A young student by the name of Richard Hegyi is growing restless with his life. While he lives a relatively good life, he is yearning for a change, to go to another country. However, he finds he had been yearning for more after accidentally helping set a cosmical event in motion on one fateful day. Our story follows his adventures from a few weeks before the event that changed the world forever.

It was a dreary day in Hungary. One could not differentiate the sky from the city around Richard Hegyi's High School by relying on colour. It was a grey area where only his High School and the church neighbouring it stood out with colour.

The high school itself was quite modern, equipped with the best laboratory equipment available for teaching chemistry below university level, with colourful walls and classrooms accessible even for the disabled. One could often see students who were missing legs or even arms study and live lives as active as their more fortunate fellows ones. Its students were open-minded and serious about their lives, with their teasing kept on a friendly level unless warranted by a stupid action. Even sexual orientation wasn't a discriminating factor, unlike most other schools. Sure, people loved to tease those deviant from the norm, but only in good humour. All in all, it certainly wasn't a bad place to study at. And to Richard, it was the perfect place to pursue knowledge, at least in Hungary.

The only issue Richard had was the location, for it was about a twelve minutes' walk from the railway station he had to use every single day. He had to do so thanks to living in the countryside, in a rather closed-minded village-turned city fifty-five to sixty miles off to the south. The schedule was moronic to say the least, for despite the town being located right on the track that led to Szolnok and Cegléd, the train travelled only once every thirty minutes between 13:09 and 15:09. And due to his schedule, he often had to make the 1.1 kilometer walk in nine minutes.

However, the church was the thing that truly annoyed him. Do not misunderstand him, for he was an open person. He did not mind religion so long it did not affect those outside its followers, be it through sacrifices, "crusades" or just hindering others by calling them out or discriminating them. He also believed religion to be a personal thing, and not something one should rub in another's face. Considering the way the members of that church acted and how the building itself looked like, with banners and advertisements hanging from the great walls, detailing some pretty intrusive religious thoughts.

On a normal day he would have walked, but today's weather has discouraged such forms of locomotion. Seeing his chance to get to the railway station relatively dry approach the bus stop, he jumped off a flight of stairs, skilfully blocking any impact in a fluid motion of slapping the ground to propel himself into a hurried dash. The explosive forward momentum created just enough speed for him to reach the bus just before the doors closed. As he stepped on board, he exhaled, in both relief and exhaustion. While the bus stop wasn’t far, running with an ill-fitting school bag filled with heavy books made such movement difficult and exhausting

However, his relief was short-lived. Because a tall, bald man of decent physique stepped on board, pulling a band over his right Arm that read "MÁV". His speech that followed mere moments after the revelation of his allegiance was just as dull and serious as the movement itself. "Tickets and passes please."

To Richard, the Ticket Inspector looked like a pirate declaring his allegiance within cannon-range. Just like the merchants of the old, he could barely believe it. It was like sailing in storm hoping to avoid being raided, only to be caught with torn sails and leaks in one's hulls. And to Richard, and many of his fellow passengers, this pirate was not a daring rogue fit for the big screen or purple prose. This was a dirty scallywag in service of a selfish king. A selfish king that only employed privateers when people in other countries were starving, to starve them further and to make an even bigger profit. And to be honest, all this romanticising of the situation wasn't far from truth.

This bus was rarely checked, making a safe haven for those who had to take a quick ride without pass or ticket in order to make up for railway delays or roadwork blockades and the company in charge of the capital city public transport knew this, yet did not act on it. Except when it was raining, as Richard quickly learned. Since more people were likely to blitz when it was raining thanks to the unexpected nuisance, the ticket inspectors could catch more "hooligans" to get themselves higher reputation and pay. And to make the matter worse, the company's reaction to such unexpected circumstances was to increase the price of the ticket one buys on board by a significant amount.

"It will reduce delays" they said. However, anyone with half a brain knew that it was merely a tool to make more money. And while such greed would have been forgiveable, since it may be used to make travel more comfortable and punctual, it was long beyond redemption when the quality of the service remained the same for years.

Richard bought tickets whenever riding the bus was within his plans, he was an honest person after all. But he was not a seer and such he could not expect that he would be forced to take the bus on just the day he did not have a valid ticket; on just the day when the hound-master let his dogs free and wild. He quickly composed himself and by all counts, kept his cool, so when the ticket inspector called out to him, he responded slowly, telling him that he just got on, and is yet to get to the validating-device.

The man was fine with it and waited patiently. However, as Richard fumbled with the drenched ticket, unable to force it into the thin slit of the stamper, the Ticket inspector lost his patience and told him to just hand it over.

Richard did so, hoping the drenched nature of the ticket would hide the black stamp of the previous bus' stamper. He hoped for the best as the guard scanned the object. While he was an honest young man, he was not a fool and expected such to happen one day. For this reason, he always validated the tickets upside down, causing the stamp to blend with the small print on the backside.

However, as luck would have it, the Ticket Inspector saw through his ploy, exclaiming: "But sir! This ticket had already been validated. I am afraid you must purchase a new one from the driver, or pay the fine of eight thousand Forints."

Richard reeled back mentally, but outside, other than calculating eyes, there was no response. He tried to parley, as merchants had often done so with pirates, to find a deal favourable for them both. He offered to step off with the Inspector at his destination, wait for his friend under the cover of the bus stop, and pay for the ticket with loan money. He explained that all his money for this week had been spent and what he had left was but a quarter of the ticket's price.

This turned to an exchange of offers and rejections. The man was adamant in fining Richard, despite the boy offering fair and just solutions. He even offered to transfer the price of the ticket to the Driver's company phone from his own, since he had plenty of units left on the gadget.

Eventually, he learned that there was no way out. He decided not to bring up the company rule of allowing a person without a ticket to step off at the next stop without a fine, for it would have fallen on deaf ears, and when the bus finally stopped at his original destination, he stepped off.

Unfortunately, the Inspector followed suit, an action that aroused a collective sigh of relief from the fellow passengers, who had been hoping for this to happen the moment Richard was singled out. He was not the only blitzer afterall, but he was the most-vulnerable looking one thanks to being a student. The one who could not pay for the board-pass; the one who must pay the fine.

Since the fine was eight thousand Forints, way beyond Richard's monthly budget, of course he could not pay. After all, if he was unable to pay for the board pass, which was a measly four hundred fifty in comparison to this exorbitant sum, how could he pay the fine? This was a perfect way to skin a man. For if one could not pay the fine on site, they would have to wire twice the amount, which equated to a whole quarter of Richard's family’s income. And as things were turning out, he would be forced to pay the off-site fine, unless he hatched a plan.

And a plan did he hatch! As they continued their parley beneath the grey sky. It was not rain that fell any more, but rather a never-yielding torrent of oversized droplets poured through a gigantic sieve from infinite buckets. Richard noted this. He also noted the extreme traffic, the herds of people collecting beneath the roof off the pavement, the thick group crowding beneath the bus stop, the drunkards complaining about their beer being watered down, the people in a hurry waiting for the traffic light to turn green, the heavy traffic consisting of cars and buses, but no police cars anywhere in sight and of course the traffic light itself.

He knew his only hope was to escape. He was encumbered and his pursuer was a man of fine health. He was at a disadvantage, but had plenty of tools to turn the chances around. For one, he had already successfully distracted the man. Secondly, he knew the area just like his palm, while he doubted his foe did the same. Thirdly, with so many people, it was easy to get lost. And at last, he knew Parkour.

Only through the discipline he was taught at his martial arts class did he avoid smiling, despite the situation turning to be in his favour. He looked at the traffic lights and saw them turn green. He began a count within his head while also keeping the traffic inspector busy.

His calculations were spot on, for just as his count hit one checkpoint, the traffic lights turned red. He continued his count a little bit longer, so that he may exploit the Traffic control to the best effect.

As if on cue, the Ticket Inspector explained with false sympathy that he tried everything and that he would like to see the boy's ID or call the police. Richard let go of his calculating expression in an instant, giving the Inspector a wide smile before charging right at him, like a bull. Through the discipline of the mantis, he manoeuvred just the right way to disable the hands of the inspector which would have shot after him, also throwing him off-balance in the process.

He did not waste more time than necessary, and just as quickly as the lightning, which had roared a moment ago, faded, so did he. The Ticket Inspector stood dumbstruck until he noticed the crowd dividing in the direction of the traffic lights. Richard crashed into the thickest of the crowd, throwing people out of his way as gently as he could, avoiding those who would be injured by his escape, in hopes of losing the man.

However, he considered the ticket inspector to be savvy enough to follow him despite his machinations. Just as he reached the crossing, just as the lights turned green, he pushed a more athletic looking man unto the now safe road before he cut to the right, now running parallel to the car-filled road.

The Ticket Inspector was delayed again, now thanks to the athletic man, apologising quickly about accusing him before dashing after the real culprit once more.

Richard stopped about three to four hundred meters off from the inspector, throwing his arms out as he looked to the tram stop in the middle of the road, surrounded by low fences and other obstacles. He taunted the man with this motion, forcing the now enraged inspector to charge at him like a drugged bull. He would have been caught if it had not been for the tunnel vision angry people suffer from.

As his count hit the final checkpoint, as the green light was about to turn red, he dashed unto the road. Jumping over hoods, vaulting over roofs and weaving between cars, he reached the Tram stop. He continued this fluid motion despite the weight on his back, finding a strength within he did not think he had. Indeed, adrenaline was an amazing thing. He practically flew over the outermost fences, causing onlookers to gape in awe.

He eventually landed on the other road where traffic was about to respond to their new-found right to move. Angry drivers smashed their steering wheels, causing a deafening roar of cars honking and beeping. Luckily, Adrenaline had simplified Richard's senses so that he only heard what he needed, oblivious to the loud fanfare surrounding him.

After losing the Ticket Inspector, Richard exploited his skills at parkour to reach some unexpected places, both high and low, to rest and hide from his pursuer and anyone helping him.

After about thirty minutes, the time he felt enough to lose the heat, he let his hair held in a ponytail free, draped it over his face; he turned his red jacket inside out, making it blue. After scanning the streets and seeing a crowd pass nearby, headed towards the railway station, he joined them.

After a slow walk, he abandoned his temporary helpers to dash alongside the hill the railway was situated on. It was one of the few green spots in the city, a natural hill. It was perfect, for this way he could avoid entering sight of the bus stop or having to use the stairs. He assumed the shape of a bird's claw with his thumb, index finger and middle finger, planting them in the dirt without care, and started his clamber.

The train was his salvation, and soon he was home free. As the last bit of adrenaline passed from his system, he felt a terrible ache in all his limbs. Certainly, he pushed himself beyond his limits. While he was proud of what he was capable of, he swore to never repeat such an adventure ever again if he could help it.

While his family of one sister and mother, and a father living fifty kilometres away and not at the top of his health, were none the wiser of Richard's extraordinary adventure, his friends, both online and offline were regaled the tale. Even without tall additions, it was enough to buy the teen a can of beer or two and approval even from his friend in France who used to be a maths teacher. Suffice to say, people could sympathise with his situation. Of course, the sheer level of "cool" some perceived in this chaotic series of actions also helped in gaining approval.

The entire weekend was but one wet nightmare. Between being unable to go out and have fun with his friends, or even just train without being forced a change of clothes. Nor could he use the computer, for at times rain became storm and lightning connected ground with sky.

In his boredom, he turned to his phone quite often. Not with the intention to play, for he preferred computers games over their phone version most of the time, but to study. He always dreamed of living abroad, in a country of more open men and laws, in a place where there was an unity. As he eventually learned, through friends and news, Denmark was just the place for him. A paradise, if he could say so himself.

While most people imagine paradise as a place where the weather is hot, where drinks are plenty; rather, he imagined it as a place where laws did not hinder those who differed from the norm, where the temperature was around or under twenty degrees Celsius, where people did not look down on those who cycled or walked, where people weren't afraid of a foreign language "killing theirs". Since he had decided to work towards his dream, which he planned to fulfil after finishing High School and Technician college, he started studying Danish. Having acquired a quality course book titled "Teach Yourself Danish", written for Englishmen intending to work in Denmark, studying wasn't difficult at all. And the fact that he had three friends from the country certainly helped.

Hours passed each day with him learning about Danish nouns, verbs, adjectives and culture. Every time the weather cleared enough that the use of one's computer wasn't technological suicide, his head was aching and his tongue was sore due to all the time spent studying. It was a good kind of ache, similar to the ones he experienced after a session of Kung Fu training. His head was aching from trying to "naturalise" thinking like a Dane for the sake of proper application of the language, and his tongue from the new sounds.

Overall, his weekend was like the rest, if with a bit more studying. When he was Online, he spent most of his time roleplaying on that Forgotten Realms-based server. He had a character that wanted to be an elf, who people usually considered his main, and a female wood elf with a quirky past, for she used to be a human man who was offered a second chance at life by a wayward druid at the brink of his death, if he promised to serve nature afterwards.

All in all, he had a few quirky characters. However, he always believed such unusual goals, circumstances and backgrounds could create interesting results and enhance his empathy. At times he wondered if these character desires came from his own dislike with the "present", with his wish to live, love, study and work abroad, preferably in Denmark (but any Scandinavian country would do for him).

With the weekend over, he resigned himself to the joys of Hungarian public transportation once more.

The week was quite uneventful for Richard. Well, that is if you count the obsessive avoidance of buses and bus stops. He reasoned with himself that he had to lay low, that the Inspectors were on watch for him.

While he was an average looking 17 year old guy, standing at 174 centimetres tall with an athletic body, he had a few recognisable traits. Namely, his long hair, that reached to his shoulders. It was usually pulled into either a low or tall ponytail for the sake of it not falling in his face. And perhaps the fact that he refused to shave his goatee or moustache also made him stand out like a sore thumb. After all, few people wore their crowns above their lips nowadays.

However, weekend was another tale entirely. Friday was a hot day, meaning his friends from his hometown will be hanging out at the usual spot. It was just off a smaller supermarket, next to a basketball court that had an abandoned house with a characteristic gambrel roof a stone's throw away. Occasionally, when the wind was heavy, people could swear the house swayed.Believed to be dangerous, most people avoided it.

To Richard and his friends however, it was a chance to test one's daring. Friday was, after all, always a day where they played basketball with stakes, usually snacks or beers. They also did other kinds of dares, usually about crazy stunts that only the traceurs dared attempt - and succeed at.

The fun began when the moon poked her head up on the sky. And when the little children left the area, a few bottles of quality beer were finally put on display. The one to whom the bottles belonged called out to those willing to listen: "Whoever dares enter the old house gets to have an entire bottle!"

Richard, being a traceur with a panache and also a fan of macabre stories and classics such as Lovecraft's works, which was relevant thanks to the swaying gambrel roof and the abandoned mystery of the house, took the dare.

He entered the house with flair, for he had taken a running start to run up the wall and reach one of the taller windows. He lit the flashlight he was given by the beer-guy, then started his exploration.

The house seemed much larger from within than he had expected. It took him a while, between the attic and the main floor, and all the rooms they contained, but eventually, he managed to stumble upon a basement. However, other than a heavy and disgusting smell, there was nothing worth wasting time on.

As he continued his search, he came upon a section of the house where the roof was giving way to the occasional beam of lunar light. It was clear that such was not the original design, for the planks were visibly rotting, which was given further testament by the slivers of wood falling on Richard's shoulders now and then.

This was the section that intrigued him to no end. There were books strewn around, burned out candles with bodies, whose wax was of the colour of freshly drawn blood, and other interesting objects.

As he shined his light into a corner of the ceiling, just where the roof and the wall joined, he was rewarded with a blinding flash. He quickly pulled the flash light aside, but darkness quickly reclaimed the object that reflected the light so strongly. He persisted, trying to see what was there, but after having been rewarded with more flashes of blinding light, he concluded there was nothing of interest. He searched through the books and notes, finding strange symbols of warped stars and knots knotted in knots following peculiar patterns. He saw a few ropes strewn around, making him wonder whether the former owner was some sort of "self-proclaimed witch."

All this occult material had drawn his mind to his characters and their goals or backgrounds. He chuckled a bit as he carelessly moved his flash light around, encountering a blinding flash from all four directions at once as response. The brightness burned at his retina, leaving him disoriented for a moment or two. For some reason afterwards, the room became brighter. Not by much, but enough that he tried again to look into the corners towards the roof. He could swear he saw a movement here and there, but still lacking proper lighting, he concluded that it must have been a rat or maybe a bat. With his curiosity towards the corners quelled, he returning his attention to the macabre tomes.

Eventually, he heard yells from outside and tossed the book he was holding that instant aside before he left the house. He did not notice, but it had landed on the page where the symbol known as "The Witch's Bottle" could be found. The symbol was a thing difficult to comprehend without seeing it, and explaining it to one who did not was even harder. The lines crossed each other at angles impossibly random, even for a toddler. And despite the its chaotic appearance, it formed a series of knots with various shapes within them, constantly changing shape in the darkness

After he climbed out of the window and looked back, he saw what appeared to be an increase in the brightness of the interior, but blamed it on better light conditions and his eye adjusting, thus causing illusions. However, what he did not know was that the abandoned symbol was now locked in a permanent state.

The evening passed without hiccups, except from the beer. They saw an old man approach the old house at midnight and just chuckled, assuming that the man "lived" in there as it was usual of the homeless to do.

Throughout the weekend Richard's desire to get away from this country became stronger than ever before. It was almost worrying, but eventually he blamed it it on the news and the apparent infantile behaviour of the politicians and celebrities. However, there were a few things that were truly strange and impossible to explain.

For example, the strange dreams that started haunting him after bright flashes. While he had dreams about his characters before, they were always just replays of what had happened last session. It was like watching a movie in 2D, then re-watching it in better quality, and completely natural for such a dedicated gamer. However, this time around he could not associate any of his roleplaying sessions with them. They were far too life-like, both in terms of the events taking place at a normal pace and in terms of emotions and desires. Richard found himself desiring the same as his elf or his human, but he also felt like he desired them. Suffice to say, it worried him.

The strange happenings followed him even when he was awake. He could get much more in-character than ever before. He was a dedicated roleplayer who almost always immersed himself in the character, but this time it was like his dreams, it as if he was the character. He could feel the same emotions run through him as through the human who fought for his life against unnamable horrors in his quest to find the answer to become an elf. It was terrifying and he was shaking in his seat, almost broken like his character, as the ordeal came to an end, at least for now. His character did not achieve his dream yet, merely finding yet another tiny piece of the massive puzzle he had to solve and it left him yearning with but a stronger desire. A desire that followed him to the Out of Character world. He resorted to clear his mind by practising his style for an hour. With a clear mind he went on to congratulate the Dungeon Master who had immersed him so well, and while the praise was not unwarranted, both were surprised at the realism achieved.

The same happened with the wood elf, which was a strange experience to say at least. The same sensations that rushed through the female elf as she went about her business, the same emotions they evoked within her female, elven druidic mind rushed through his. Some were quite pleasant, like the peace she felt in the woods, but others frighteningly alien.

He became worried, and for the first time, he told his friends he's taking a short break where he would avoid roleplaying entirely.

He kept to his word and avoided the game for almost the entire week, with the only connection to the Forgotten Realms he had was through keeping in touch using Skype and other programs with the friends he made playing there. After all, the fact that he was taking a break from the game didn't mean he was also taking a break from his friends from aboard as well!

However, despite the distance he put between himself and the characters, he found their desires mixed with his own. This caused him some discomfort during P.E lessons, for the wood elf had some more primal desires that strongly clashed with his own, and being in the locker room with plenty of half-naked guys made this sure that the presence of this particular yearning was quite apparent. Despite being open-minded, he was frightened from the idea of being attracted to the rest on his side of the fence. At home he tested this and found that he did feel an attraction unusual for a guy towards his own gender. However, much to his relief he still found women to be more interesting than men.

This series of events were not his brainchild only, for throughout the week he ran into adverts on the internet about having one's dreams come true, about fulfilling one's desires. But these occurrences also took foothold in the tangible world as well. Newspapers appeared full of such adverts, no matter how irrelevant they were to the topic.

And the worst of it all, some adverts were very specific. One went like this:
"Have you ever had a desire you wished to come true, but knew that it would take years of hard work to do so?
Have you ever wondered if your soul hid things from you?
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to experience four of your most important wishes?"
It did not have any address or contact information. Richard believed that it was one of those ploys large companies did to tease the consumers about their upcoming product.

He tried to get away from these annoying adverts by checking some of the Internet's finest. In other words, things that make absolutely no sense. Things like cults, youtube comment wars and etcetera. One in particular "exchange" caught his attention beneath a SciShow video about solar flares. This comment chain appeared to be sane at first, talking about planetary bodies and their gravitational effects. But as usual, crazies took over soon as they started rambling about how certain planets will align in a peculiar way on May 1st, suggesting people write notes and soak them in moonlight. They said that if done right, one's wishes will come true.

He couldn't help but chuckle after reading that, but he knew how May 1 usually went down in his town. There were blackouts thanks to people exerting the power lines partying "hard" and other such inane nonsense. This meant that he will most likely have nothing too sensible to do on the first day of May and to be frank, he didn't intend to study, even Danish, on a day that was supposed to be about holidays, thus he thought that he may as well give it a try. It didn't take him a long time to decide to do this ritual within the room with the decaying room. It was almost too quick a decision, but he did not notice it.

May 1 has finally arrived. It was usually a nice day, but the typical power-outage meant no internet access. As for going out with friends, they were usually busy partying "hard". While Richard was not unpopular, nor asocial, he rarely attended parties. They were just not his cup of tea. They were too loud, too chaotic, too pointless. He'd rather meet with a few good friends and share a beer or some other drink than waste his time with complete strangers.

He decided to sleep in, since he could use some time recharging. He could almost swear at times that he lived like an elf, except without the benefits. These benefits included being able to sleep four hours, yet be fully rejuvenated. He on the other hand was drowsy and tired, but had to stick to five or four hours. Another benefit elves had was that the could "reverie" only on every tenth day, while he was forced to do it every day if he intended to be productive in class.

He sure did sleep in, waking up well in the afternoon. Checking his phone, he saw that it was six PM. He decide to train for a while in the yard, for about the length of two hours, before having bath and eating dinner. He told his mother that he will be going out with some friends.
Before leaving he took a flash light, a case of matches, a ball-point pen, his phone, a piece of paper and left the house.

He saw no reason to hurry and for that reason he walked at a pace he rarely allowed himself. Instead of his usual eight to ten minutes, he took twenty. He made his entry the same way as he did the first time, not intending to undercut any onlookers' love of flair.

He lit his flash light and began tracing his way to the room with the books and the roof. However, upon hearing a strange noise from the basement, he steeled his nerves and approached the bowels of the hovel. Strangely enough, the area seemed the same except for the lack distinctive of the smell. He found the door closed shut when he reached the basement, so he doubted the smell just dissipated into the atmosphere.

Despite the lack of anything, he stood there for a while, flashing his torch around and looking for the source of the sound and the reason why the smell was gone. However, even his curiosity could last so long and when he couldn't place it, he just shrugged, then abandoned the basement, leaving the portal towards it gaping wide open.

Eventually, he came upon the place of interest once more. He examined the location and decided to light the candles, just out of jest. As the last red stick started to burn, he heard the same sound as he heard before. He finally noticed that it did not sound like a person's footsteps, but more like wood cracking.

And there it was again, but this time extremely loud and alarming. It was only due to his conditioning and training that he reacted fast enough to jump away from the loose, rotten planks falling from the roof. He couldn't dodge everything, it was impossible for someone whose life was not dedicated to the Art, but he had a backup plan and struck the stray wood aside with the back of his arm.

His heart rate hit the ceiling when he noticed generous quantities of blood ebbing from his forearm, sharing their colour with the candle wax. He could not feel any pain, but knowing himself and the way adrenalin disabled his pain threshold, he checked the wounds thoroughly. Other than what he considered a negligible amount of blood lost, he was fine. No infections, no alien bodies, no nothing inside the wounds.

Eventually, his adrenaline faded. He cursed under his breath as a stinging pain shot through his arms, but the sensations were soon replaced by mere numbness. He was worried that he actually suffered a serious injury to his arms, but when he noticed the perfect angle at which the moon bestowed the room with her silvery veil, all his worries dissipated. With all the dust in the air, he could see the light surround him, as if the celestial body was expecting something.

He looked around the room and saw that the candles lost their crimson colour, instead adopting that of old, dried blood. He also saw movement from one of the corners, drawing his apt attention.

Despite himself, he jumped at the sight, only to mentally punch himself in the face as he noticed that it was but his reflection. The mirror in question seemed to reflect red better than the other colours, but seemed to have had a crack in shape of the crosses found on the scandinavian flags. In a way, it reminded him of the danish flag.

As he looked around, he saw that there was a mirror in each corner of the room, with those facing each other possessing the same qualities. He quickly organized the pairs into four groups. One seemed to favour the colour red, with a crack that looked like a cross interrupting the reflection. Another must have had a weird shape, for in it he appeared smaller and with a distorted form. The last one that was focused directly on him seemed to be worshipping his ears, despite his movements around the room. And in addition to focusing on his ears, this one appeared to be made from silver, or at least coated in a like material. The last one was the tamest of them all, reflecting a group of four candles standing tall and unharmed, despite the rubble and destruction that surrounded them.

He stood there like an idiot, taking in the peculiar sights before deciding to continue with that weird ritual he read on youtube. He looked for the piece of paper he had brought with himself, but in its stead he came across the open book. It was alluring and soon his attention was trapped within its pages. What before made no sense, was in clarity. What before was inanimate, was now animate. What before was just a projection, was now reality. What before changed in darkness, was now brought to light, remaining there permanently, irrevocably. The symbol had a cross shooting across it, shaped like the one adorning the flag of Denmark and her sisters'; this symbol intersected a wide, yearning heart in which the symbol of Mars could be recognised; beside it was another, but tamer heart that contained four sticks surrounded by a thick bubble; this tamer heart appeared to have had Luna behind it, which was strangely enough neighbouring Venus.

He dropped the idea of using the note and now just stood in the middle of the room. As if in a trance, he weaved his hands in ways no man complete in his mind could imagine, or dare copy. They were painful, and he could hear bone cracking at times as their flexibility was put to an impossible test. The blood from his forearms still dripped unfettered to the ground now lit by the lunar light, slowly drawing the Witch's bottle beneath him with all its contents. This went on for a straight hour, giving frightening detail to the symbol. It was now clear that the book has ensnared Richard's free will and logic.

It was a surreal experience, but it was only the beginning. As the moon reached its desired location, the mirrors shined with blinding light one final time and with the same light they had shined when he shone the flash light at them and with the sound of glass shattering, everything went white.

The last Richard's senses could register was a blinding flash of light and the ear-piercing sound of glass shattering moments before his eyes and every other part of his body spontaneously experienced a burning sensation that only seemed to worsen every passing moment.

The burning sensation could be felt everywhere. He could feel it in his intestines, which felt like being forcefully pulled in a single direction; on his skin, which felt as if it tried to choke him; in his throat, robbing him of his ability to express his suffering; in his limbs, accompanied by the surreal sensation of them warping, shifting around; in his ears, where it was accompanied by a heavy, deafening ringing noise; in his eyes, to which the white light became stronger and stronger.

But the pain was not just physical, for he felt a phantasmal dagger plant its cold, unforgiving edge within his mind. Alongside the pain strange and vivid images flashed before his mental eye, intruding over the white screen as if they were more important than the pain he felt.

Some of them appeared to be memories from early childhood, while others were from other eras of his life. What joined all these images was the fact that they appeared to him more clearly than he previously remembered. And as more recent memories flashed, he finally realised: they did not just appear more clearly than he remembered, they were more clear. And they could not have been experienced by him, for the perspective was of a person two heads shorter than him, with a vastly superior eyesight. The time did not seemed to match either, for even images of events that clearly happened at night-time appeared as bright as if daylight filled the areas.

This limbo-like state continued for a while and as time passed, his disorientation grew to astronomical levels. At last, salvation came in form of total exhaustion, forcing him to collapse. Despite everything, despite his mind being taken hostage, his instinct to avoid impact on falls was still active. He tucked his chin into his chest, relaxing every muscle in his body then spending every last bit of energy on impact to avoid breaking a bone. However, something was wrong. He expected the floor filled with slivers, blood and broken wood to be hard and dangerous, but instead he found comfort. It was not like a bed, it was better. It was soft, it was wet and cold, but not in a discomforting way. It was like heaven. Despite his subconscious screaming at him, he gave in to the exertion and entered a blissful, dreamless sleep.

Hours, if not days had passed with Richard sleeping blissfully on the comfortable ground. Whatever that pain was, it was gone now. However, it had drained Richard of his power, the power to act and think straight. Even now, after a long, blissful sleep where he could feel nothing but the soft ground, he felt exhausted and wrong.

Slowly, his senses returned. First his it was his ability to hear, which had brought an alien array of sounds to his ears. He remembered that he was in town and yet he heard the whistling of tall branches. Between these branches, he could hear the flapping of feathery and scaly wings. He felt like he could pinpoint their exact location based on sound alone. He felt as if he could tell what they belonged to if he focused on one. Things he could never do, except for a much weaker form of audiolocation. As more and more sounds registered in his addled mind, the more worried he became. Even for a rural town, these sounds were abnormal. Despite never having cared for birds, he still knew enough about them to recognise the fact some of the birds he heard would never approach civilization.

This realization about the wrongness of the situation hastened the recovery of his other senses. He tried to open his eyes, but a familiar burning pain discouraged the action. Whimpering, he complied with what his body told him and remained still for the moment. But, as he spent time thinking, he realized it was not only the pain that put him in stasis.The whimper, while a sound that one could barely differentiate from one person's to another's, even across genders, felt wrong. He could hear that the pitch and the depth were off due to his heightened sense of hearing, but he could not place it. Eventually, he shrugged it off and blamed it on not being used to hearing himself with his heightened sense of sounds.

With yet another alien sound escaping his vocal chords, that of a weak groan, he curled his fingers only to find dirt and grass between them. Instead of the slivers, the blood and the hard wooden floor; it was grass, dew and black, soft forest floor. It was cold, but it felt nice on his fingers. He smiled a bit, playing around with the soil, finding it both relaxing and soothing. The same thing his elven character did when she needed to console herself and she had nobody nearby to lend an ear.

However, he soon regretted this course of action as he came to a realization that he was never a fellow who had a green thumb. And speaking of thumbs, his fingers were calloused at their tips, average in length and slightly thicker in girth. Or at least, that is what he could remember them as, however difficult it was to recall their image. For instead of the familiar he felt the unfamiliar; long, slender fingers with a skin so soft, that touching them together felt like he ran his hand across his late grandmother's soft, goose-feather filled pillows.

All these alien feelings, the fingers, the sounds and the voice; they all awakened a panic within the confused boy. Too afraid to move, he just took deep breaths. Unfortunately, this only caused the panic to increase in exponents. For with each deep breath, he could feel a weight on his ribs. He could not describe the feeling, however much he wanted. The sensations did not suggest that he was bound, or that he was beneath heavy a heavy object. The weights felt too natural to be such alien bodies, despite there being no other way to explain their presence.

Eventually, it became too much. Panic turned to adrenaline as power temporarily filled his body once more. His eyes shot open, and despite the burning sensation as he looked up, he kept them peeled open with steadfast determination. Everything was an over-exposed blur for now, but he could see an almost unimaginable collection of colours before him, one more vivid and lively than the other. It would have been beautiful, if it had not been for his survival instincts taking control, making Richard push against the floor beneath him. The floor gave way ever so slightly before his efforts bore fruit and he was on his feet.

The surge went as fast as it came. But he could not register any more pain in either his vision or his arms. He soon noticed that his sense of balance was off, so he ended up stumbling towards what appeared to be a tall and wide object of the colour brown. It was still blurry, but everything started to make more and more sense every passing second. Details started to appear, and what he could focus on was frighteningly clear. But his focus was too small yet to see anything, resulting in the occasional clear spot that hindered him more than helped him. He reached out to protect himself from falling, and upon feeling the bark-like texture, he led his weight - which seemed to be much, much lighter than he remembered - across his arm, rolling softly unto what appeared to be a tree. With a third pillar to support himself on, he rested a moment before doing anything else. He absently noted a different shape to his arms, but couldn't notice any loss of strength.

While in reality it was only minutes that passed, to Richard, it felt like hours did. He wiped his dirty fingers on what appeared to be a linen shirt or tunic covering him, whose touch felt odd against his skin and had different angles and shapes beneath, but he ignored them to bring his hand to his face in hopes of clearing the blurry vision. He felt a slight obstruction as he approached it from directly from beneath his chest, but his mind still addled, he did not pay it much mind and manoeuvred around the soft obstacle. He could not help but feel that his eyes were shaped oddly. They were quite wide-set, almost like how he imagined an elf's to be. Hardly after noting this oddity, its thought echoed countless times within his mind, as things became clear.

"Like an elf's eyes" it echoed one last time, causing him to freeze still once more. And as the last ounce of strength left his body, he slumped down against the tree, landing hard against a protruding root. He did not care this time about the rough landing, for all he could think about was what happened.

This was just too much. He no longer cared to see, despite having regained the full luxury and some more. Despite the picturesque forest before him, whose details popped as if filmed by the best quality camera on the market. Despite his worries about being drugged and kidnapped, which haunted him ever-since recognising he was in a forest. That final thought, that final simile caught all of his attention.

"Just like an elf's", fearfully, he raised his hand, which only entered his vision temporarily - but long enough to deepen his worries. His intention was to find out more, but he feared his hand would slow to a halt before revealing anything. The sight of it drained his energy rapidly, causing the movement to lose its velocity. What he saw did not belong to him, despite answering all his commands. It was delicate and soft; its knuckles were the same alluring shade of porcelain white as the rest of the hand, instead of being brown or red from use; its fingers were long and shapely, delicate just enough to be elegant without falling into the fragile category; its back, and the arm attached to it was completely devoid of any hair. He tried to remember how his hand looked like, but all memories had this hand in them instead of his. He knew what he saw was wrong, but he could no longer compare it.

But instead of learning from his previous mistake, he allowed curiosity to win over fear. And in the end, his motion was rewarded with answers. Alongside the movement, he could feel shifting on his chest, something that certainly weighted a pound at least following the upwards motion. And on the other end of it, he could trace his fingers across an elongated ear shooting backwards in line with his cheek that ended in a keen point. It was an elven ear.

He had mixed emotions. On one hand, he wanted to cry. But on the other, he wanted to laugh. While it would have made sense as some form of desperate expression of one's hopelessness, he felt a certain sense of accomplishment, a sense of happiness. He felt as if a long requested wish was fulfilled, the only issue was that he was not the one who gave it voice.

It was a woman with a beautiful voice. "I did not wish for this! What the hell is going on?!" was all he could hear. The voice soothed him, it was melodious, it was delicate yet powerful. He tried replying, but all he heard was the woman repeating what he said, without his end of the exchange. To say the least, his mind was still tired, and a blissful denial tried to protect him. Despite his keen hearing, he had trouble recognising that the voice came from him.

However, even he put the pieces together; the weight on his chest; the voice that came when he moved his lips, from a very close location; the slim and almost feminine fingers on his hand; the strangeness he sensed in the whimpers and groans. And then the memories, he remembered back to the images he saw during the burning limbo. He finally realized, every example of his former body was replaced with his current one. Basing it on the events, reality did not change, merely his mind tried to protect him from going insane. It would have been too much for a mortal mind to handle such a sudden change of perspective.

The cosmos tried to help him adjust, but he wouldn't have it. All his struggling at the moment, to recall his old form to appreciate what was lost at least, to recall what happened during the ritual, disabled the safe-guards he himself put in place. He could finally remember what happened before everything went white. And it horrified him. The images, the shifting and the burning, the warping and the unnatural movements which had no mortal name. And that man, the same man he saw enter the old house before, standing in the doorway and smiling proudly. He could not call the man malevolent, but something was off about him. As he tried to recall that, his willpower quickly was overpowered by something.

With his willpower in shreds, it all came crashing down at an instant. He was in a forest. He was an elf. And a female one at that! He could feel tears swell in his eyes, threatening to blur his vision once more. As he reached to clear them, embarrassed, he felt a dagger carve its way into his mind yet again, threatening to steal his consciousness for a white ride one final time, this time to do what it had failed before. He almost gave in, thinking the blissful oblivion to be alluring, but in the end he powered through with a final thrust, giving every ounce of he willpower had into it, in hopes to retain his memories.

Despite everything, he was still himself. And despite the surreal situation, he decided not to give up and find out what happened. In part, pride influenced him. However, curiosity of a self-proclaimed scholar, known popularly as the Nerd, and the alien desires he felt in the weeks that passed, and even now, also played a powerful role. It was a strange feeling to say the least, both finding happiness and extreme confusion, discomfort in this situation. He could not believe that these alien desires planted within his mind helped him protect his identity, causing him to be slightly appreciative of them.

He pushed himself up, this time taking careful note of every sensation due to being able to recall his old body if he really focused. He still remembered his new form when he casually recalled memories, but with some focus he could recall his original one. In a way, he enjoyed both worlds. He retained what made him "him", if that pronoun was even deserved in this situation, but protected his sanity by allowing his mind to recall the familiar.

He took note of the void he felt between his legs, which he tested by crossing and uncrossing them in ways his previous anatomy wouldn't have allowed. Of the wider hips, shifting weight left and right as he sought balance. Of the weight on his chest, clearly coming from female breasts. They did not seem large, but were still quite noticeable. Of the longer fingers, as he ran them through his much longer, lunar-white hair. Of his melodious voice as he cursed occasionally in his choice of languages: Danish, English and Hungarian. And once jokingly, by naming every smelly chemical that sprang using their formulae, such as H-two-S, or Hydrogen-sulphide. Of the identity he felt creeping up on him from the itchy, scratchy recesses of his mind, an identity of an elven girl. In a way, despite his protests, his new identity. However, with it no longer threatening his sense of self, he did not worry about it.

However, he was forced to wave it aside to the sidelines, for he will have to worry about it later. Because he had to survive. All he knew, was that he was alone, without supplies, in God knows where. He had to find shelter, food and a way to civilization. He looked around, and for the first time since awakening, he smiled from his heart.

The forest seemed abundant with life. Whatever malevolence Richard's situation and the countless shadows that the canopy had cast was dispelled by the chirping of birds and the sounds of squirrels, foxes and other smaller animals.

The area around Richard was almost as if from some fantasy novel. Giant trees with trunks wide enough for him to live inside if carved hollow stood with some regularity, hinting at the ancient age of the place. Some were covered in soft green moss, while others' bark was free, rough and brown. At their roots, and really everywhere else, fungi made their presence clear by trying to sport more colourful caps than the other. And the light that filtered through the canopy created a dual effect, where golden halos covered one section and thick shadows another.

Unfortunately, Richard had difficulty finding anything edible. He could find the rare berry he recognised, the rare mushroom he saw in his biology books, but his efforts barely yielded fruit, letting him sustain himself but for the moment. He knew that this cannot go on forever, for he had to pick a direction and move towards it until he found civilization, but he did not dare begin the journey until he had at least a day's worth of stockpile.

He was also curious. He wanted to know just what exactly happened; he wanted to know where he was and most of all, he wanted to know how he looked like. While he knew a few facts about his new body, that it was elven, that it was female, that it was small; he could not really learn anything else. He found one thing strange, the fact that he did not feel compelled to undress and focus on the aspect he had became female. Somehow, the naked body of what was assumed to be a pretty woman did not arouse curiosity as it would have had before.

Eventually he hit the jackpot. As he was wandering around, barely keeping himself from suddenly becoming fascinated with a random object of nature, he came across a nest of bees, a beehive. And a beehive meant honeycombs! The nest was hanging from a shorter, younger tree, but still far out of his reach. The buzzing sounds he could hear within meant that direct assault would result in countless stings, something he didn't desire. He needed a plan.

It took him sometime to figure it out, but after some time spent thinking about what bees don't like, he hatched a plan. For one, he needed some way to reach the beehive, which was attached three times his height above him. Then he needed a way to cut off a comb or another. And finally, some way to get rid of the bees long enough to get away in one piece.

He noted the location then searched the forest floor diligently. Richard proudly called out after finding some stones and pebbles, only to regret it immediately as the voice reminded him of the more intimate part of his situation. Still, he was getting hungry so he continued on. With a blunt, heavy piece of rock in one hand and a thinner, almost wedge-shaped one in the other, he wandered for a while until he came across a rather scenic location. There was a wide spring, untouched, with crystal clear water and a downed tree on the hill beside it. Deciding that he will get his rod from the tree, he planted the thin edge of the smaller stone at the base of a longer branch then began hammering on it with the blunt, heavier one. While barbaric, this motion bore fruit and he soon had a long enough pole to disturb the nest.

Next on he had to create a fire. Returning to the place where the stones were found, he collected a few pebbles and using them, created a wider circle beneath the hive. With the not so feminine motion of scratching his head, absently noting the much softer texture of his new hair, he decided to pile up a bunch of random branches and leaves in the circle.

It took him a few hours, often interrupted by his hunt for more berries as his stomach growled, but he was finished and had the beginnings of a bonfire. It should be enough to smoke the hornets and bees out, but first he had to figure out how to get it burning.

Deciding to worry about that issue later, he went back to the long branch and the stones, then began whittling it using the two stones to create a firm handle. Once more, hours had passed but he didn't feel any more tired than when he began.

Night was beginning to creep up on him, so he brought the long branch to the nest and the unlit bonfire, alongside the stones. He stood there, watching the shadows grow wider and wider, hands on the now wider hips, as he wondered how to light the fire. Just like Archimedes supposedly exclaimed in the days of yore, so did the melodious voice escaping his lips. He quickly grabbed the rock and began scrapping them against each other, whittling away to achieve two goals at once. To light a fire and to create a sharp enough tool for stabbing and cutting. He sat against the tree with the beehive, arms extended over a collection of dry leaves and branches separate from the main group as he went about this action.

With arms sore, a stone spent to almost nothing but a fine edge, a fire was sparked. It sent a thrill through the boy turned elven girl, as he quickly jumped up and giggled in excitement. At the moment, the sound he made did not even occur to him for all his attention was ensnared by the dry leaves catching fire, casting the shadows farther and farther. Eventually the fire travelled to the dry branch, which he quickly snatched and brought to the bonfire. It took some poking, prodding and other machinations but soon the fire spread. It was well contained by the pebbles around it, but its luminosity cast the forestscape in a new light. In the light of hope.

The smoke soon spurred activity in the nest above and once it was calmed, Richard knew it was his chance. He picked up the long branch, barely able to balance it with sore arms, and charged against the hive up above. Despite the darkness, despite his exhausted muscles, it was hit squarely. While the entire beehive didn't fall due to its location, a large chunk was sent flying. Richard tossed aside his branch, picked up the sharpened rock and ran for the chunk. Smiling ear to ear, he began cutting the wax-like object into select pieces. It was sticky, it was kind of smelly, his hands were stung, but the golden honeycombs within were worth the pain.

He quickly ran back to the fire to immerse himself and the freshly collected combs within the smoke. The bees soon left him alone to lick his wounds and the honey. He quickly looked for a clean way to store the honey. Unfortunately, he only had the clothes on his back so he was forced to collect some leaves, wash them clean in the spring he came across beside the fallen tree then store the honeycombs within them. While not the best approach, it was still better than the dirty ground.

For the first time, he removed the linen tunic he was wearing, leaving him bare chested and wearing but only those black hoses or tights he found covering his legs and other parts beneath. They looked just like what the peasantry and other people during medieval and renaissance periods wore, which made him compare them to what his characters wore, both male and female, when not fighting. He found no difference, which awakened a few thoughts within him, but still too few for him to draw a conclusion. However, the pain may have been disturbing his thoughts as well, drawing his attention instead to the formerly porcelain white arm and body now swollen and red.

Groaning, he spent quite some time removing the stingers, extremely glad for the coarse material of the shirt for it had stopped quite a few from penetrating deep. Due to that, most were found on his hands and arms, particularly the forearm where there was nothing protecting it.
Deciding to avoid irritating the stings, he remained without the tunic. Due to the sensations cold air brought to his new body, he decided to remain close to the bonfire for the night, nibbling away on the honeycombs and sometimes venturing to the spring for fresh water.

He sat on his tunic beside the fire the entire night, letting his mind wander. He wondered if his new state was permanent, he wondered how his family will react to him. Thinking of his family made him feel sad, for he was sure they were worried beyond their wits. For that reason, he made it his second goal to contact them, following immediately after his goal to get to civilization. He also wondered about his not-so immediate friends, with whom he was as close as with those in his town and class. He wondered if they would ever believe what happened to him, and if they did, their reactions. He couldn't help but chuckle as he imagined one of his Danish friends react to his new state, but continued on soon afterwards. At last, he thought of his future. How everything that happened will affect everything.

When the dawn broke once more, when the fire was beginning to die, he stood and watched the shadows slowly give way to the halos once more. Time sure flew by quickly when one had plenty to think about. It is only now that his lack of sleep hit him. He didn't sleep the entire night, yet he was no less tired than when he began. It seemed to him that he was indeed an elf through and through which would have made him happy even a year back, when there was nothing tainting his psyche. After all, the lack of need for sleep every day is not something to scoff at. He checked his body soon after, noting the absolute lack of deformity from the bees. Indeed, he had everything an elf had. From the lack of need to sleep, to their very quick healing of minor injuries and illnesses, he wondered if he would live as long as an elf.

Dressing in his tunic once more, still not feeling any different when looking at himself than he did back before everything, at least on the primal level of attraction or anything of that kind, he turned to the south-east and decided to head in that direction and not relent until he needed to rest a moment or find more food or water. He grabbed the leaves with the remaining honeycombs, enough to feed his now much smaller frame for at least three days, and the sharper rock, which he carried with his other hand, before setting out. With the fire dead, and a bunch of angry hornets no longer warded away, he hurried the first few kilometres before returning to a leisurely pace.

With enough food to last a few days at least, with the marks of his little duel against the bees healed, Richard could finally set out on his quest to find civilization in this thick, ancient forest.

Over the course of days he ran into countless animals. However, none seemed aggressive. Those who did approach him soon backed away, confused. It seemed as if the animals could feel that he was not a human any more, but rather something they have never seen. Richard could see this and wondered if humans would react the same.

But as time passed, animals seemed to exchange information on this new creature, this elf. Foxes seemed to get used to him the fastest, probably due to their curious nature, as they approached him and followed him. One in particular appeared to be a trickster, trying to steal the honeycombs Richard was carrying. Obviously, he did not take the this course of action kindly, scaring the animal away. However it persisted the next day and afterwards, seemingly attracted to something this new creature had, even when the honey ran out.

It enjoyed harassing the elven girl especially when he stopped to rest. While not requiring sleep, he still got exhausted from the long trek that never seemed to end. From prodding him to trying to steal his hose or tunic, it certainly tried everything within the books to learn more. Richard soon learned that he had a companion for his journey, whether he liked it or not.

Despite walking at least fifty kilometres, he saw no end in sight. And when his honey ran out, he knew he couldn't continue on without trying to find more food, else he'd starve to death. Water was not an issue for this peculiar forest seemed abundant with springs that had drinkable water. He was at a loss when it came to finding food this time, for he saw no honeycombs in sight.

His salvation came the fox itself became hungry. He quickly learned that he only had pause from the prankster when it decided to hunt, so he ended up stalking it. He did not know whether he was capable of hiding his presence or the fox not caring for it, but it led him to what appeared to be a nest high up a smaller tree. Surprisingly, the red mammal climbed up and then ran off with a couple of eggs in its mouth.

Since survival was the most important to Richard, he did not really worry about regulations about eating eggs. He ended up struggling up the tree, finding it much harder than it used to be thanks to finding certain techniques, such as when he balanced his weight on his chest before pushing himself up with his arms, very uncomfortable thanks to his new anatomy. However, his new self also helped as the ratio between his strength and weight favoured strength, allowing him to easily rely on the arms and feet without having to carefully balance the position of his core. He was truly impressed with himself, for he certainly did not look the part now.

After some struggling and re-learning, he was up and high on the branch that had the eggs he was seeking. He only collected a few, enough for tomorrow's meal, planning to find more as he journeyed forth.

He spent that eve cooking the eggs over open fire and resting his arms and legs. Despite hygiene being second worry for most people in such a situation, he found powerful dissatisfaction with his current appearance. It was not the obvious, he quickly got used to it enough that it did not worry him every moment, it was the dirt. His snow-white hair had twigs, grass and dirt in it; his formerly beige tunic now turning a shade of green and brown; and his hose getting muddier and muddier. He was glad to be wearing boots, for at least he did not have to put up with the road itself. Still, he felt unclean and it was making him more uncomfortable than ever before.

But without a way to combat it, he could easily push it aside when dawn broke. Eating breakfast in form of a bit burned egg, he ventured forth towards the south-east once more. If it weren't for his confident knowledge of the stars, he would have panicked a few days ago, but now the monotonous wood was starting to weaken his nerves and make him doubt his navigational abilities.

He spent his entire supply and darkness drew nigh. The canopy was especially thick in the section he wound up, blocking off all the light that would have helped him. He was starting to panic at last, but still fought the emotion as he searched for a way to light a fire. Even the fox was impossible to find, even his hands. With nary a light, he could not continue on.

When he leaned against a thick tree, when he closed his eyes to stop his tears from coming forth or his heart from pounding too hard, he forgot he was an elf. For when he opened his eyes, a frightening clarity dispelled the darkness. He felt pain surge through his eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. Somehow, somewhere he managed to do what was natural for elves. He could see in natural darkness. But unlike his memories, this time it seemed odd. With so little light to work with, the eyes started taking in colours they would otherwise not recognise. Within two to five metres, everything appeared as if in daylight, but beyond that for at least twenty, everything was painted in a dull, grey-blue tone. It sure threw him off, for this boundary was ever changing. When he walked ahead, the grey-blue slowly morphed into its natural green and brown, but when he retraced his steps it lost its shade once more.

He spent a while toying with his awakened vision, smiling slightly. Due to the lack of need to sleep, due to less nutrition required, due to the ability to see in the dark, he was starting to enjoy his new fate. He stopped for what seemed to be hours, exploring with pride what appeared to be the markings of an elf. His wide-set eyes, allowing him a wider field of view; his elongated, pointy ears; his thin, hairless frame; his white hair that seemed to glow under proper lighting; and his elongated, dexterous fingers.

By the time he came to terms with the benefits, dawn was breaking. He followed the rising sun's rays piercing through the canopy as the warm warmed the cold, and the bright brightened the dull. With a new-found glee, he managed to break fifteen minutes within just two hours, coming across a truly peculiar sight.

There was barely a canopy any more. Instead, trunks and branches twisted in impossible ways, giving the location a mystical feel. It would have been magical, if Richard had not recalled reading about such woods in the Scandinavian lands. It made him wonder, wonder if he was in one such forest; a troll forest. It fascinated him; it fed him. For on the twisting limbs he managed to find various edible bugs and insects. He would have reeled back from the thought of eating such, but with survival in mind he could gobble such disgusting creatures down as well. Surprisingly, they did not taste horrible. some even tasted sweet and delicious, almost like some berries. Since he needed the protein and the nutrition, and now that a few tasted sweet, he ended up gobbling almost an entire nest up.

This section was not mystical just because of the trees though, for it was littered with springs of various sizes and shapes. Some were deep, others shallow. Some had a tree or another surrounding them, while others standing proud and unobstructed.

Richard felt something tug at him, not from outside but rather from within. He thought he had warded the useless sense of being dirty aside some days ago, but it crept up on him once more. When he saw a spring hidden between leaning trees, rocks and hills, he could not resist any more. Instead of logic, instinct took over him as he approached the body of water and undressed.

With nutrition taken care off, he could finally enjoy some luxury. The water was cold, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. It felt odd on his naked skin, sending tingles to places he did not think of for a while now. He ended up responding to some of these impulses, but quickly drew away. He was not ready for them yet, and while he got used to being an elf in record time, he still wondered if he would ever get used to being a woman.

Still, his body yearned to be clean, to be dressed in clean garments. Everything else was secondary for now as he spent a few hours washing linen, wool and flesh. Some parts of his body did not enjoy as much attention as the rest, but were still given minimal care to be considered relatively clean. Due to the day still being young, clothes and body dried quickly. All were laid on the apparently clean rocks shamelessly. He did not know if it was being an elf and their proximity with nature, or just the fact that he knew he was the only one around, but he did not feel embarrassed basking in the sun and drying the old way.

The only thing he regretted was not securing the clothing. For between naughty foxes finally stealing a garment to it falling into the water yet again, it took him much longer to get ready to travel than he had originally assumed. Luckily, his attire was not missing anything, except for a bit here and there due to canine teeth tugging against an embarrassed hand.

The forest was starting to grow on Richard when he reached the edge; he was starting to feel at home there. It may have only been a week that passed, but he felt that he developed a certain connection with it all. It almost took some coaching from his sense of duty to follow the dusty trail he finally came across, but he knew that even if he felt comfortable there, he had people worrying about his safety. He decided to leave a generous amount of the food he had on the ground for the fox that accompanied him to nibble on before venturing forth. He decided that one day he will return to this place.

He could only wonder what is to come as he took the first few sure steps towards civilization.