In a hidden valley surrounded by ancient woods, two women stood at the edge of a shimmering lake. The first, tall and graceful, had eyes that mirrored the moonlit sky. Her name was Lysandra, and she was a master of the ancient arts of transformation. Beside her, her companion Elara, with raven-black hair flowing like the night, was her student, eager to learn the mysteries of the craft.
With a whispered incantation, Lysandra raised her hands toward the sky, calling on the magic that lay beyond the veil. The air shimmered around them, and a soft, ethereal glow enveloped Elara. The transformation began. Elara’s limbs stretched, her form reshaping, as her skin turned white as snow, feathers sprouting from her body. Within moments, she was no longer human, but a majestic swan, gliding silently across the water, her wings cutting through the lake’s glassy surface with effortless grace.
Lysandra smiled, watching her friend embrace the magic, but then, her eyes glowed brighter, and she whispered another incantation. The swan’s form began to shift again, this time melting into the shimmering mist that rose from the lake. Slowly, the mist condensed into the figure of a single girl—Elara, but younger, as if she had never grown into the woman she once was. She was no longer the swan, nor the adult she had been. Instead, she was a girl of about ten, with the same raven hair and deep, knowing eyes, yet untouched by time and age.
The magic had not only transformed her body, but it had altered the essence of who she was, intertwining her with the mysterious forces of the lake. Lysandra looked at the girl, a quiet satisfaction filling her heart. Both had been part of something timeless, and now, in this moment, they were something entirely new.
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