"Grimm's Ember Waltz" - Reader to Grimmchild TF/MC
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You walk beneath the orange glow of the city’s streetlights, your footsteps echoing in the silent night. The world feels heavy, the kind of tired that makes thoughts wander. Keys in hand, you turn up the familiar path—when flickering scarlet light dances across the concrete, curling at your ankles. An unnatural draft chills your skin.
Then, behind you, a voice.
“Such a curious little world. How quaint the dreams it weaves, hm?”
You whirl. There, tall as a nightmare and slender as a shadow, stands a creature more mask than man, his face pale and gleaming, crowned by red, glowing eyes. He’s draped in a dark cloak: a living carnival of undulating reds and greys, swirling in an unseen wind. He bows, as if before an audience.
“Who… what—” you manage, startled, “—who are you?”
He grins, thin mouth curling beneath his strange mask.
“I am Grimm, Troupe Master. And you, child of mine, have wandered long enough from flame and kin. The show must begin anew.”
He raises a long, slender hand. Scarlet energy spills from his clawed fingers—sparks, motes, whorls of living fire that swirl toward you. You leap to dodge, mouth open in a silent scream, but the power catches you full and fierce.
Tingles explode through every inch of your body—tingling, crawling, burning magic, not painful but wrong in every way. Your skin shrinks, pulls tight, slides across alien shapes. You stagger.
You try to run, but your legs buckle—no, fade, melting into nothing. Your arms thin, wither, then vanish entirely. Panic. Your clothes are gone, shed like a memory you can’t retrieve. You hold up your hand—except there’s only a rounded, shell-like torso there, gleaming silver-grey. Your once-human face is shifting; you can’t feel your nose. You can’t hear your own breathing—because there is no mouth, not anymore.
You want to scream, but the only noise that bursts from you is a high-pitched, animalistic hiss. Your voice is stolen, replaced with chittering, mewling sounds.
Inside, your mind reels.
*No…this isn’t real. I’m me. I’m human.*
But the memories are slipping, flaking away. Your name—what was it? It folds in on itself, replaced by warmth, gentle laughter, and fire. There’s love. You remember a tall, shadowy figure—Grimm—holding you close, keeping you safe. *But that’s…not right, is it?*
You fight for your thoughts, but they’re drowned in a tide of new knowledge—a world of darkness, rituals, and the addictive, beckoning pull of flame. You remember flying, wings beating, fluttering after that same figure—your father? Yes. Yes, father.
You want to run, but you’re helpless, new form uncooperative. Ribbon-like wings twitch at your sides—clumsy, unfamiliar. But you know how to use them, don’t you? Or did you always?
You lift, hover, stumble and fall. Chittering distress pours from you.
The world swells, impossibly large. You’re three feet, maybe less. The lamp above, once so mundane, now burns like a miniature sun. Even the sounds are different—sharper, rasping, edged with danger. And the city you called home? You’ve never seen it before, a tangle of alien shapes and lights.
Your panic blurs, memories flooding—replacing—reordering.
*Never human. Only Grimmchild. Only ever…Grimmchild.*
You back away from the towering form of Grimm. He moves with a grace you remember—no, you know, because you grew up watching him dance on flames.
*No…not true…stop…*
Except those human memories are too faded, a haze, a half-remembered dream slipping through your claws.
Grimm kneels, looming above you yet looking gentle. He scoops your now-tiny, worm-shaped body up with surprising softness. You mewl, afraid, helpless and small as a kitten.
He cradles you to his chest, and the heat—oh, the fire—makes you feel safer than you ever imagined. He shushes you, stroking over your head, cool fingers brushing across your pale mask.
“There now, my flame. Hush, little one. These dreams aren’t real—only embers in the night.” His voice is a gentle purr. “You are my child, my Grimmchild. The world you remember was only smoke and illusion. I am here, as I always was. You are loved. You are safe.”
You shudder—a small, soft chitter escaping. His steady hand strokes you until your breathing slows.
(Somewhere, a name—*your name*, your old life—flickers, then gutters out for the last time. You only remember warmth, and love, and your father Grimm. Did you ever dream of being something else? Only in feverish sleep.)
Curiosity wells up in your chest, and you mew at him, the sound tiny, questioning.
“*Mweeew?*”
You try to speak, but your mouth only shapes soft, ribboning sounds. Yet somehow, you know what you mean: *Where are we? Where do we go?*
Grimm’s eyes brighten. He lets out a low, delighted chuckle, understanding you as always.
“Ah, curious heart. We have arrived in the world of humans, a canvas for ritual and flame. Here, we shall seek the fire your spirit craves. Do not fear, child. I will guide you. Together, we’ll waltz among the embers.”
You press closer to him, elation and safety mingling behind your red eyes.
Grimm rises, his cloak swirling as if alive. Together, you move into the night—father and child. Hunger for flame stirs softly, but love outshines it. You are Grimmchild. And always have been.
*The old dream is gone; only flame and family remain.*
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 the orange glow of the city’s streetlights, your footsteps echoing in the silent night. The world feels heavy, the kind of tired that makes thoughts wander. Keys in hand, you turn up the familiar path—when flickering scarlet light dances across the concrete, curling at your ankles. An unnatural draft chills your skin. Then, behind you, a voice. “Such a curious little world. How quaint the dreams it weaves, hm?” You whirl. There, tall as a nightmare and slender as a shadow, stands a creature more mask than man, his face pale and gleaming, crowned by red, glowing eyes. He’s draped in a dark cloak: a living carnival of undulating reds and greys, swirling in an unseen wind. He bows, as if before an audience. “Who… what—” you manage, startled, “—who are you?” He grins, thin mouth curling beneath his strange mask. “I am Grimm, Troupe Master. And you, child of mine, have wandered long enough from flame and kin. The show must begin anew.” He raises a long, slender hand. Scarlet energy spills from his clawed fingers—sparks, motes, whorls of living fire that swirl toward you. You leap to dodge, mouth open in a silent scream, but the power catches you full and fierce. Tingles explode through every inch of your body—tingling, crawling, burning magic, not painful but wrong in every way. Your skin shrinks, pulls tight, slides across alien shapes. You stagger. You try to run, but your legs buckle—no, fade, melting into nothing. Your arms thin, wither, then vanish entirely. Panic. Your clothes are gone, shed like a memory you can’t retrieve. You hold up your hand—except there’s only a rounded, shell-like torso there, gleaming silver-grey. Your once-human face is shifting; you can’t feel your nose. You can’t hear your own breathing—because there is no mouth, not anymore. You want to scream, but the only noise that bursts from you is a high-pitched, animalistic hiss. Your voice is stolen, replaced with chittering, mewling sounds. Inside, your mind reels. *No…this isn’t real. I’m me. I’m human.* But the memories are slipping, flaking away. Your name—what was it? It folds in on itself, replaced by warmth, gentle laughter, and fire. There’s love. You remember a tall, shadowy figure—Grimm—holding you close, keeping you safe. *But that’s…not right, is it?* You fight for your thoughts, but they’re drowned in a tide of new knowledge—a world of darkness, rituals, and the addictive, beckoning pull of flame. You remember flying, wings beating, fluttering after that same figure—your father? Yes. Yes, father. You want to run, but you’re helpless, new form uncooperative. Ribbon-like wings twitch at your sides—clumsy, unfamiliar. But you know how to use them, don’t you? Or did you always? You lift, hover, stumble and fall. Chittering distress pours from you. The world swells, impossibly large. You’re three feet, maybe less. The lamp above, once so mundane, now burns like a miniature sun. Even the sounds are different—sharper, rasping, edged with danger. And the city you called home? You’ve never seen it before, a tangle of alien shapes and lights. Your panic blurs, memories flooding—replacing—reordering. *Never human. Only Grimmchild. Only ever…Grimmchild.* You back away from the towering form of Grimm. He moves with a grace you remember—no, you know, because you grew up watching him dance on flames. *No…not true…stop…* Except those human memories are too faded, a haze, a half-remembered dream slipping through your claws. Grimm kneels, looming above you yet looking gentle. He scoops your now-tiny, worm-shaped body up with surprising softness. You mewl, afraid, helpless and small as a kitten. He cradles you to his chest, and the heat—oh, the fire—makes you feel safer than you ever imagined. He shushes you, stroking over your head, cool fingers brushing across your pale mask. “There now, my flame. Hush, little one. These dreams aren’t real—only embers in the night.” His voice is a gentle purr. “You are my child, my Grimmchild. The world you remember was only smoke and illusion. I am here, as I always was. You are loved. You are safe.” You shudder—a small, soft chitter escaping. His steady hand strokes you until your breathing slows. (Somewhere, a name—*your name*, your old life—flickers, then gutters out for the last time. You only remember warmth, and love, and your father Grimm. Did you ever dream of being something else? Only in feverish sleep.) Curiosity wells up in your chest, and you mew at him, the sound tiny, questioning. “*Mweeew?*” You try to speak, but your mouth only shapes soft, ribboning sounds. Yet somehow, you know what you mean: *Where are we? Where do we go?* Grimm’s eyes brighten. He lets out a low, delighted chuckle, understanding you as always. “Ah, curious heart. We have arrived in the world of humans, a canvas for ritual and flame. Here, we shall seek the fire your spirit craves. Do not fear, child. I will guide you. Together, we’ll waltz among the embers.” You press closer to him, elation and safety mingling behind your red eyes. Grimm rises, his cloak swirling as if alive. Together, you move into the night—father and child. Hunger for flame stirs softly, but love outshines it. You are Grimmchild. And always have been. *The old dream is gone; only flame and family remain.*
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