a nightmare

Ouch. Pain shot through my belly, sharp enough to jolt me awake. My eyes fluttered open to a blinding white room—sterile, cold, and unmistakably hospital-like. No, it *was* a hospital. I had an oxygen mask on, and—was that a feeding tube in me?

My mind was still foggy, a hangover of sorts from... what exactly? Shock, maybe? My body felt like a battlefield, and I let out a small whimper. That did the trick—before I knew it, a nurse rushed in. But the world was slipping again, and I was too weak to stay conscious. Darkness swallowed me whole.

The next time I woke, the room felt different. Warmer. Familiar voices hummed in the air, and I turned my head to see... Mom and Dad? Wait, *my* parents? My eyes focused, and I could finally see the worry etched into their faces. My mother's eyes were red-rimmed, teary, and the moment she saw me stir, she leaned closer, hands trembling.

"Mom?" I croaked, my voice raw and unsteady. Her lips quivered into a smile as she wrapped me in a gentle hug. Warm. For the first time in forever, I felt truly embraced, surrounded by something I hadn't realized I'd missed this much.

In that moment, it hit me—this was... a lot. Overwhelming, even. See, in my *other* life, I wasn't exactly deprived. I had good parents, solid siblings, the works. Yeah, being the middle child of five wasn't a walk in the park; attention was more of a ration than a right. I mean, with five kids, it's not like they had time for every scraped knee or broken toy. They had their *own* lives to live too, after all.

But this? This much affection, this much *attention*? It was almost too much.

Trapped in Two Lives (and No, It's Not as Fun as It Sounds)**

I had always thought life was pretty straightforward. You live, you eat, you sleep, you dream, and maybe you wake up having forgotten half of those dreams. My life was following that typical rhythm until it hit a slight bump. By "slight bump," I mean I fell into a coma for two months, completely derailing my family's sanity and leaving them utterly terrified.reason my Noor get activated before the common age that was 5 year at bare minimum yay I think I am a prodigy whatso ever it cause a lot of pain

Now, after I woke up, I thought, *Well, crisis averted! Time to get back to enjoying my toddler life!* And I did – for about ten days. Ten glorious days of blissful ignorance. But oh, how wrong I was.

One night, my mom put me to bed as usual. I settled in, thinking I'd wake up the next morning, ready to wreak my usual toddler havoc. Instead, the moment I drifted off, I opened my eyes to a new, mind-boggling reality: I was in the body of a newborn baby.

At first, I assumed I was dreaming. You know, one of those weird dreams where you're suddenly a flying squirrel or something. But no, this wasn't a dream. It was painfully, weirdly real. I could see and hear people around me, talking in their sweet baby voices, cooing and giggling at me. But here's the kicker—I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. Heck, I couldn't even control my limbs. It was like my soul had been stuffed inside this baby's body, and I was just along for the ride, with no control.

Devastation hit. Imagine reaching the ripe old age of two—*two!*—and then being thrown back into a newborn's body, unable to do anything but drool and squirm. Six months passed like this. Six. Long. Months. Trapped.

I thought this nightmare was my new reality, that I'd have to endure a second round of infancy (the first time wasn't exactly thrilling). But then, out of nowhere, a wave of pain surged through me. My vision went dark, and when I opened my eyes again, I was back. In my real body. In my real world. I had never been so happy to see my tiny hands.

I leaped out of bed, my heart racing. It had felt like six months had passed, but according to my very confused mother, I had only been asleep for one night. I chalked it up to a one-time freak event and tried to move on.

But it didn't stop.

Every. Single. Night. Whenever I fell asleep, I found myself back in that baby's body. And every time I was there, I lived through six whole months before waking up in my real body the next morning. My reality wasn't interrupted, except for the fact that I was growing increasingly tired, cranky, and mentally exhausted. Imagine living two lives—one as a two-year-old, the other as a toddler in someone else's body, with absolutely zero control.

Ten days have passed here in my world. Ten days of avoiding sleep like it's a plague. Meanwhile, over there, that baby is already five years old. I have no clue what's going on, but one thing is for sure: I'm trapped in a bizarre, dual-life nightmare.

And let me tell you, it's not nearly as fun as it sounds.

The Elf No One Loved**

Let me tell you something about the *other* life I'm trapped in. It's not some run-of-the-mill body-swapping fantasy where you wake up in a glamorous, powerful figure. No, the kid I inhabit? He's an elf, and yes, you'd think that means he's extraordinary. And sure, he's beautiful—unrealistically so. White hair that shimmered like snow under the moonlight, and light green eyes that could probably make the coldest heart melt. He's the kind of child that, if he just pouted a little, people would trip over themselves to make him smile.

At least, that's what *should* happen. But in his world, reality couldn't be further from that image.

In the beginning, I thought everyone adored him. I mean, how could they not? They acted like it, at least. But then, as days turned into weeks and I saw the hidden glances, the stiff politeness, the way people's smiles never reached their eyes, I realized the truth: they hated him. Hated him with a quiet intensity I couldn't quite understand at first.

It wasn't until I dug a little deeper into this life—into *his* life—that I figured it out. And man, what a classic, tragic backstory it was. I should've seen it coming.

In this world, there's this *rule*, this ironclad law about marriage. It's not just a social thing—it's tied into the magic that runs through their veins. No one, and I mean no one, can... you know... *be with someone* unless they're officially bound by marriage. And if they break this sacred rule? Well, let's just say the magic has a way of finding out, and the consequences are... severe. We're talking death here. No one cheats the system.

Now here's where things get complicated. The kid—the elf whose body I'm trapped in—is the result of one of those forbidden relationships. His parents? They broke the rule, and they paid the ultimate price. They died because of their lust and betrayal to their spouses, leaving him behind as a living reminder of their crime.

But it doesn't end there. Oh no, that would be too easy. See, he's got half-siblings. Legitimate, noble-born half-siblings who were born after *proper* marriages. And they hate him. It's like he's a stain on their family's perfect reputation, and they make sure he feels it. No one respects him. No one defends him. He's the kid everyone tries to forget about, except they can't, because his very existence is a constant reminder of everything they hate.

And the worst part? He knows it. He knows how they look at him, knows he doesn't belong, and that knowledge clings to him like a shadow. It makes every smile he gives feel fragile, like it could break at any moment. And me? I'm stuck inside this kid, watching it all unfold like some tragic play, powerless to do anything about it.

It's weird, though. Sometimes, I wonder if he can feel me there, trapped with him. Sometimes, it feels like he understands more than I give him credit for, like he's not just a character in this story I'm living out, but someone real. Someone fighting just as hard as I am to survive in a world that never wanted him to begin with.

**Title: The Elf and I (Now With Swordplay and Plant Magic)**

Days passed in my life as Lior—average toddler, juice-box enthusiast. But in the other world, as Orpheus, years were flying by, and boy, was he learning a lot. Not only could he control plants like a one-elf gardening crew, but now he'd picked up swordsmanship too. So here I was, a two-year-old in one life, and a magical, sword-wielding elf in another. Talk about range.

The thing is, as much as I wanted to show off my new plant powers and sword skills, I had to keep it all on the down-low. Because, let's be real, my parents would probably lose their minds if they caught me making flowers bloom or swinging around a plastic toy sword like a miniature warrior.

**Mom:** "Lior, why are you waving that stick around?"

**Me:** "Oh, no reason, just practicing my elvish sword forms!"

**Mom:** "...Put that down before you hurt yourself."

Yeah, not happening.

So, as much as I wanted to transform the garden into a magical jungle or challenge random houseplants to duels, I played it cool. I couldn't exactly bust out my swordsmanship and plant-bending skills without raising some serious questions.

But the upside? Whenever Orpheus trained, I got to wake up feeling like I'd had a crash course in sword-fighting without any of the effort. I'd catch myself making these super precise moves with sticks or toys, and it took all my willpower not to go full-on Elf warrior in the middle of playtime.

One day, though. One day, when no one's looking, I'm totally going to have an epic showdown between my sword-fighting skills and a very aggressive rose bush. Because what's the point of being a two-year-old sword-wielding plant master if you can't have a little fun with it?

**Title: The Elf and I (Trapped Inside a King)**

Days went by as Lior, your average two-year-old with a secret, while years flew by in my other life as Orpheus, the elf who had reached legendary status. By the time Orpheus hit 30, he wasn't just some sad, brooding elf anymore—oh no, he had become the greatest warrior mage of his entire continent. He had taken down countless enemies, outsmarted his rivals, and, in true dramatic fashion, defeated his own siblings to become king.

Now, here's where things get... frustrating.

You'd think that, being inside the body of the best warrior mage and king, I'd be living the dream, right? Wrong. See, while Orpheus was out there ruling kingdoms, I was still just *trapped* inside, unable to control a single thing. I could feel everything—his victories, his power, his mastery over plants and magic—but I couldn't do anything myself. It was like being stuck in the backseat of a car driven by someone else. Someone very talented, yes, but still, I wasn't in the driver's seat.

It was both incredible and infuriating. Orpheus could slice through enemies like they were butter, command armies, and make entire forests grow with a flick of his wrist, but I just had to sit there and watch it all happen like it was some bizarre live-action movie. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was cool, but come on—*I wanted a turn!*

Back in my world as Lior, none of Orpheus's skills were directly mine, not in the way you'd think. Sure, I knew everything he did, but I couldn't act on it. No sword fights, no magic displays, no commanding armies. The best I could do was try to keep my toddler life as normal as possible and hope that one day I'd figure out how to *actually* use all the cool things Orpheus learned.

It was like having the best abilities imaginable, but they were locked behind a door I couldn't open. So, while Orpheus sat on his throne, dealing with royal drama and powerful magic, I was still in my crib, hoping that one day I'd be able to stop just watching and finally take control of the adventure.

**Title: The Elf and I (When Things Get Real)**

Days passed in my regular life as Lior, stuck in the usual routine of toddler naps and snack time, while Orpheus's life as the all-powerful, plant-controlling warrior king went on in the background. I was still trapped, of course, just a passenger in the backseat of his incredible life. But then, one day, something *very* unexpected happened.

Orpheus was in the middle of a fight—no surprise there, he had a knack for attracting trouble. But this time, his opponent was a mage with mind-control abilities, which, as you can guess, meant things were about to get weird.

The mage locked eyes with Orpheus and started chanting something creepy. I could feel Orpheus's consciousness fading, like he was falling into some sort of trance. And then... it happened. Orpheus's mind went dark, and for the first time ever, *I* could control his body.

**Me:** "Wait... wait, YES! Finally!"

It was like suddenly having the keys to the coolest car in the world. And I wasn't going to waste this chance.

The mage, thinking his spell had worked, sneered and said, "Listen to me now…"

But oh, buddy, he had no idea who he was dealing with.

**Me:** *"Hahaha, you think I'll obey? You think I'll go to hell?"*

With that, I went absolutely *berserk*. It was like some primal, bloodthirsty beast had been let loose, and the mage had no clue what hit him. I attacked with the kind of fury you only get from being trapped for what feels like *forever*, and let me tell you, the mage was *horrified*. His smug look disappeared real quick as he stammered, "W-who are you?"

And I grinned like a maniac and yelled, "*Lior*! Not your dumb king!"

With one final strike, I killed him.

For a split second, there was this wild rush of power, of satisfaction, like I'd just claimed the ultimate victory. But then, almost as quickly as it started, reality came crashing down. The rush faded, and I looked at what I'd done. The body—*my* doing—lay motionless on the ground. This wasn't some movie scene or some distant memory I was watching. I had actually *done* it. I had taken a life.

I froze, the full weight of it sinking in. Murder wasn't some cool, detached action scene in Orpheus's world. It was real, and I had been the one to do it. Guilt hit me like a freight train. My hands—Orpheus's hands—were stained with blood, and I felt sick to my stomach.

**Me:** *"Oh no… what have I done?"*

I had seen Orpheus kill before, but watching it happen and actually doing it myself were worlds apart. I wasn't Orpheus. I wasn't a seasoned warrior or a hardened king. I was just… me. Lior. A two-year-old kid stuck in an elf's body who had just done something terrible.

And in that moment, I didn't feel like the king of anything. I felt like a monster.

The Elf and I (When Memories Strike)**

As I stood there, staring at the lifeless body of the mage I had just killed, the guilt was like a tidal wave, crashing over me in waves of shock and regret. My hands—Orpheus's hands—were still trembling, covered in blood. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. Killing had always been something distant, something Orpheus handled, not me. I was just along for the ride, watching from the sidelines. But now? Now I was the one who had swung the sword.

And then, just when I thought I couldn't handle any more, it hit me—a splitting, unbearable pain in my head. It was like someone had driven a spike through my skull. I doubled over, clutching my head, gasping for air. My vision blurred, and suddenly, I wasn't in Orpheus's body anymore. I wasn't even in his world.

I was back in my old life, in a room I hadn't seen in what felt like forever—*my* room. But something was horribly, terrifyingly wrong.

There was blood everywhere. The floor, the walls—it was like a nightmare. My heart pounded in my chest, the pain in my head intensifying as my gaze darted around the room. And then, I saw her.

My mother. Her body was lying there, motionless, in a pool of blood.

I stumbled backward, my breath catching in my throat. I wanted to scream, to move, to do *something*, but my body wouldn't listen. There were other corpses, too—people I didn't recognize, but they didn't matter. All I could see was my mother.

I fell to my knees, the pain in my head unbearable now, like my brain was being ripped apart by the memory. How could this be real? Was this my life before I was Lior? Before Orpheus?

The world around me spun, and I realized with horrifying clarity that this wasn't just some nightmare. This was a memory—a memory of *my* past life. A life I had long forgotten, a life I hadn't wanted to remember.

I could hear faint whispers, the sounds of screams echoing in my ears, and I felt paralyzed by fear and confusion. What had happened? Why was this memory resurfacing now? And more importantly, why had I forgotten something so *horrific*?

But before I could make sense of it, the memory started to fade, slipping away like smoke through my fingers. The pain in my head dulled, and I found myself back in Orpheus's body, standing over the mage's corpse.

But now, the guilt wasn't just about killing the mage. It was deeper. It was tied to something buried in my past, something I didn't understand. All I knew was that my world—both of them—had just become a lot darker.

The Elf and I (Awakening in Despair)**

The pain in my head became too much to bear. My vision went dark, and I lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was back in my own room, back as Lior. I felt disoriented, my body trembling uncontrollably. My heart was still racing, but now it was no longer the battle-induced adrenaline of Orpheus's life. It was raw, aching sorrow.

Without warning, the tears started. I couldn't stop them. They streamed down my face in heavy, uncontrollable waves. My tiny body shook with the intensity of my grief. I wasn't crying because I was a two-year-old and wanted something. I was crying because something deep inside me, something I had buried, had resurfaced with a vengeance.

My mother, hearing my cries, rushed to my side with a look of concern and surprise. Lior rarely cried—if ever—and seeing me in such distress was new for her.

**Mom:** "Lior, sweetheart, what's wrong? Why are you crying so much?"

But the more she tried to comfort me, the more I cried. It wasn't just sadness; it was guilt, a guilt so profound that no amount of maternal soothing could touch it. I felt as though I had failed not only Orpheus but also myself. The memory of my past life, the blood, the corpses—it all came crashing down, blending with the guilt of not saving my family.

**Me:** *"I—I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"*

My mother's soothing voice tried to calm me, but nothing could ease the pain gnawing at my heart. It wasn't just about the mage I had killed. It was about the life I had left behind, the family I had failed to protect. The image of my mother's lifeless body, the realization that I had never been able to save her or come to terms with the loss—these thoughts overwhelmed me.

**Mom:** "Lior, sweetheart, please, try to calm down. I'm here for you."

But the words didn't reach me. The weight of my past life's failure and the crushing reality of what I had done in Orpheus's body was too much. My cries filled the room, a cacophony of sorrow and regret. My heart ached with a guilt that went beyond the scope of a normal toddler's understanding.

I cried for what felt like hours. My mother held me close, whispering soothing words, but it was clear that my pain was too deep for mere consolation. I was grappling with the echoes of a past life that I could barely comprehend, let alone explain.

In that moment, I wasn't just Lior. I was someone who had lived through unimaginable loss, someone who had failed to protect those they loved. And the weight of that guilt was something no amount of comfort could easily dispel.