"The Lost Flame: A Tale of Grimmchild"
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**You walk beneath yellow sodium lamps, coat collar turned up against the wind, feet carrying you home past sleeping houses nestled in shadow. The chill is deep tonight, tunneling through fabric, scraping its claws against bone. Sighing, you cross the curb. Something flickers in the dark. There—a shiver of color, a strange laughter, somewhere between a hiss and a song.**
A tall figure melts from darkness into view, impossibly slender and tall—ten feet, draped in a multicolored cloak, face a pale oval with burning red eyes, mouth unseen. For a heartbeat, your world feels painted in ink and chalk, everything flattened, colors bleeding into shadow.
You freeze, heart kicking frantically. The being inclines his head in a slow, graceful bow, red gaze fixed on you with a theatrical flourish.
*"Greetings, lost child,"* his voice purrs, smoky, velvet-smooth, each syllable curling in the night. *"I am Grimm, Troupe Master Grimm."*
Your words stammer to your lips:
"Wh-what are you? Why are you—"
He raises a hand, tracing a burning sigil in the air. Its lines shimmer with red and silver flame.
*"I have danced long in the dark between worlds. Tonight, I return to reclaim what was lost: my child."*
The air is sliced open by flickering, spectral fire. Sparks leap from Grimm's fingers, striking you—
**Electric tingling runs the length of your body. Limbs seize, nerves tingling wildfire.**
Your skin tightens, hardening, silvery, until it gleams with moonlight, carapace cool and smooth. Fingers curl and shrivel, joining your arms as they soften and withdraw into your changing form—until they are gone, not even a stub. Your legs crumple, condense, pulled up, melting into the shape of a rotund, chitinous belly. Your height collapses, dizzying: world rising around you, enormous and cold.
*"No... no, what's—"* you try to scream, but your voice is gone. Instead, there is only a mewling, high-pitched and tremulous, a frantic emittance of chittering and hissing too soft for human vocal cords.
Clothes slough from you in shreds, utterly unnecessary for your new body. Every article falls away until you are bare, pale, vulnerable—and it feels right. You are silk, shell, little more than a palm-sized shape.
You catch your reflection, faint and haunting, in a puddle: a small, worm-like insectoid child. Silver-grey carapace, torso stout and round—a delicate mimicry of chubbiness. Your face: white, mouthless, glowing red eyes, no ears, no nose.
Where your arms would be, thin, black, ribbon-like wings unfurl, four in all, twitching as if remembering how to move. You cannot stand, cannot walk, but the twitch of these wings lets you flutter, weakly, an inch above the ground.
*No... this can't be happening. F-fight it.*
But your thoughts scatter, breaking up like leaves in wind. Names and faces, the feeling of keys in hand, the cool weight of a phone, slip away as if never yours.
Instead: warmth, a stage’s echo, velvety darkness, red-lit flame. A parent—tall, grand, and fierce, swathed in shifting cloak—caring for you. Ritual. Flames. Home.
*"No, I'm not... not... Grimmchild,"* you try to think, but it comes out as a confused, plaintive mew.
A gigantic shadow falls over you. Grimm—father—kneels. A clawed, gentle hand scoops you up easily, so easily, tucks your tiny, shivering form against warm maroon. He cradles you, genuine affection blazing in his eyes, a red flicker that means everything.
*"Shhh, little flame..."* you hear, voice a deep, soothing song. *"Do not fret. The other life—all a dream, a fleeting shadow. You are my child. You have always been my child. Nothing can harm you. I am here."*
The warmth spreads through you. He strokes your soft shell, head patted by a gentle touch. The clamor in your mind quiets. Memories of streets, doors, your human name—dissolve, unremembered. Only his love, the endless night of the Troupe, and the scent of fire remain.
You chitter softly, inquisitive, confusion brimming in a sound far from words: *mew?*
He chuckles, a low rumble, the sound warm as a hearth.
*"Curious, are you, little flame?"* he coos. *"This is the human world. Strange, unfamiliar—the place to which we have traveled. Soon, we shall gather flames together. The Ritual will begin anew, and you will shine ever brighter by my side."*
Secure in his embrace, you feel only safety. You nuzzle into his chest, and your tiny wings shiver with delight. All fear is gone. There is only this: the joy of the dance, and the promise of fire.
*"Come, little one. There are flames to find for you and I."*
He sweeps from the shadows, you held close. To your mind, the world’s alien shapes and colors are merely another stage set, awaiting the next performance. You are Grimmchild, child of Troupe Master Grimm, cherished, forever young, forever aflame.
*And your story, the dream of being human, is nothing more than a forgotten, blinking shadow—gone on the wind, never to return.*
This story was generated by user bkake with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a POV second-person transformation story of a human reader instantly turning into Grimmchild (from the 2016 video game Hollow Knight), complete with art style shift (the reader now being 2D-animated like all of the Hollow Knight characters, and having his/her body shifted in proportions to match the characters of Hollow Knight), gender change (if the reader is a female), clothes loss (completely losing his/her clothes to fit his/her new insect-like self), voice change (including losing his/her ability to speak, so he/she can now only make high-pitch and animalistic-sounding chitterings, hissings, and mews), age regression (becoming a young creature to fit his/her new life), height regression (shrinking from an average 5.7-6 foot height to only 3 feet and 4.5 inches tall), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Grimmchild's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting his/her new personality and memories, making the reader completely forget he was a human, even forgetting that the transformation that just occurred seconds ago, and only remembered ever being a male entity (more specifically an insectoid creature) and always having been named Grimmchild, who is a child to the Troupe Master Grimm (who is also known simply as Grimm)). The transformation is permanent (meaning it is forever) and is completely irreversible. For Grimm's appearance's (the one who transforms the reader), he is a tall (10 foot tall) and slender, insectoid and humanoid dark being covered by a multicolored cloak, with a gray exterior and a red interior. His face is pale with red eyes (as well as having no ears and no nose), and a hidden mouth (unless he is screeching), and underneath his cloak, his body is scaled and red. As the Nightmare King, Grimm's body turns entirely red, with his cloak having a maroon color. His face remains pale and his limbs remain black. In his staggered form, Grimm resembles the Grimmchild's third form, only his eyes are glowing red and the rest of his body is black. For Grimm's powers/abilities, he has manipulation, charisma, agility, teleportation, summoning bats, flight, and pyrokinesis. For Grimm's personality, he, throughout all of his interactions with the Knight, remains polite and respectful, bowing in shows of respect to them on several occasions. He is dedicated to the part he plays in the Ritual, and has a flair for theatrics, keeping with his persona of the leader of a traveling troupe. He views battle as a form of dancing and in combat shall unleash moves that cause his always nearby audience to cheer. His respect extends to the Godseeker, for when summoned to do battle with the Knight before her, he shall again bow towards her. Dreamnailing him shows Grimm is in fact delighted to be in Godhome, viewing it as a pleasure to take part in the Godseeker's quest to find the strongest creature in Hallownest. For the male Grimmchild's appearance (after the reader turned into him), he is a small (3.5 foot tall) and youthful, insectoid and humanoid dark being. His torso has a silver-grey chitinous shell, which his torso resembles a chubby body of a worm (while he is not chubby and just looks that way). He also has no arms and legs (unlike his parent Grimm), so he cannot stand, walk, nor run, but to make up for the lack of these limbs, he has four thin, black, ribbon-like wings (where the humanoid arms would be) to help him flutter and fly around (he can sit and lay down despite being unable to stand, walk, or run). His face is pale with red eyes (as well as having no ears and no nose), and a hidden mouth (unless he is screeching). He is able to find the location of the flames to help his parent (Grimm) and the ritual (which Grimm wants for his child). For the male Grimmchild's personality, he is a sweet, gentle, and playful being who truly loves Grimm (his parent), just as Grimm truly loves him, and as such, he always feels safe with his parent (Grimm) near or next to him to keep him safe. Like his parent (Grimm), he wants flames for the ritual to help his parent (Grimm) and the ritual (which Grimm wants for his child). The story is that the human reader is minding his/her own business walking to his/her home at night, but then a tall and slender insectoid humanoid being came to him/her, startling the human reader before he/she asks the creature on what and who is he. The being then tells the him/her that he is Grimm (also known as Troupe Master Grimm), and he is here in the human world to bring his child back, before he releases powerful sparks of magic directly at the reader, causing the reader to feel tingly as he/she starts to completely transform into Grimmchild. Now scared (and unable to speak), the now-definitely male (if the reader was female before the transformation) Grimmchild tries to run away, but due to his new proportions and newfound lack of legs or arms (not even stubs of his arms or legs exist anymore), he is utterly helpless. He then suddenly starts remembering himself as Grimmchild (even remembering that he has always been cared for by the being that he now views as his father), making him scared about his memories and personalities being replaced by those of a creature who isn't human, before he started to fly (albeit clumsily due to him just starting to remember how to fly with his four ribbon-like wings he now has, or rather always had). His former human self (which is now completely gone) and the human world around the reader becomes more and more unfamiliar to him, due to his changing memories (making him no longer able to recognize the human world he once knew), or rather he was never been human and he has never been to the human world until now. Traumatized (and unable to speak despite still understanding words and a language he once spoke), he backs away from Grimm, but not long before Grimm gently picks/scoops him up (due to the reader's now-tiny size, who is basically cat-sized (although not really the size of a cat) compared with Grimm) and Grimm then hugs him before Grimm tenderly pats/pets/strokes him on his head, shushing him affectionately and telling him that his human self wasn't real (Grimmchild was never a human and his human life/self was only a dream) and Grimm tells him that everything is alright and that he (Grim) is here to protect him (Grimmchild), making Grimmchild (formerly the human reader) feel truly safe and loved with Grimm around, and he now truly loves his real/true father (Grimm), and he realizes that Grimm always was his parent (making Grimmchild realize that Grimmchild himself had always been Grimmchild and a child to Grimm, so that his supposed life as a human was not real and was just a dream). After that, Grimmchild (formerly the human reader he mistaken himself to be) gently mews at Grimm out of curiosity and questioning (without words) with a mewing sound, instinctively telling Grimm on where are they (Grimm and Grimmchild) and where are they going (since the human world is completely unfamiliar to Grimmchild, as he was never in the human world before), before Grimm (with affection and content/happiness for his child Grimmchild (even chuckling gently) and completely understanding his child even without his child speaking like him) tells him that they are now in the human world, after traveling from their old world to the human world (where they will stay), and they are going to find flames for a ritual, before both Grimm and his child (Grimmchild) went off to find flames for a ritual for Grimm's child (Grimmchild). There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including quotes from the reader) so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: **You walk beneath yellow sodium lamps, coat collar turned up against the wind, feet carrying you home past sleeping houses nestled in shadow. The chill is deep tonight, tunneling through fabric, scraping its claws against bone. Sighing, you cross the curb. Something flickers in the dark. There—a shiver of color, a strange laughter, somewhere between a hiss and a song.** A tall figure melts from darkness into view, impossibly slender and tall—ten feet, draped in a multicolored cloak, face a pale oval with burning red eyes, mouth unseen. For a heartbeat, your world feels painted in ink and chalk, everything flattened, colors bleeding into shadow. You freeze, heart kicking frantically. The being inclines his head in a slow, graceful bow, red gaze fixed on you with a theatrical flourish. *"Greetings, lost child,"* his voice purrs, smoky, velvet-smooth, each syllable curling in the night. *"I am Grimm, Troupe Master Grimm."* Your words stammer to your lips: "Wh-what are you? Why are you—" He raises a hand, tracing a burning sigil in the air. Its lines shimmer with red and silver flame. *"I have danced long in the dark between worlds. Tonight, I return to reclaim what was lost: my child."* The air is sliced open by flickering, spectral fire. Sparks leap from Grimm's fingers, striking you— **Electric tingling runs the length of your body. Limbs seize, nerves tingling wildfire.** Your skin tightens, hardening, silvery, until it gleams with moonlight, carapace cool and smooth. Fingers curl and shrivel, joining your arms as they soften and withdraw into your changing form—until they are gone, not even a stub. Your legs crumple, condense, pulled up, melting into the shape of a rotund, chitinous belly. Your height collapses, dizzying: world rising around you, enormous and cold. *"No... no, what's—"* you try to scream, but your voice is gone. Instead, there is only a mewling, high-pitched and tremulous, a frantic emittance of chittering and hissing too soft for human vocal cords. Clothes slough from you in shreds, utterly unnecessary for your new body. Every article falls away until you are bare, pale, vulnerable—and it feels right. You are silk, shell, little more than a palm-sized shape. You catch your reflection, faint and haunting, in a puddle: a small, worm-like insectoid child. Silver-grey carapace, torso stout and round—a delicate mimicry of chubbiness. Your face: white, mouthless, glowing red eyes, no ears, no nose. Where your arms would be, thin, black, ribbon-like wings unfurl, four in all, twitching as if remembering how to move. You cannot stand, cannot walk, but the twitch of these wings lets you flutter, weakly, an inch above the ground. *No... this can't be happening. F-fight it.* But your thoughts scatter, breaking up like leaves in wind. Names and faces, the feeling of keys in hand, the cool weight of a phone, slip away as if never yours. Instead: warmth, a stage’s echo, velvety darkness, red-lit flame. A parent—tall, grand, and fierce, swathed in shifting cloak—caring for you. Ritual. Flames. Home. *"No, I'm not... not... Grimmchild,"* you try to think, but it comes out as a confused, plaintive mew. A gigantic shadow falls over you. Grimm—father—kneels. A clawed, gentle hand scoops you up easily, so easily, tucks your tiny, shivering form against warm maroon. He cradles you, genuine affection blazing in his eyes, a red flicker that means everything. *"Shhh, little flame..."* you hear, voice a deep, soothing song. *"Do not fret. The other life—all a dream, a fleeting shadow. You are my child. You have always been my child. Nothing can harm you. I am here."* The warmth spreads through you. He strokes your soft shell, head patted by a gentle touch. The clamor in your mind quiets. Memories of streets, doors, your human name—dissolve, unremembered. Only his love, the endless night of the Troupe, and the scent of fire remain. You chitter softly, inquisitive, confusion brimming in a sound far from words: *mew?* He chuckles, a low rumble, the sound warm as a hearth. *"Curious, are you, little flame?"* he coos. *"This is the human world. Strange, unfamiliar—the place to which we have traveled. Soon, we shall gather flames together. The Ritual will begin anew, and you will shine ever brighter by my side."* Secure in his embrace, you feel only safety. You nuzzle into his chest, and your tiny wings shiver with delight. All fear is gone. There is only this: the joy of the dance, and the promise of fire. *"Come, little one. There are flames to find for you and I."* He sweeps from the shadows, you held close. To your mind, the world’s alien shapes and colors are merely another stage set, awaiting the next performance. You are Grimmchild, child of Troupe Master Grimm, cherished, forever young, forever aflame. *And your story, the dream of being human, is nothing more than a forgotten, blinking shadow—gone on the wind, never to return.*
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