Enjoy. This'll be a two part series.
Witchlight Festival and the Transformation Mask
Blue skies and birds singing, Valian lies on the grass, taking in the moment; however, he’s soon rudely awoken as Torin throws a log at his head. Big enough to almost crush Valin, he stares at it in shock as it lands with a crash just beside his head.
“Taking it easy, eh, Valian?” Torin wipes at his brow. “Haven’t you got anything better to do?”
Staring up at the mustachioed elf, Valian glares. “Why you gotta be like this, Torin. You’ve changed, and I have no idea as to why.”
“Changed?” Torin laughs as he looks around his cottage in the woods, which Valian uses as a safe house after trips into the city for his ‘work’. “We aren’t young elves catching any and all the mischief, Valian, anymore. When are you going to grow up?”
Valian sits up, swipes his black hair behind one ear, and lets out a sigh. “Grow up?” he asks and then points at the pile of logs Torin has been collecting for his work to sell in the city. “You call slaving in the woods…. ‘growing up’?”
Torin looks back at the pile. “Yes.”
“How much will that wood fetch?”
“Erm…” Torin takes in a breath as he thinks. “About twenty gold pieces.”
A smirk forms on Valian's lips as he stands before his friend, only coming up to chest height.
“Well, old friend….” He pulls a silver locket from his satchel and swings it from his fingertips. “This old trinket, stolen from a human in the city, will fetch me over one hundred gold pieces.”
Torin stares unimpressed for a moment as the light of the morning sun shines off the locket and into his eyes, almost as if Valian was doing so.
“So, tell me, my hard-working friend…” Valian tilts his head to one side with a teasing grin. “Who needs to grow up, huh? I could buy your cottage after a couple more heists…”
Following a frown that could cut glass, Torin swipes at the locket, finding himself unable to snatch it from Valian as he moves too quickly. The two stare at each other as Torin once again tries to wrestle the locket from his grasp.
Valian ducks and weaves through Torin's countless lunges, enjoying himself too much. Laughing as they do some sort of weird dance right there in the garden.
“Does growing up mean you’ve become slow, old friend?” Valian teases, skipping past a glancing arm, to then stand directly behind Torin with a smile.
Another wide swipe, and Torin is once again left empty-handed as Valian grins up at him, smug in the fact that the locket still dangles from his fingers.
“Okay, fine!” Torin lowers his head in defeat.
The locket is swiftly stashed away in the satchel hanging from Valian's side, before he starts picking at his fingernails triumphantly. “I’ve always been quicker and faster than you, Torin. I guess that’s why I’m building a big pile of gold and you’re playing house out here in the woods.”
“Playing house?” he folds his arms and smiles down at his oldest friend. “Is that what you think I’m doing here?”
Confused, but still confident, Valian just nods once. “Yeah. Isn’t it?” He rolls his eyes back before biting his bottom lip to hide a selfish smile. “Well, works for me, doesn’t it. Nice little safe house.”
Ignoring the look on his face, Torin slowly reaches into his own satchel and presents, with pride, a small pink envelope. Although the flowers in Torin’s garden smell sweet, it’s nothing compared to the perfume scent that wafts from it.
“What’s that?” Valian points and looks intrigued.
“A letter…” Torin slowly opens it to reveal a beautifully written love letter. “It’s from the love of my life, Torin. Her name is Thistle. I’m yet to meet her, but I’m already madly in love!”
“Thistle!?” Jealous, but hiding it, Valian scoffs at the idea. “How can you be madly in love with someone you’ve never met, you big dope.”
Unshaken by his words, Torin just looks at the words on the letter, and the large and powerful elf appears to melt into a mush of feelings. “She’s the one. I can’t wait to meet her tomorrow at the Witchlight festival. It’s going to be magical, Valian.”
“W-Wait?! You’re meeting her at Witchlight tomorrow?”
“Mhmm…” Torin gently runs his fingers across the letter in front of him. His smile is wide, and his cheeks are rosy. “That’s why I’m doing all this, Valian. “He looks up and around at his cottage in the woods. “I want her to marry me. I want her to come live with me. I want to raise a family with her.”
“WHAT!?” Valian’s mouth drops open as if to scoff at the idea. “You can’t be serious!”
Torin lowers the letter to look at his friend. “What’s with that face, and yes, I am…”
“You said you’d help me work the festival!” Valian puts both his hands on his hips and steps closer to his friend, squaring up to him; however, he has to stand on tiptoes to look Torin in the eyes.
“Did I?” Torin strokes his mustache with his fingers in thought.
“Yes. Yes, you did.”
“Ha.” Torin laughs calmy, pushing Valian away with ease. “Well, I guess I can’t. I won’t be stealing anymore, friend. Once I meet Thistle, those days are behind me.”
Frantic and swinging punches at the air in frustration, Valian is held back as Torin looks up into the sky, honey glow written all across his cheeks as he thinks about his love to be.
“I can’t believe you!” Valian bounces up and down, trying to swing punches as Torin holds him back. “You’re the worst! I needed you for this job, and now you tell me you’re in love! What about our pact? OUR pact, Torin!”
He stops, folds his arms tight, and pouts hard. “Remember? We both agreed that girls are bad news!” he spits on the ground, unable to look at the stupid love-struck expression his friend is still pulling. “I mean, what does this girl look like, huh?”
Torin shrugs but smiles brightly. “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.”
“How will you know who she is, idiot?”
“I’ll know…” Torin lowers his hand away from Valian’s chest and hugs the letter he’s still clutching in his other hand. “As soon as I see her, I’ll know. That’s how much I love her.”
“Riiiight….” Valian rolls his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Have you been hexed? Honestly, you’re speaking like you’ve been cursed, poisoned, or worse…. under the effects of some poorly concocted love potion.”
In a world of his own, Torin just responds with a vacant “Huh?”
Valian snaps his fingers a few times, inches from Torin's face. “Seriously, if it’s not a love potion, which we should honestly take you to get checked…. How will you know who she is?”
“Oh, erm…” he shakes his head, snapping himself out of his daydream. “She’s got a lovely pink scarf I sent her. She’s going to wear it. Plus, she tells me she has the most beautiful black hair and beautiful brown eyes.”
“I can’t believe this….” Valian throws his arms down to his sides in frustration. “She at least an elf?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re really going to ditch me for this board when I need you the most?”
“Yes.”
“No, come on, Torin!” Valian clenches his teeth and fists at his sides. “I need you on this one. If things go south, I need backup! I’m counting on you. Please, you’re clearly under some sort of spell. That smell coming from the letter, it’s probably a love curse! Please, snap out of it!”
Silence between them.
“TORIN! I need you on this! Don’t be such an idiot! The Witchlight festival is a treasure trove of goodies and rare items. I’ll buy you a wife if you so want one after it’s done—please don’t give in to more than an obvious love curse that’s been cast upon you by this….Thistle woman!”
“Valian.” Torin snaps a glare, his eyes full of fury. “It. Is. Not. A. Curse.”
“N-No…. it clearly is—”
“Valian.” Torin snaps again, interrupting him. “If you say that again, I’m going to ask you to kindly leave.”
Valian hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Come on, there’s a spellcaster down the trail. Perhaps they can take a look at you, old friend. I’m pretty sure you’ve been hexed. Perhaps this is why you’ve ‘changed’ recently. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
Torin just stares, unimpressed, shifting his weight to one side.
“Don’t look at me like that…” Valian swishes his hair from his eyes, giving his friend a wry smile. “It’s just a little check-up. Can’t hurt, can it?
Torin reacts with a small smile. “I know you, Valian. You’re not really worried about me, are you? You’re jealous that a girl wants to be with me and not you, the self-proclaimed ‘master thief,’ who can steal anything.”
“N-No… I’m not jealous.” Valian grits his teeth hard. “I-I…I think you’ve been cursed.”
The tension rises, and the two just glare at each other. Eventually, Torin points down the path. “Valian, get out of here. Go annoy someone else and don’t come back here until you’re ready to say sorry.”
“FINE!” Valian throws his arms out and spins on the spot to leave in one motion. “Don’t blame me if she takes you for everything and leaves you a soulless wreck.”
Stomping down the garden path, Valian petulantly kicks Torin's pile of wood, then throws open his rustic garden gate. “Idiot!” he says, turning to look at Torin as he makes his way down the path. “Can’t even see you’ve been cursed!?”
Torin gently laughs. “You’ll understand one day, Valian. When you grow up.”
About to clear the big oak tree, leading back to the main path, Valian looks around again and has to have the last word. “Idiot! Now I’m going to have to save you rather than working the biggest heist of the year!”
“Stay away from the festival!” Torin shouts back, now nearly out of sight as he remains standing in his garden, as Valian stomps away. “I won’t be there to help you if you get caught, and if it’s anything like your castle raid, you’ll get caught. So, stay away, Valian….”
Arms folded and stepping onto the path, shaded by the tunnel of trees leading to Torin’s cottage, Valian spits again, his arms folded tight. “Idiot. I will save you from this curse…”
***
On the day of the Witchlight festival, Valin patrols the markets, stalls, the magic showcases, and the other events. His hood is up to hide, but his ears and eyes are sharply listening and looking out for any sign of Torin and his supposed love, Thistle.
Standing at one particularly busy area of the festival, watching elves, humans, and others pass him by, Valian becomes increasingly annoyed as several easy people to pick pocket have to be ignored in order for him to concentrate on saving his friend from the curse that’s clearly taken hold.
One Nobel gentleman, whose gold hangs so easily to steal, really drives Valian mad, but he keeps an eye out for the young elf maiden wearing a pink scarf.
In his mind, he imagines a woman so vile and sinister that the mere sight of her will make his blood run cold. Anyone cruel enough to curse his friend with such a twisted love spell must surely be a monster. Yet when he finally lays eyes on her, he finds no wicked monster. Instead, he sees a young elf standing beside a nearby well, timid and almost frightened.
Her hair, black and glossy, as Torin had described, and around her neck, a rustic-looking pink scarf.
Valian looks left and right for any signs of Torin, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Moving between the crowd, like a cat prowling for prey, Valian stands just meters from the timid-looking elf girl, waiting to confirm it’s her by the color of her eyes.
Rage is building in his heart as he watches the young woman fiddle with the matching-colored pink purse in her hands. He can barely contain himself, knowing this elf girl has cursed his friend into a life of hard work on the land.
A concealed knife in his side pocket, his hand falls to it as the girl standing at the well before him slowly looks up, and it’s confirmed to be her when he sees the soft but deeply brown eyes looking up at him.
Something in Valian snaps. The innocent look in her eyes tells him she’s a master manipulator. The worst of the worst is when it comes to love curse users. His hand instinctively grips his knife as he approaches her, teeth gritted tight.
Moving fast, Valian makes her squeak in fear as he appears before her in the blink of an eye.
“Oh…” she gasps
However, Valian is swift; he moves around her, his knife concealed and pressed into her back, but passersby wouldn’t have any idea; it would just appear like two young elves standing together.
“You…” he spits with fury between his clenched teeth. “You’re an evil temptress called Thistle, aren’t you, girl….?”
Thistle gasps once again. “Y-Yes… that’s my name….”
Thistle struggles against Valian's grasp, twisting and trying to wrench herself free, but he holds her firmly. The moment she feels the point of his concealed knife press against her back, all resistance leaves her.
She goes still, a frightened whimper escaping her lips before she breaks into quiet sobs. Around them, the festival carries on as normal, laughter and music drowning out her distress as the crowd remains oblivious to what is happening.
“Yes, you can feel my knife in your back, can’t you?” Valian says with a whisper in her ear. “I know what you are, temptress. Scream, and I’ll gut you like a pig right here and now.”
“W-W-Who are you?” she asks, her voice trembling with fear.
“Don’t act all innocent with me, girl…” Valian pushes the knife to pinch at the skin to show her he means business. “You’ve cursed my friend. My very best friend and I’m here to make you understand how much of a mistake that is….”
“C-Cursed?” Thistle repeats, her body now shakes with fear. “I-I don’t know what y-you speak off. P-Please, you’re scaring me. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just waiting for my lover….”
Another gasp slips from her lips as the knife is twisted, pinching her clothing and nicking the surface of her skin.
“Lover?” Valian grumbles quietly, trying to hide his anger from passersby as he holds Thistle tighter. “You’ve cursed Torin, haven’t you!? Admit it! Release the curse on him, or I shall be forced to take your life right here, right now…”
“T-T-Torin…” she whimpers, almost breaking down in tears. “I-I haven’t done anything of the—”
“Quiet!” Valian hisses, his temper almost boiling over.
“B-But he loves me… and I love—”
“You’ve cursed him!” Valian speaks into her ear, his voice sharp. “He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love you at all!”
“No, not true!” Thistle begins to wriggle, throwing caution to the wind, as the knife is pressed into her back. “W-We love each other! I love him, and he loves me!”
“Yes, it is! Release the curse now!”
The struggle continues between them as Valian’s knife is knocked away with a rogue elbow.
“I’m here to stop you on Torin’s behalf!” Valian says, trying to regain his grip, but she breaks free
Thistle, now free, steps away quickly, quicker than Valian ever expected. She turns on a dime and stares him down, tears running down her cheeks and falling from her chin.
“Lies!” she screeches out.
Attempting to grab her again, Thistle swings her purse, knocking him in the head, but breaking the strap at the same time. As the two jostle, the purse falls to the floor around their feet, and eventually Valian rips the scarf from her neck, as it is the easiest thing to grab.
“He loves me!” Thistle shrieks. “Why would he send you?” She throws a punch, and Valian only just ducks to avoid it.
The two now stand inches apart, both breathing heavy, hair completely messed up, and their eyes fixed on each other. Neither makes the first move, but the fight isn’t over as people begin to look at the spectacle occurring at the festival water well.
“He loves me!” she exclaims, desperation in her eyes as he clenches her fists tight, readying to fight back.
“He doesn’t!” Valian retorts, his hand once again falling to his concealed knife. “He sent me to stop you! He sent me to break your curse!”
Expecting to have to weave around her attacks as he attempts to grab her once again, Valian is left confused as Thistle’s shoulders slump and her head drops. Tears, once again, fall from the point on her chin.
“Daddy warned me about this!” she cries, gripping her face tight as if her heart were breaking. “H-He told me it was all too good to be true!”
Thistle glares at him through blurred eyes, her lips trembling. For a moment, she simply stands there. Then she lets out a small, broken sound and turns away.
"I hate him..." she says, crying.
Before Valian can say anything, she bolts. Festival goers part in surprise as she pushes through them, crying her heart out, cursing Torin’s name. A few curious faces turn toward Valian, but he barely notices them, fixated on Thistle as she runs away at speed.
Within seconds, she disappears into the crowd, leaving only the echo of her cries and the uncomfortable silence hanging around the well.
Valian remains frozen. He watches the space where she vanished, confused by the strange tightness in his chest. Instead of success, something unpleasant squirms inside him.
Guilt.
Her tears were all too real. The pain in her voice was all too real. The looks of heartbreak in her eyes were all too real.
Unsure what to do next, Valian reaches for the discarded pink scarf and her purse on the floor at his feet. The scarf, quite clearly handmade, is likely Torin’s handiwork. Valian then looks inside her purse, his professional curiosity as a thief getting the better of him.
Inside, love letters. Too many to count, all penned in Torin’s handwriting.
The festival continues around Valin as she slumps onto the rock wall of the water well. Slowly and with the guilt in his heart growing, he reads the letters to Thistle from Torin one by one. Every single one detailing exactly how much Torin loves her.
With his heart growing ever heavier, he reads a letter penned by Thistle, clearly meant to be given as a gift on the first meeting, showing just how much she’s in love with Torin. None of it is fake. None of it is a curse.
True love blossoms in the words written on the letters in his hands.
Valian’s guilt reaches a breaking point. His breathing is fast, and his thoughts are scrambled. He has only just realized what he’s done to his best friend. He’s ruined it between them, under the pretense that Torin needed saving.
Valian stands, clutching the letters, purse, and scarf in his hands. He paces backward and forwards, wondering how he can fix the situation he’s caused.
“Valian?” a voice speaks through the crowd, almost amused.
He stops and looks around, and standing before him, with silvery eyes and thick red curls, is Lana, the sorceress. She flicks her hair behind her shoulder as she gives him a curious glance.
“In trouble again, are we? Like at the castle when you tried to steal the princess's knickers…” she suggests softly, looking at the female and the scarf in his hand. “Stealing women's items again, are we, perhaps?”
“Lana….” Valian swallows his guilt and tries to keep up the appearance of confidence. “I’m not interested in doing work for you right now. I’ve got problems.”
“Oh…?” Lana’s eyes narrow with intrigue that her eyeliner becomes so sharp it could kill a man. “Why don’t you join me at my small stall here, Valian, and we can discuss your problems…. As….friends….”
He grits his teeth at the suggestion. “What’s it to you, witch?”
Lana raises a single finger to hush him. “Sorceress.” She corrects and ushers him to follow. “Come, perhaps I can help, seeing as I just watched you and that young, very beautiful elf have a falling out.”
“You saw that, huh?” Valian glances away, the guilt returning.
“I did…” Lana begins to walk away with a confident sway in her step. “Come, please. I insist.”
Stuffing the letters back into the purse and holding both that and the scarf out of sight, Valian rushes to her side, and she gently smiles without looking at him.
“Fine, but only because I don’t know what to do,” he admits.
“The great Valian…” she giggles as they approach her stall and she peels back the curtain to take him inside. “The elf, they say, moves with the wind and lives in the shadows, stumped by a girl perhaps?”
They step inside Lana’s market tent, the room gently lit by candles as the wares she has for sale glisten, freshly polished. Lana stands at a small pink potion and gestures down to it with her dark red manicured nails.
“Slip the young girl this in her tea later, and she’ll love you until the end of time….”
Valain shakes his head in disgust. “No…” he lets out a breath. “I don’t lead love potions. If anything, I need a potion that can either turn back time or make someone reappear.”
Lana puts a single hand on a hip and, with a curious smile, tilts her head to one side. “Time travel is forbidden, young elf. Say what you will about me and my methods, but even I know not to mess with such things. Now, when you say reappear, what do you mean?”
“I dunno…” Valian rubs his face in frustration. “I… just need that elf girl to be standing at the water well, wearing this scarf. I-I…need her to meet with Torin, that’s it, but beyond someone taking her place or me turning back the hands of time, I’m not sure how I’m going to go about that.”
“Mmmm….” Lana points at a mask on the desk. “That mask can transform you into anyone you think of, my dear.”
“This one?” Valian points at it. “Anyone?”
“Yes, yes…” Lana waves away the idea. “So, the young elf girl was to meet with Torin.” Laran’s eyes grow more curious. “Tell me, Valian, did you stand in the way of… love, just now?”
Lana looks at the purse still clutched in his hand. “Those letters I saw you reading were they declarations of love between your partner in crime and that gorgeous, beautiful elf maiden, perhaps?”
“Umm….” Valian hides the purse, but positions himself differently, as if he’s readying to leave in a hurry.
“Valain,” Lana looks at him sharply. “If you’ve done something to attempt to stem the tide of true love, then you should be honest.” She throws up her hands in exasperation. “I thought, here…I could sell you something in return for stolen gold at this event, but I cannot in my good mind, mess with true love.”
Lana turns away, disgusted by his actions, and Valian moves swiftly, snatching at the mask on the table that Lana spoke about, hiding it on his person before she turns back around.
“And neither should—”
Lana doesn’t finish her sentences as she stares at the empty space where Valian was once standing. Only the wush of the wind and a flap of the door to her tent gave any indication as to what occurred.
The mask of transformation is missing, and Lana is quick to notice.
“Oh, Valian…” she sighs and then quickly begins to smile. “Seems you have gotten yourself into trouble….” She slowly begins to cackle. “Trouble indeed, young elf. Trouble that will…cost you dearly!”
Having put some distance between himself and Lana’s market stall, Valian finds himself hiding in a wooded area, just off from the festival and prying eyes. He sits on a fallen tree. Beside him, Thistle’s scarf and purse. In his hand, the mask of transformation.
The inside of the mask is a silvery material. It shimmers with sunlight streaming through the canopy of trees above.
“So, I just put this on, I guess…?”
Valian raises it to his face, hesitating for a moment as he reviews his plan in his mind out loud.
“Put on the mask. Take the form of Thistle….” He winces at the idea of being a girl, but he’s determined to put things right. “Meet with Torin. Smile at him. Laugh at his jokes…” Valian does a pretend laugh as he lifts the mask closer to his face. “Then once it’s all done, give him the letter that the real Thisle wrote, disappear into the trees, and Torin’s heart doesn’t break, and I’m in the clear….”
Valian takes one final breath and presses the mask against his face. The silvery surface clings to his skin like cool water.
At first, nothing happens.
Then everything happens.
He jerks forward as a strange warmth rushes through him, spreading from his face down through his neck and shoulders. The mask dissolves into shimmering light, eventually engulfing his entire body.
"W-What….” He falls to his knees, his body feeling too heavy to hold, as if his bones had turned to jelly.
His hair, not usually this long, spills down past his cheeks. Before his eyes, the color shifts, changing to the same shade as Thistle's. He reaches up instinctively, fingers tangling in the longer locks, only to yelp as another wave of changes courses through him.
His frame shrinks.
The world seems to rise around him as his body becomes smaller, lighter. The sleeves of his tunic sag around thinner arms. He can’t believe his eyes as he stares down at his hands holding him up in the mud as they thin and shrink into something daintier and more delicate.
"C-Crazy…” he says, his voice wrong in every way It’s higher. Softer. Sweeter, like a delicate maiden.
Valian clamps both hands over his mouth.
Another shiver runs through him. His shoulders narrow, and the strength he is accustomed to carrying in his limbs simply melts away.
And then he lets out a gasp.
His chest swells beneath his clothes, forcing him to instinctively fold his arms across himself in surprise.
"T-That’s new!"
His hips widen, his backside rounding and becoming more feminine, almost bursting out of his pants. He nearly topples sideways, unfamiliar with the new proportions of his own body.
Then, things begin to calm, and he’s left breathing fast and heavy on the ground, feeling entirely different. Like he’s been touched all over, but not in a good way.
“T-That was all sorts of w-wrong….” He starts to get to his feet, the weight of his body now in completely different places. At first, his hands rise to the small mounds that have grown on his chest.
They hang so delicately from his body. Sensitive to touch and in desperate need of some undergarments to hide his new, thicker nipples from poking through the thin material of his tunic.
Then, his hands run down his sides, and the hourglass figure of a woman is very apparent. His hands stop when he gets to his backside, now swollen, like he’s fallen ass-first into a bush of nettles.
“In all the high elf!” he exclaims as his mind turns to the flat, yet very neat feeling between his legs. He dares not investigate what’s happened down there. That’s not part of the task ahead of him, even if he is very curious to see.
His gaze then settles on a small puddle of rainwater to his left on the ground.
Slowly, he approaches and freezes above it. His mouth falls wide open as someone else looks back at him. It’s Thistle, just looking a little disheveled and like she’s been pulled through a hedge backward.
Valian drops to his knees beside the puddle, his jaw hanging open.
"This is absurd!" He says, gently touching his face. The reflection follows his every move.
"Well, Valian…” he smirks, and Thistle in the reflection smirks back. “It’s just a job. You’ll be your very handsome, very masculine elf self, temporarily pretending to be Thistle. Simple. Don’t think too much into all these new….sensations."
Standing, Valian brushes himself down, careful not to touch too much of his newly transformed body. Long hair framing his face, but messy, he flicks it over his shoulders, reaching for the scarf, left on the log he was sitting on.
Adjusting the scarf around his neck and gathering up her purse, he stands unsteadily on his feet. He takes a few steps, trying to get used to being Thistle. With a wobble, he quickly catches himself, adjusting to the size of his hips and thighs that rub as he walks.
“Not bad…” he comments as his body is light on its feet, something a master thief needs more than anything.
He bounces on his tiptoes a few times, the weigh on his chest and ass bouncing like he’s never left before.
“Okay…” he lets breath, moving through the bushes to rejoin the festival. “You’re a girl. You are Thistle. You are in love with Torin. You need to meet with Torin. Give him the letter.”
Valian steps out into the open, the festival around him in full swing. Suddenly, he feels a little overwhelmed. Almost unsafe.
He shakes it off, giving it no further heed.
“Right!” he touches the hilt of his blade, ensuring it’s still with him after the transformation. “Time to fix this.”