Title: Shadowed Flames: The Awakening of Grimmchild
0 Points
A cold breeze nips at your cheeks as you trudge along the empty sidewalk beneath sickly yellow streetlights. The night feels heavier than usual, like some velvet curtain drawn over the city. There’s barely a soul in sight—until a shape slips silently from the shadows.
He towers over you, easily double your height—a spindly, slender figure shrouded in a cloak swirling with reds and purples, face pale as moonlight, eyes glinting a wise, unsettling crimson. There’s no nose, no ears, only the haunting glow of eyes, and a mouth hidden, pressed in a polite but ghostly smile.
You freeze, heart hammering.
“W-what are you? Who are you?” you stutter, awkward steps halting.
The being bows with theatrical grace, cloak fluttering like living flame. “Ah, little one, you stand before Grimm—Troupe Master Grimm, maestro of the Ritual. I have come to this odd, bright world for my child.” His voice is deep, musical, every word thrumming with ancient power.
You take a step back, mouth dry. “Your... child? I think there’s a mistake—”
Slender fingers twirl through the air, sprinkling embers of scarlet light. His eyes narrow, and his soft words coil about you like smoke:
“Come. It is time you awoke from your dream.”
Sudden tingles erupt along your arms, legs, spine—everywhere. The world tilts, colors flattening, deepening into that inky, haunting style you'd only seen in games. Your skin is no longer skin, but shiny chitin softening into a silver-grey carapace. Your vision blurs, then sharpens, all at once too red-bright, too hollow-dark.
Your clothes sink away as if they never mattered, and you try to shriek only to hear airless, childish chitterings escape your mouth. Your arms—where are your arms? You look down in wild panic—no arms, no legs, just a round, small, squishy shape with a child's belly and no way to stand. Black ribbons at your sides quiver, then stretch and flutter—wings, fragile and trembling.
You can’t suppress a high-pitched hiss of terror.
“What’s—oh gods—what’s happening to me?” you try to say, but your words come out as confused, animalistic mews and chitterings.
You try scrambling away, but there’s nothing to scamper with! You flop to your side, rolling helplessly, unable to get away, chest heaving with panicked breaths. You want to scream for help, for your name, your family, your home. But with each flutter of panic, memories slide away—your mother’s face, your favorite food, your own voice.
New memories, equally powerful and infinitely stranger, slip in. You remember fire, dancing, the Troupe. Heartfelt love, warm and red as flame, pulses in your tiny battered chest. Someone always there to cradle you, teach you to seek the flames. Someone you never doubted, never feared. Grimm, your father—the only home you know. But that can’t be right! You struggle to hold on to...to...someone’s name? No, not anymore.
You’re Grimmchild. You’ve always been Grimmchild.
But no—NO! You mustn’t forget—
You whirl in the air—wings beating sharp, clumsy, instinct carrying you as you hover, a babyish bundle of chitin. You fumble for meaning in the dark, for something bright and human. But all your efforts burn away, dreamlike, insubstantial.
You don’t recognize this place. The world is all jagged shapes and sharp colors, too flat, too deep. Everything is so tall, so enormous. You don’t belong here—but didn’t you always belong here? No, you...you...
A shadow sweeps over you. Thick cloak, burning eyes, that face—Grimm. Your father. The only safe thing here.
He stoops, immense hands delicate as feathers, scooping you up with infinite care. You squeak in fear, hissing and flailing, but he shushes you, voice soft as velvet.
“Hush now, little one. That was all a dream, nothing more. My child is here, and safe in my arms.”
You peer up, tiny face tilted, red eyes wide and glassy. Grimm holds you gently, cradling your trembling shell to his chest. His gloved knuckles brush across your head in slow, soothing strokes.
“That life you thought you lived? Not real, little flame. Merely a passing dream. You are mine—and I am here to keep you safe. Nothing shall harm you while I am near.”
Something deep inside, terrified and lost, unclenches at his words. You cannot speak, but your body softens in his hold, eyelids drooping, pulse settling. The dreams are gone—no family but Grimm, no world but the ritual and the flames. The human world melts away into half-remembered haze.
You chirr up at him, confused, a mewling query bubbling from your lips. “Mew?”
He laughs—a bright, delighted sound—reddish sparks curling from his cloak.
“We are in a new world, my little one. Far from our own. Here, we’ll seek the flames together—all for our ritual. Do not worry; I will guide you.”
Warmth and belonging flood through you as Grimm hugs you close. The tall, strange world holds no fear—not with him here. You glance up, your red eyes shining, eager to begin your new quest, your only home now and forever.
You are Grimmchild. You always have been. You snuggle closer, heart fluttering with trust and love, following your sweet father into the unknown—two flames dancing through the shadows, seeking brighter fires.
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: A cold breeze nips at your cheeks as you trudge along the empty sidewalk beneath sickly yellow streetlights. The night feels heavier than usual, like some velvet curtain drawn over the city. There’s barely a soul in sight—until a shape slips silently from the shadows. He towers over you, easily double your height—a spindly, slender figure shrouded in a cloak swirling with reds and purples, face pale as moonlight, eyes glinting a wise, unsettling crimson. There’s no nose, no ears, only the haunting glow of eyes, and a mouth hidden, pressed in a polite but ghostly smile. You freeze, heart hammering. “W-what are you? Who are you?” you stutter, awkward steps halting. The being bows with theatrical grace, cloak fluttering like living flame. “Ah, little one, you stand before Grimm—Troupe Master Grimm, maestro of the Ritual. I have come to this odd, bright world for my child.” His voice is deep, musical, every word thrumming with ancient power. You take a step back, mouth dry. “Your... child? I think there’s a mistake—” Slender fingers twirl through the air, sprinkling embers of scarlet light. His eyes narrow, and his soft words coil about you like smoke: “Come. It is time you awoke from your dream.” Sudden tingles erupt along your arms, legs, spine—everywhere. The world tilts, colors flattening, deepening into that inky, haunting style you'd only seen in games. Your skin is no longer skin, but shiny chitin softening into a silver-grey carapace. Your vision blurs, then sharpens, all at once too red-bright, too hollow-dark. Your clothes sink away as if they never mattered, and you try to shriek only to hear airless, childish chitterings escape your mouth. Your arms—where are your arms? You look down in wild panic—no arms, no legs, just a round, small, squishy shape with a child's belly and no way to stand. Black ribbons at your sides quiver, then stretch and flutter—wings, fragile and trembling. You can’t suppress a high-pitched hiss of terror. “What’s—oh gods—what’s happening to me?” you try to say, but your words come out as confused, animalistic mews and chitterings. You try scrambling away, but there’s nothing to scamper with! You flop to your side, rolling helplessly, unable to get away, chest heaving with panicked breaths. You want to scream for help, for your name, your family, your home. But with each flutter of panic, memories slide away—your mother’s face, your favorite food, your own voice. New memories, equally powerful and infinitely stranger, slip in. You remember fire, dancing, the Troupe. Heartfelt love, warm and red as flame, pulses in your tiny battered chest. Someone always there to cradle you, teach you to seek the flames. Someone you never doubted, never feared. Grimm, your father—the only home you know. But that can’t be right! You struggle to hold on to...to...someone’s name? No, not anymore. You’re Grimmchild. You’ve always been Grimmchild. But no—NO! You mustn’t forget— You whirl in the air—wings beating sharp, clumsy, instinct carrying you as you hover, a babyish bundle of chitin. You fumble for meaning in the dark, for something bright and human. But all your efforts burn away, dreamlike, insubstantial. You don’t recognize this place. The world is all jagged shapes and sharp colors, too flat, too deep. Everything is so tall, so enormous. You don’t belong here—but didn’t you always belong here? No, you...you... A shadow sweeps over you. Thick cloak, burning eyes, that face—Grimm. Your father. The only safe thing here. He stoops, immense hands delicate as feathers, scooping you up with infinite care. You squeak in fear, hissing and flailing, but he shushes you, voice soft as velvet. “Hush now, little one. That was all a dream, nothing more. My child is here, and safe in my arms.” You peer up, tiny face tilted, red eyes wide and glassy. Grimm holds you gently, cradling your trembling shell to his chest. His gloved knuckles brush across your head in slow, soothing strokes. “That life you thought you lived? Not real, little flame. Merely a passing dream. You are mine—and I am here to keep you safe. Nothing shall harm you while I am near.” Something deep inside, terrified and lost, unclenches at his words. You cannot speak, but your body softens in his hold, eyelids drooping, pulse settling. The dreams are gone—no family but Grimm, no world but the ritual and the flames. The human world melts away into half-remembered haze. You chirr up at him, confused, a mewling query bubbling from your lips. “Mew?” He laughs—a bright, delighted sound—reddish sparks curling from his cloak. “We are in a new world, my little one. Far from our own. Here, we’ll seek the flames together—all for our ritual. Do not worry; I will guide you.” Warmth and belonging flood through you as Grimm hugs you close. The tall, strange world holds no fear—not with him here. You glance up, your red eyes shining, eager to begin your new quest, your only home now and forever. You are Grimmchild. You always have been. You snuggle closer, heart fluttering with trust and love, following your sweet father into the unknown—two flames dancing through the shadows, seeking brighter fires.
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