingly distant. "Please... I don't... Tyalie," you try to explain, but your words betray you, morphing completely into Elven. The female elf approaches you, gently wiping away your tears. Her touch is reassuring and warm. "Isila hé! Tancavë nauva námenya," she whispers, translating to, “My star! Everything will be alright.” You can feel your human memories slipping away, replaced by new ones more vivid than you could have imagined. Your head is swimming with unfamiliar yet oddly comforting scenes – archery training, battling goblins, your marriage to this elf woman. Each new memory stamps out the old, until your past as a human feels like nothing more than a vague dream. The gods' voices grow louder in your head, urging you, "This is not a curse; it is a blessing. Your mortal memories were but shadows of this true eternal life." The elf woman wraps you in her arms, giving you a gentle hug. She then softly holds your hands and kisses you tenderly on the lips. A feeling of love and warmth floods your senses. You gaze into her eyes, knowing deeply that she is your beloved wife. Mámar a lia," she sings, "Eniguarëa ilya sa urquennë. (Sleep and rest, forget all that's troubling you.)" Your body and mind fully embraced your new identity. You are no longer a confused human but a brave and noble elf named Elrendir. The gods’ blessings have fully anchored you in this reality. Finally, you are home. Your days in your elven village are filled with endless adventures, your wife ever by your side, your bow always ready. The gods sometimes visit in your dreams, offering guidance. But never again do you dream of being a human. Amused, you occasionally ponder over the bizarre concept of ever being mortal. Laughing it off, you tighten your grip around the bow and arrow strapped to your belt, reflecting on another successful quest. As far as you can remember, you have always been Elrendir, a heroic elven warrior protected and chosen by the gods. The transformation is complete, your journey just beginning. After all, a true hero's quest is eternal.

The museum around you is quiet, eerily so, and its ancient artifacts whisper stories of yesterday with every step you take. Specifically, a display catches your eye - an old book caged in glass, its title: "The Chronicles of the Middle Ages and their Creatures." Seduced by curiosity, you lean over to get a better look when an attendant notices your interest and carefully brings the book out for you. The second you open its worn pages, a swirl of blinding light engulfs you. Your surroundings warp and change. Instead of the sterile museum lights, you are now standing under the serene hello of woodland glow and the canopy of ancient trees. The crispness of the wind and sweetness of the berries tell you you're in a meadow, somewhere far from human civilization. Your heart races, confusion and shock cloud your thoughts. As the light gradually fades, you take a moment to look down at your body, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. But you gasp at what you see: a medieval tunic stretches below your hips, a sturdy leather belt wrapped around your waist. Strapped to the belt, a quiver full of arrows gleams as if expecting a battle. Heavy, leather boots reach up to your knees while medieval pants are neatly tucked at their tops. Descending from your shoulders, a rich, earth-colored cape swings freely. You look so much taller, more graceful - a warrior of a different age. Fingers skim across the fur lining of your boots, hissing at the touch. Looking down further, you notice an archer’s pair of gloves on your hands. And as you swipe your palms along the veins of your neck, you touch the tip of your ears – long, sharp. Amidst the blooming disbelief, a thrill rushes throughout you: you look just as an elf would in one of the fantasy novels you've read. A reflection in the water below captures your newly transformed face: more handsome than you've ever thought you could be, an ethereal glow to your skin. As your hand reaches your hair, strands of golden locks that you've never known tangle around your fingers. Then as you open your mouth to speak, the words tumble out in fluid, melodic enchantments. Panic takes you, as you try to mutter English words, but the effort remains vain. English has become but a distant, inaccessible memory. In the midst of the panic, a rush of memories begin to come in waves. They're not yours, your heart screams, trying to fight against the invasion. You can feel your old self dissipating - your hobbies, your career, your past. Everything around you whispers 'home,' yet you're terrified of forgetting your true roots. As you try to reach back for semblance of your past, the memories slip away like sand through your fingers. You're at the cusp of screaming, crying out for help, yet something halts you: a soothing voice in your head, one not audible to ears but to your mind. "Thrënandu eä, mela më.." The haunting voice echoes, a voice of wisdom and grace, one that commands respect and adoration. Those were the gods, reminding you of their blessings. Buttons of tears well up in your eyes, and resisting any further proves to be in vain. "Glast ochar nin na ven." You hear, the words wrapping around you softly, like a motherly caress. You turn around to find a radiant presence standing behind you. A gorgeous, ethereal elven woman approaches, so similar to how you now look. She caresses your face, soothing your terror, gently wiping those tears away. You understand her, though she speaks in the dialect of the new world. Her voice calms you valuable pieces into one coherent puzzle: you have always been an elf. She tells you your human life was not real; it was a dream. She lovingly whispers your new name into your ear, a name that sends a spark of familiarity down your spine. You recognize her now - your wife, a partner of many centuries, and the keeper of your heart, a bond you're only beginning to remember. Her lullaby is sweet, like a balm, and you give in to her words as they paint vivid pictures of your past triumphs, your heroic deeds. It assures you that the gods chose you because they believe in your strength, because you are meant to be a hero. Each word she sings helps you remember your life as an elf, your marriage, your battles and it also promises a whole life of adventures to come. You realize then, the human you once were has faded, replaced by this mythical being living in a world of magic and evergreen forests. As you accept your new self, leaning into the comfort of your wife's presence, you understand – this transformation is a blessing, a gift from the gods. For the first time, you think of speaking, and when you do, it's not in English but in the language of elves, "Ärenya, nin mela lye." My love, I love you.