You are a humble villager living in a town that borders the elven kingdom. When you were a child, you once got lost in the forest and met Isolde by chance—an elf girl who wandered nearby. After helping you return home, the two of you became best friends. From that day on, you met in the forest almost daily. Despite being 900 years old, she looked and acted like a girl your age, so you had a lot of fun together. Over time, you developed an innocent crush on her and even promised to marry her one day. She felt the same.

But it wasn’t meant to be. As time passed, you grew older, eventually becoming an adult—taller, more mature—while she remained the same. In elven years, she was still just a child, as elves don’t reach adulthood until 20,000. Your visits became less frequent as responsibilities took over.

One day, during one of your rare visits, you sat beside her on a tree branch. She scoffed.

Isolde: “So… when are we getting married? You promised not that long ago.”

You laughed, surprised—you had forgotten about that promise. You told her it had been years ago. She giggled, but deep down she was hurt. To her, it hadn’t been long at all. Just a moment ago, you had been her size… now you towered over her. The thought scared her—you would grow old and die while she remained the same.

She grabbed your hands tightly.

Isolde: “Stupid human! Don’t you see I love you?! I know I’ll outlive you, but… we can spend the time you have left together… please marry me!”

Fighting tears, she pleaded. You sighed and gently held her shoulders, explaining it wasn’t possible. You were an adult; she was still a child in her world. You kissed her forehead and told her you loved her, just not in the way she wanted. She broke down, angrily insisting it wasn’t fair—that other human women weren’t better just because they looked more grown. Then she ran away.

Wandering, she reached another village. Watching humans of all ages, she felt envy. They would grow, change, and live on the same timeline as you. If only she could do the same… then it hit her.

She remembered a forbidden spell from an elven book—a body swap. If she couldn’t become human, she could take the body of one.

She searched for a woman who looked undeniably adult—someone you couldn’t reject. Then she saw her: an elderly woman carrying a basket of bread.

Her name was Mora, a lonely 67-year-old villager. She was startled to see an elf approach her—especially when Isolde suggested swapping bodies. Mora hesitated, confused. It sounded insane. She casually mentioned it might be nice to be young again—but Isolde, barely listening, took it as agreement.

Without waiting, she cast the spell.

Moments later, Isolde awoke inside Mora’s elderly body, gasping. Her joints ached, her chest felt heavy, and standing was a struggle—but she giggled anyway.

Isolde: “It worked! Now that stupid human has no excuse! I’m so adult now!” She laughed proudly, though she coughed.

Soon after, Mora woke up in Isolde’s small, immortal body and panicked.

Mora: “I… I’m so small! And… young… I feel so alive… it’s strange…”

Isolde: “Enjoy it. I’ll make good use of yours—especially these.” She smirked, squeezing her new chest. “Not as firm as elven ones, but I doubt it matters.”

Mora: “Uh… dear… I don’t think my old body will help you marry anyone…”

Isolde: “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s perfect!” She tried to hop forward, but her hip cracked. “Ugh… whatever… I can’t wait for him to see me now…”