Trapped in Darkness: Gage's Chilling Transformation into Zelda

In the cold, dim light of the room, a soft shuffling disturbed the silence. Gage Creed, a small boy of five, lay in the unfamiliar bed, stirring awake. His cherubic face, framed by tousled blond curls, held a certain innocence, albeit shadowed with confusion. His blue eyes, wide and round, blinked slowly as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Clad in a simple pair of sky-blue pajamas adorned with tiny white clouds, Gage's attire seemed to fit his youthful exuberance. The fabric was soft and worn, a comfort to him in this eerie place. As he began to gather his bearings, a subtle but unsettling presence made itself known. The room was filled with an oppressive air, heavy and stagnant, as though it had been waiting for this moment. As the presence enveloped him, Gage's small body began to tremble, not from cold, but from a strange force that pulled at his very essence. The Wendigo, a malevolent spirit, was at work, its dark will twisting reality to suit its own designs. Gage's hair grew darker, coarser, transforming into long, tangled strands akin to a wild, unkempt mane. His skin, once smooth and pale, took on a sallow, sickly hue. He felt a tightness in his chest, a closing in around his heart, as his body seemed to stretch and contort, bones creaking under the strain. The change was relentless. His voice, once high and sweet, began to crack and deepen, morphing into something foreign and strained. A voice that was no longer Gage's, but Zelda's—hollow and filled with an unending anguish. Pain shot through him; his cries echoed in the room as he whimpered, "Mommy! Ow! Owie!" The sound was alien to his own ears, Zelda's words escaping from his lips. His small hands and feet elongated, frail fingers curling grotesquely, mimicking the twisted form of his aunt. The bed seemed to groan beneath him as he sat up, spine curving into an unnatural arch. Each movement was a labor, a struggle against the force that was reshaping him. Driven by an instinctual need to understand, Gage—now Zelda—staggered from the bed, every step an ordeal. He reached the mirror, desperate for a glimpse of his reflection. The face staring back at him was one of horror, exuding Zelda's tormented essence, hollow eyes peering from a gaunt visage. Unable to comprehend the permanence of his transformation, Gage recoiled, losing his balance and collapsing back onto the bed. Tears streamed from his eyes, though they were no longer truly his. For he was no longer Gage Creed; he was trapped in the body and life of Zelda, the room both a prison and a cruel reminder of what he had become.

Title: Transformation - A Remix of Reality In the dim light seeping through the gauzy, neglected curtains, Gage Creed woke up disoriented in an unfamiliar bed. He was a cherubic little kid of nearly three years of age, dressed in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt sporting a mischievous monkey graphic. His short hair was platinum blond, so pale it almost seemed white against his baby-smooth skin. His eyes, innocent and extremely blue, blinked in confusion as he sat up in the large, unkempt bed which was far from being appropriate for a child his age. His voice, a tender and sweet echo of cherubic giggles, was unusually muted, resonating with genuine fear as he whispered, "Mommy?" The room was unsettlingly off-kilter, floorboards aged and swelling with an ancient kind of despair. Everything was infused with an antiseptic smell, and Gage could not comprehend why the room was vaguely familiar yet distant. Suddenly, a tremble began to course through his small frame. His petite hands shook as they reached out to grip the coarse sheets. His feet, once small and fleshy, began to elongate, the skin pulling taut over bony knuckles. At the foot of the bed, a shadow began to take shape. It was grotesque, menacingly towering and pulsating with a primeval power. The Wendigo. Its elongated, skeletal fingers reached out and touched Gage's head. An ethereal glow washed over the boy, and as the Wendigo's icy touch receded, Gage's soft features twisted grotesquely. His platinum blond hair lengthened and darkened, falling limply over his face. The childlike cherub complexion was suddenly marred with grey pallor, his face gaunt, and pinched with age. His delicate body began to contort, his spine bending inhumanly while his clothes metamorphosed into a sickly green gown, threadbare and faded which hung loosely on his thinning frame. Gage tried to stand up, but the twisted shape of his body was challenging. There was a sudden pain, and in place of his innocent, childish voice came a hoarse and rasping outcry, "Mommy! Ow! Owie!" The voice echoed with a haunting cacophony around the room- it was Zelda's voice. He hobbled towards a tarnished mirror adorning the room and saw Zelda's face staring back. Gage's heart pounded in his chest as he comprehended the grim reality of his situation. He was Zelda now, in voice, appearance, physical clothing, even pain. He had been transformed, his identity completely replaced by his mother's cursed sister. Overwhelmed, Gage — or Zelda as he now seemed — fell back onto the bed, sobbing in a voice that no longer belonged to him. The room echoed with his despair, giving an eerie life to the tragic tale of the Creed family. The irony was palpable - the mocking reversal of roles made complete by the Wendigo's ghastly charm. Gage, once a mischievous child, was now trapped in the physical and mental torment of Zelda, forever.