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Roland de Laurens always knew he was strength and authority. His muscular frame and noble name commanded respect and fear from all the courtiers. Though in reality his "heroic" deeds rarely extended beyond capturing bandits on the royal road, his confidence seemed boundless.

Today, at yet another royal reception, he decided to remind everyone of his presence once again. Step by step, he proudly strode past the courtiers, nodding to those who bowed, and ignoring those who dared not notice him—he basked in the attention, and it was obvious to everyone, though most of them didn’t particularly like him but were too afraid to speak against him, fearing his immense strength. His eyes sparkled with self-satisfaction as he noticed Arkanius, the court magician, sitting in the shadows in the far corner of the hall.

“Arkanius!” he bellowed, deciding to mock the mage once more. “Hiding in the corner again? You should spend more time training with a sword instead of playing with sparks!” he added, his voice booming through the hall.

The courtiers laughed obsequiously at the royal knight’s joke, and Roland, smirking, took a step forward, puffing out his chest dramatically. As usual, his arrogance was on full display.

At that moment, Arkanius felt the fury boiling inside him. 'This fool… How dare he?! The power of magic is no joke,' he thought, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Only years of self-control allowed him to hide his true emotions. Slowly, he raised his eyes to Roland, his face remaining calm and even slightly amused, but inside, his mind was ablaze with anger.

'Insignificant upstart… You have no idea who you're dealing with. But I will teach you respect,' Arkanius calmly inhaled and spoke aloud:

“Power, my friend,” his voice was so soft and calm that it could be mistaken for a gentle reproach, “is not always what is visible on the surface.”

Roland paid no attention to these words, thinking the mage was just trying to wiggle out of the situation, and, as always, laughed loudly in response. But Arkanius merely smiled slyly. His lips moved slightly, whispering the words of an ancient spell that no one could hear. He leaned back in his chair, watching as the magical forces slowly began to take effect.

Roland was still laughing, continuing his tirade, unaware that his voice had become a bit higher than usual. His shirt, which had always fit snugly on his powerful shoulders, now seemed too loose. He felt the fabric hang loosely around his chest but chalked it up to simply relaxing.

His pants suddenly hung awkwardly around his waist, and the legs, which once hugged his muscular thighs, now flapped loosely as if they were on a man of much smaller stature. Roland frowned, glancing at his clothing, and thought, 'What the…?' He looked around, but for now, no one seemed to notice.

But then, a murmur swept through the hall, and Roland noticed that the arm he had extended in mockery appeared thinner than usual. 'Is this some kind of joke?' the thought flashed as his fingers became more delicate, almost like a woman’s, and his skin began to take on a strange greenish tint.

Roland froze. His gaze ran over his arm—the greenish hue continued to spread, his fingers turned slender, his palms smaller, and his wrists scrawny. He looked around at the onlookers, hoping to see the usual fear or at least respect in their eyes, but instead, he was met with surprise and even barely concealed horror. The murmuring in the hall grew louder, and the courtiers began exchanging significant glances.

He tried to adjust his shirt, but as his fingers touched the fabric, it seemed to transform along with him. The sleeves, once large, now oddly tightened around his thinning arms, and around his waist, the shirt began to shift into something more akin to a corset.

“What the…” he muttered under his breath, hearing how his voice had turned… more nasal? He didn’t finish the sentence, as his pants, which had been hanging loosely around his waist just a minute ago, suddenly tightened, transforming into something much more form-fitting. The fabric of one pant leg, now resembling part of a woman’s stocking, squeezed his thigh, and Roland felt the material creeping upward, exposing his legs.

Roland froze, feeling something swell in his chest, as if expanding from the inside. He looked down and grabbed at the new mounds, which grew larger, filling his now tiny, green hands with soft flesh. His gaze dropped to the shape his figure was taking—feminine curves becoming more defined, and in his hands was the unmistakable sensation of softness and unfamiliar volume. He tried to speak again, but his voice shot up even higher.

“What da heck?! Dis your doing?! You… you make me like dis! No! No-no, me no be like dis! Me strong, gnight, not dis… not dis ting!” Roland desperately grabbed at his altered form, his hands trembling. 'What da hell? Why me talk like stupid goblin?!' Roland tried to straighten up again, attempting to adopt his usual proud stance, but his new body resisted—his shoulders felt too narrow, and his chest weighed heavily, pulling him down. He felt his small, clawed fingers nervously clutching the tight uniform that had replaced his former armor.

“I gnight! Me… strong!” He froze, hearing how his new voice came out shrill, almost breaking into a squeal. Quiet laughter filled the hall, and Roland felt his face flush with humiliation. ‘Why the hell are they laughing at me?!’

He looked at Arkanius, who was watching him with an icy smile.

“Oh, Roland… or should I call you Rolanda?” Arkanius drawled, his voice dripping with cold mockery. He stood up from his seat, stepping closer to get a better look at the result of his spell. “No, that name’s too noble for a girl like you,” Arkanius continued, stepping even closer. He looked over Roland’s transformed body, slowly smiling. “I think you’re more like… Rolly. Rolly Whinegob.”

“No!” he screeched, his voice sounding more like a whine now. “Me no be dis… dis Rolly! Me gnight! Strong gnight! Me go to king! He can fix me! King no let dis happen!”

She looked around, hoping to see support, but the courtiers either avoided her gaze or chuckled.

“The king?” Arkanius drawled, his voice laced with ridicule. “You really think the king will receive you like this, Rolly? You’re no longer a knight… I don’t even know what you are. Goblins aren’t usually welcome at court,” he sneered, savoring each word.

Rolly clenched her clawed fingers, struggling to contain her rising anger. She saw how the courtiers, instead of the fear and respect she was used to commanding, now only laughed and whispered among themselves. ‘They’re laughing at me! I’ll show them when I get my body back!’

“No!” Rolly shrieked again, her voice breaking into a high-pitched squeal. “King must hear me! Me no be stupid goblin! Me Roland de Laurens!” But even her own words didn’t sound convincing. She turned and marched toward the exit of the hall, feeling her new chest bounce clumsily as she tried to maintain her dignity, taking quick, small steps.

“Oh, how cute she walks,” someone whispered mockingly from the crowd, causing another burst of giggling.

Arkanius, watching Rolly’s departure, couldn’t resist one last biting remark, which sent the court into another wave of laughter:

“Oh, Rolly, don’t forget to grab a broom on your way out. Maybe the kitchen could use a new helper.”

Rolly only quickened her pace, feeling how her new body moved awkwardly and clumsily. She stormed out of the hall, her tiny legs carrying her quickly down the corridor. She barely held back her anger, suppressing the humiliation boiling inside her. All her thoughts now were focused solely on getting to the king and forcing him to set things right.

However, her path was short. The very first guard she encountered stopped her immediately. He was a large man clad in full armor, his face hidden behind an iron mask, but in his eyes, Rolly saw clear disdain.

“What are you doing here, goblin?” the guard asked sternly, glaring down at her. “You don’t belong in the royal palace. How did you get in here?”

Rolly had to tilt her head up to look at him, her face contorted into a haughty smirk she used to show her superiority to those she considered beneath her. She tried, as much as her tiny frame allowed, to adopt a lofty posture. Her clawed hands jerked in a gesture meant to convey arrogance, though it looked more comical than intimidating.

“You no know who you talkin’ to!” she squealed, her voice shrill and nasal. “Me no be goblin! Me be great gnight Roland de Laurens! You let me pass!”

The guard only frowned at her, his metal helmet creaking slightly under the strain.

“A knight, you say?” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “You look more like a goblin spawn that somehow sneaked in here. We don’t let your kind wander the palace. To the dungeon, and immediately!”

He grabbed Rolly by the shoulder, and her tiny hand feebly twitched in a vain attempt to break free.

“No! Me no be goblin! Me be gnight!” Rolly screeched, her voice again rising into a high-pitched squeal. “Let me go! You regret dis!” But her protests sounded even more pathetic than she looked.

The guard didn’t even bother to respond. He simply jerked Rolly by the shoulder and began leading her toward the dungeons.

“You don’t belong in this palace,” he said, not looking back. “The king doesn’t need goblins among his guests.”

Rolly struggled, continued to squeal and threaten, but it was useless—she was too small and too weak.

“You makin’ big mistake!” she yelled, but her voice broke into a nasal whine again, which only made the guard smirk in amusement.

Rolly tried to break free from the guard’s grip, but her tiny, clawed fingers merely slid uselessly across his armor. Screeching and grinding her teeth, she was powerless to change anything. He easily dragged her to the dungeon and tossed her inside like a sack of unwanted goods. The cell door slammed shut with a loud clang, leaving her alone in the darkness, but for Rolly, that wasn’t a problem. Her new goblin eyes saw everything clearly, as if it were daylight.

There were already a few creatures in the cell. In the corner sat a filthy, ragged vagrant with cloudy eyes, and another prisoner lay against the wall—a man with cracked lips and a cruel look in his eyes. His gaze immediately locked onto Rolly, and he grinned.

“Hey, look! Fresh meat!” the man laughed, and his companion also turned his attention to the goblin girl. “Come here, little one. We’ll keep you warm.”

Standing in the cell, she clenched her fists angrily, feeling her entire body filling with rage and humiliation. Her goblin eyes easily pierced the darkness, picking out the details of the filthy walls and the debris-strewn floor of the cell. Despite her anger, she suddenly felt a strange tension in her hands, as if they were starting to move on their own. Her clawed fingers reached out involuntarily to the dirty surfaces, and Rolly suddenly caught herself beginning to pick up trash and trying to tidy up.

“No!” she shrieked, trying to stop her hands, which were already methodically wiping dust off the nearest stone. “What da heck?! Me no be servant!”

But her fingers seemed to ignore her mind’s commands, continuing to scrape across the stone walls of the dungeon. Meanwhile, the men sitting in the corner began to smirk, watching her actions.

“Look at that, she’s decided to clean up the place!” one of them laughed, striding over to Rolly and grabbing her from behind. He seized her new chest roughly, squeezing her transformed body, making her squeal, while the other man chuckled hoarsely.

“What a sweetie! You cleanin’ for us, lil’ miss?” the other taunted, reaching for her from the other side, trying to grab her by the hip.

“Get hands off!” Rolly squealed shrilly, trying to break free, but her hands kept on mindlessly sweeping the dirt from the floor. “No! Me no be… dis stupid cleanin’!” Rolly screamed, but her voice broke into a high-pitched shriek again, which only provoked another burst of laughter.

She felt something awaken deep inside her, and suddenly a sweet, sticky scent of flowers erupted from her small body, filling the dark space of the cell.

“What is this…” one of the men froze, his face contorting in confusion at the unexpected aroma. They all stopped, stunned by what was happening.

The floral scent not only filled the cell, but it also triggered strange behavior in Rolly herself. Her lips involuntarily stretched into a foolish, cheerful smile. She felt her voice, under the control of the new magic, begin to sing a soft, sweet song—one completely at odds with her current state of fury and humiliation.

Rolly, trembling from rage and shame, started singing in her nasally goblin tongue, her song sounding like a twisted children’s rhyme, but with a sharp, screeching tone:

Sittin’ in dark, dark cell,

Flow’rs smell nice, but room smells hell,

Me no be servant, no, no be,

But hands o’ mine still cleanin’ thee!

Me was strong, gnight so bold,

But now small goblin, weak, an’ cold,

Singin’ songs me no can stand,

No! Must run, flee from this land!

Flow’r smell here, float all ’round,

Make Rolly clean, scrubbin’ ground,

Me no be maid, no, me hate!

But here me sing, though wish me wait!

She kept singing, her face frozen in an unnatural smile, while her legs and arms continued to methodically clean the dungeon floor. The men in the cell couldn’t hold back their laughter.

“Oh, she smells like a flower and sings like a bird!” one of them roared with laughter.

“What kind of disgrace is this?” a rough but clear voice cut through the laughter from the far corner of the cell, silencing the prisoners. The three men froze, glancing toward the source of the sound. Even Rolly, struggling against her own body, involuntarily turned her head in its direction.

On a filthy bench, leaning against the wall, sat a massive orc with a grim expression. His green skin was marred by scars, and his eyes bore into them with a gaze full of contempt and cold calculation. Against his hulking frame, even the men who had just been harassing Rolly seemed small and pitiful. The orc rose slowly, his movements deliberate but brimming with hidden strength.

“I thought this place couldn’t get any worse,” he continued, taking a few steps forward. “And now there’s a singing goblin… of all things.” His words carried an unmistakable threat. He approached Rolly, looking her over from head to toe, and then suddenly grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, spinning her around to face him.

“What’s your name, flower?” he asked, his voice a low whisper despite his massive size. The men behind him tensed. Even they knew that messing with an orc was a terrible idea, but they were too scared to admit it aloud.

“Ro… Rol… Roland,” she bleated out, trembling from rage and humiliation, but her voice sounded so shrill and pathetic that no one had any doubt—they were looking at a worthless goblin, not a proud knight. Her lips were still twisted in that idiotic grin, and her fingers twitched as they continued to pick up bits of dirt from the floor.

The orc lazily raised an eyebrow, staring at her scrawny body, which still emitted a faint floral scent.

“Roland, is it?” he repeated slowly, peering intently at the small green creature.

“Her name’s Rolly Whinegob,” came a sudden serious voice from afar. At first, no one understood who had spoken, but then Arkanius stepped out of the shadows, calm and smug, as if he had expected to see exactly this spectacle.

“You!” Rolly screeched, her voice breaking into a shrill squeak. She instantly felt a surge of rage overwhelm her once more. “It’s you! I knew dis be your doing! You fix dis right now, cursed mage! I show you who—” but her tirade was cut short as Arkanius merely raised an eyebrow mockingly and waved his hand dismissively, as if swatting away an annoying fly.

“Fix it?” he drawled, his voice soft yet dripping with such derision that everyone in the dungeon tensed. “Oh, Rolly… Do you think I’ll do that just because you demand it?” He shook his head slowly, like a parent scolding a petulant child. “First, you’ll learn respect.”

Rolly trembled, her tiny clawed fingers clenched even tighter around the bits of dirt on the floor. She tried to stand tall, but her new figure was nowhere near as strong or steady as before. Arkanius slowly approached the bars, leaning down over the little goblin girl, his gaze predatory as it bore into her face.

“You’re just a simple goblin girl who thinks she’s important. And now, Rolly, you’ll learn what it means to be nobody. And you know what? They don’t want creatures like you around here, but I can arrange for you to stay in the castle,” Arkanius finished, a dangerous, sinister smile flashing in his eyes. Rolly didn’t know what exactly he had planned, but she instinctively felt it would be something humiliating and cruel. The goblin girl struggled to maintain whatever scraps of dignity she had left, though her ridiculous appearance likely evoked nothing but laughter.

“I… I not be…” she began, trying to regain some composure, but her voice once again betrayed her, breaking into a squeal. “You… I make you regret dis!”

Arkanius smirked and turned away.

“Well then, I’ll leave, and you’ll probably be thrown out onto the streets like any common goblin, or locked up here forever,” he said coldly, approaching the cell door.

“Wait!” came a piercing goblin shriek, echoing through the cell.

Arkanius slowly paused, his fingers brushing against the doorframe. He didn’t turn around but allowed himself a small, barely perceptible nod—a gesture that made it clear he was willing to listen… but nothing more. Rolly, feeling her body burning with shame, struggled to find the right words. ‘He won’t leave, I won’t let him leave! I’ll make him pay!’ the thoughts whirled desperately in her mind, but reality was far more brutal. She knew: her new appearance and weak form inspired no fear in anyone. Her pitiful state only provoked mockery, and those “abilities”...

“Wait… please,” she finally bleated out, barely audible, her voice trembling and almost lost amidst the jeers of the prisoners. Inside, everything twisted in disgust at herself. Just a few hours ago, she had been a mighty knight, and now she was forced to beg the very one she considered beneath her.

Arkanius slowly turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze coldly and appraisingly swept over Rolly’s tiny goblin body. Then, moving slowly as if savoring every step, he approached the bars and, leaning down, looked her directly in the eyes.

“Please?” he repeated softly, as if surprised that such a word could even escape her lips. “You want me to help you?”

Rolly, struggling to suppress the urge to scream again, nodded.

“Yes…” she whispered, lowering her gaze, feeling rage and humiliation swirl within her. “I… I’ll do what you say. Just… turn me back.”

The words were so quiet that Arkanius leaned in closer, as if not quite believing his ears. But then his face lit up with a satisfied smile—the smile of a victor who had broken his enemy without a single blow.

“Is that so…” he drawled, his voice so gentle it seemed he was speaking to a beloved child. “You know, Rolly, I like this humility of yours. You’ve finally realized your place. But…” his eyes narrowed, and a cold gleam shone in them, “I think one ‘please’ isn’t enough.”

Rolly gritted her teeth, staring straight at him. She could tell the mage was just toying with her, drawing it out, savoring her despair. But there was no way out.

“What… what do you want?” she managed to force out, trying to keep her voice steady.

Arkanius tilted his head slightly, his smile widening.

“I want you to acknowledge your place…” his grin stretched even wider, almost splitting his face, “to admit that you are no knight, no proud warrior, but just a pathetic, worthless goblin girl, whose place…” his eyes gleamed with pleasure, “is groveling in the dirt.”

Rolly gasped with rage, her claws digging so deep into her palms that drops of blood splattered onto the filthy floor. She glanced at the sneering prisoners, who watched her desperate situation with twisted anticipation. To say such a thing… to admit it… She’d rather die!

But the thought of what awaited her if she refused flashed through her mind. Left here, among these scum, becoming the object of mockery and abuse—all because she couldn’t swallow her pride. Her body trembled, eyes burning with hatred, but she still lifted her gaze to meet Arkanius’.

“I… I…” she whispered, feeling the words tear her apart from the inside. Her voice broke into a high-pitched squeak, but she forced herself to continue. “I… am a worthless… goblin girl…”

Each word was agony, and the prisoners’ laughter echoed through the cell. The men exchanged glances, pointing at her, and one even laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. Arkanius, watching her torment, merely narrowed his eyes, nodding in satisfaction.

“Go on,” he encouraged her, his voice sweet as poison. “Louder, Rolly. Let everyone know that you…” he paused, staring directly into her eyes, “are a pathetic, worthless creature.”

Rolly took a sharp breath, her small goblin body shaking with rage. She wanted to scream, to throw herself at him, but what could she do in this form? She lowered her gaze, the stupid floral scent from her own body filling her nostrils again. The prisoners’ laughter rang in her ears. She raised her head and, without looking at Arkanius, shouted:

“I am a pathetic goblin wench! My place is cleaning in the dirt!” She screamed, trying to drown out their jeers, but every word only made her sound more pitiful and powerless. “I… I’m worthless and… I’ll do whatever you say! Just… just help me!”

The prisoners erupted into laughter. One even started clapping, while another bent over, pounding his fists on the floor. Arkanius only chuckled softly, his eyes glowing with predatory triumph.

“Excellent, Rolly, excellent,” he murmured, his voice dripping with poisonous sweetness. “You understand now. But I’m afraid you’ll have to prove it… through action.”

With those words, he snapped his fingers, and the cell door swung open.

“Prove… through action?” Rolly whimpered, feeling her body trembling involuntarily with fear. She glanced at the grinning prisoners and then back at Arkanius. His eyes gleamed with mockery, but behind it lay a cruel determination. He definitely had something in mind.

“Yes, Rolly,” the mage drawled, his voice soft as silk, but every word tinged with venom. “You’ll be useful… at least in the kitchen. You’ll be taken there now. And then… if you’re obedient, I might consider restoring you to your former self.”

Rolly trudged along the corridor, still seething with rage and humiliation, her head lowered, though her lips involuntarily kept trying to stretch into that idiotic smile. The guard led her confidently, his face set in an indifferent expression, as if it was just another day at work—escorting yet another insignificant offender to their new place of duty. The court mage Arkanius had left, practically chuckling to himself when they exited the dungeon, while Rolly, gritting her teeth, silently followed her guard, feeling waves of impotent fury course through every cell of her body.

“Move it, goblin!” he barked as he noticed Rolly slowing down.

Her tiny legs nearly tangled in the hem of her short skirt, and she stumbled awkwardly, almost falling. Barely managing to stay on her feet, Rolly lifted her head, trying to maintain whatever scraps of dignity she had left. But even now, just walking down the corridor with the guard toward the kitchen, she couldn’t help but notice every little thing that demanded her new attention. She felt her fingers twitch involuntarily, eager to tidy up or polish something until it shone.

They passed through the castle’s long hallways until, finally, they stopped in front of a massive set of doors, from behind which came the muffled sounds of conversations and the clatter of pots and pans. Rolly clenched her hands, feeling a wave of panic rising within her. “The kitchen… The royal kitchen! I, Roland de Laurens, knight of the kingdom, the best swordsman in His Majesty’s service—reduced to some kitchen goblin?! No… I won’t let this continue! I have to see the king!” she thought furiously, trying to fight the mounting tension inside. But what choice did she have? This guard wouldn’t listen to her and simply followed the orders of the court mage. “That idiot just doesn’t know who I am, that’s why he’s treating me like this!”

“In you go,” the guard snapped curtly, giving her a slight shove forward.

The doors creaked open, and Rolly stepped into a noisy, aroma-filled room. Cooks and servants bustled about, pans clanged, assistants darted back and forth with trays, and something delicious-smelling sizzled by the huge fireplace. Her tiny nostrils flared, taking in the rich aromas—and to her horror, she felt something inside her twist. No, it wasn’t hunger, it was something… else. Her clawed fingers twitched involuntarily, as if they wanted to grab the nearest pot.

“No, I won’t give in! I’m not… I’m not going to cook!” Rolly thought desperately, battling with herself.

For a moment, the kitchen fell silent as everyone turned, staring at her strange entrance. But, contrary to Rolly’s expectations, no one laughed. Most of them didn’t even make any sudden movements, merely exchanging quick glances, as if they already knew who she was… and who she had been.

“Do they already know?” her thoughts raced, but she had no time to ponder.

“Is that him—uh, I mean, her?” one of the cooks whispered, covering her mouth with her hand, but then quickly looked away, as if afraid to meet Rolly’s sharp green gaze.

“Yes, that’s… but don’t mention it…” another murmured, nodding subtly.

Only one of the kitchen maids, a young girl with bright red hair, seemed oblivious to the entire situation. Staring at the green goblin girl in her ridiculous uniform, she frowned openly, not bothering to hide her disapproval.

“What is this monstrosity?!” the red-haired maid shouted, her eyes sweeping over Rolly with open disdain. “Some goblin wandered onto the royal kitchen floor? This is a disgrace! Who let her in here?” She stepped closer, eyeing the goblin girl up and down, squinting. “Hey, you, little green runt, what are you doing here? Your place is in the pigsty! Go on, get out before I call the guard to throw you out!”

Rolly, feeling a fresh surge of anger, jerked her head up and squared her shoulders, trying to cling to whatever shred of dignity she had left. Her tiny hands shook with fury, but then her gaze caught sight of the pots standing nearby. Her lips involuntarily started to curl into that foolish smile again. And inside, as if on command, that sweet, cloying scent of flowers flared up, and she felt the horrifying urge to hum softly.

“N-no… no, no-no-no!” she muttered through clenched teeth, but the scent continued to spread, and her hands, as if guided by some external force, reached out to the nearest table. Her fingers seized a ladle, and before she knew what was happening, Rolly was already setting a pot in front of her, ladling broth and mechanically adding spices.

“W-what the…?” the same girl exclaimed, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?!”

“Not… not me doin’ dis…” Rolly whimpered pitifully, but her body was completely in control. Her fingers deftly chopped herbs, the knife flashing in her hands, and she began to hum softly, sweetly, in her nasally goblin tongue:

Oh, broth in the pot, it bubbles and brews,

Spices go in, and green herbs too,

Ladle, butter, salt, in we go,

Cookin’ meal… though it pains me so!

Her voice rose higher, and the floral scent intensified, filling the entire kitchen. The cooks, maids, and even a few palace servants standing in the doorway froze, stunned by the sight. Despite the awkward shape of her clawed hands, they moved with astonishing grace. Within minutes, several dishes steamed on the table—a soup, an aromatic roast, and a dessert sauce, all emitting a mouthwatering fragrance.

Rolly, despite all her efforts, continued to cook, singing those idiotic children’s rhymes, her lips stretched into a foolish, happy smile. Tears of helplessness and shame welled up in her eyes, but she couldn’t stop.

“Who is she?!” the red-haired maid exclaimed, and now even the other cooks and servants, though silent, began exchanging glances.

“Oh, she’s…” one of the cooks stammered quickly, trying to calm the redhead down. “She’s… um, a special… new helper. Just… don’t touch her while she’s working.”

“D-don’t touch her?!” the girl’s eyes flashed angrily. “She’s just some goblin! Look at her, cooking like a madwoman!”

“Yes, but… she’s… Arkanius’s order,” another cook whispered, casting anxious glances at Rolly. “Better not get involved.”

“What the…?” the red-haired maid scowled but froze as the sweet scent hit her nose. “What is this ridiculous flowery smell…?”

Meanwhile, Rolly, oblivious to their arguments, continued moving. Her hands flitted over the table, adding the finishing touches, and then, at the end, she suddenly picked up a tray with the freshly prepared dishes and carefully set it down on the table.

“Bon appétit,” she whispered softly, her voice barely audible, and then came that quiet, foolish giggle again.

The kitchen fell silent, and in that moment, Rolly realized that her face was once more stretched into that idiotic, happy grin, and strange, rhythmic melodies were playing in her head, ones she couldn’t seem to stop.

“Damn it, what is… why… why do I like this?!” she began to realize, feeling a twisted sense of pride and satisfaction at the work she had done.

…

Days, then weeks passed since Roland, the kingdom’s knight, had been transformed into the pathetic goblin girl Rolly, her place now at the very bottom of the castle’s hierarchy. Her new life seemed like a cruel mockery of who she once was.

At first, Rolly tried to fight it—whenever she spotted dust on the floor or a dried stain on the wall, she would furiously clench her clawed hands into fists, trying to suppress the urge to clean. But despite her resistance, a stronger desire always welled up inside her, overpowering her will. She’d try to walk past, but upon noticing yet another filthy surface, she would eventually snap, trembling with rage, and begin to methodically scrub every inch, letting out faint, angry hisses as she worked. She loathed these urges, but the more she struggled, the more her hands, as if enchanted, reached out for the dirt. As soon as her claws touched the grime, magic would flood her limbs, and with each motion, they moved faster and faster, leaving behind a spotless, gleaming surface. Even the most stubborn stains vanished in an instant, and despite all her fury, a strange sense of satisfaction stirred in her chest each time.

‘No, I’m not a servant… I’m a knight!’ she hissed to herself, but her hands, heedless of her inner protests, worked with monstrous efficiency.

But that wasn’t the extent of her torment. She quickly discovered that in the kitchen, her magic held even greater sway. The moment she touched a knife or a pot, her body would fall into a trance-like state, her eyes would glaze over slightly, and her voice would rise into a soft, sweet melody—entirely out of place for her situation. And with every culinary masterpiece she created, it only fueled more ridicule from the courtiers.

“Well, Rolly, how’s our head chef today?” the servants would ask from time to time, watching as her tiny green hands deftly moved over yet another dish. And though everyone knew who she once was, it didn’t stop some of the bolder ones from showing off to others, making sure to highlight that she was just a lowly goblin girl now, not Roland—after all, not everyone had witnessed the transformation, and rumors swirled about who she really was.

Some claimed she was a disgraced maid, others whispered that she was an impish creature punished for daring to defy the mage. A few even thought she was a trickster spirit, caught and bound to the castle kitchens. Whatever they believed, the story of a once-proud knight turned into a menial goblin maid was too far-fetched for most to accept at face value. But to those who had known the fearsome Roland, watching her reduced to a hapless, grinning goblin girl, humming and cooking with an unnatural enthusiasm, was proof enough that the rumors held a bitter truth.

The scent of flowers, which she unconsciously exuded, filled the kitchen, and her face would stretch into that idiotic smile as she, like some kind of automaton, conjured up culinary wonders. And that was the most horrifying part for her—each time she finished cooking or cleaning, a wave of pride and satisfaction would well up in her chest, as if she genuinely enjoyed this new, degrading role. She hated the feeling, but it grew stronger with each passing day.

…

A few weeks later, when the rumors of her bizarre transformation had spread beyond the castle walls, Rolly was summoned to meet with a representative of the king. She dared to hope that this was finally a chance to set things right, that once the king saw her, he would immediately restore her former appearance and position. Desperate pleas echoed in her mind: “The king will understand! He won’t allow such foolishness, he won’t leave me in this pathetic form!”

But when the door opened, her hopes crumbled.

It wasn’t the king who entered the chamber, but his advisor—a gaunt, haughty man with cold, calculating eyes. He regarded her silently, then sniffed disdainfully as if repulsed by her lingering floral scent.

“So, Roland,” he drawled sarcastically, “or should I say… Rolly. Our great knight turned into a puny goblin. Do you realize just how… inconvenient this is for the kingdom?”

“Me… me not… gno—” Rolly began, her voice breaking into a pitiful whine. “Me no be… goblin girl! Me be Roland de Laurens! You change me back, me… me demand to see king!” She straightened up as much as she could, trying to project confidence, but her small goblin form inspired no respect from anyone.

The advisor smirked coldly, and Rolly noticed Arkanius watching from a distance. By now, she understood all too well that the mage had tricked everyone, making them believe it was her fault—that she had eaten something at the banquet that turned her into this. The blame had been pinned squarely on her shoulders, and the mage’s tale made her transformation seem like a consequence of her own foolishness.

“To the king? Do you really think His Majesty would lower himself to meet with… a creature like you? No, you’re mistaken,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your family is well aware of what has happened, but… even they prefer to leave things as they are. Not a single one of them wants to be associated with… a being like you.”

“N-NO!” Rolly wailed, her shrill voice echoing in the chamber. “Me… fam’ly? They no… no want me?!” She felt her world collapse around her. Her own family?! The ones who had always supported her, who had been proud of her knightly deeds—they had turned their backs on her?

The advisor, watching her despair, merely inclined his head slightly.

“They cannot allow anyone to know of this disgrace. So you… will remain here. You will serve, cook, clean… If you manage to endure, perhaps the king might consider making you… something like a court curiosity. A little goblin servant, fetching and carrying.”

Rolly trembled, her clawed fingers nervously scratching at the hem of her uniform.

“N-no… me no stay… me be strong gnight!” she muttered, no longer able to keep her rage under control.

The advisor just sneered.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he added, smiling in a way that made his words even more cruel. “In a few days, one of your distant relatives will be visiting the castle. He wants to see the ‘amusing phenomenon’ for himself. Try to look… presentable.”

Those words struck her harder than anything else. Rolly knew how her family had always looked down on everything and everyone. They prided themselves on their noble lineage, despised weakness, and demanded perfection from each of their kin. And now… she would have to appear before one of them—small, humiliated, a goblin.

…

When her distant relative, Count de Laurens, appeared in the kitchen, Rolly felt her heart clench painfully. The tall, imposing man, bearing the same disdainful expression typical of all her kin, entered with an air of disgusted curiosity, his gaze sweeping over the room until it landed on the small green figure by the stove.

“There you are,” he said coldly, his eyes fixed intently on her. “You’re the ‘goblin’ I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Despite the overwhelming humiliation, Rolly tried to stand tall. But her eyes kept darting back to the vegetables she had been preparing, the pull of the unfinished work gnawing at her.

“Me no… Me be… Roland de Laurens,” she bleated, her voice trembling. “Me… demand to be changed back… me be gnight!”

The Count scoffed dismissively.

“A knight? You?” His laughter was cold and dripping with scorn. “Look at yourself. You’re a disgrace. A tiny, pathetic creature that can’t even say its own name properly.” He leaned down, staring directly into her eyes, his gaze filled with pure contempt. “I only came to confirm these disgusting rumors. And I promise you, this shame of the de Laurens family will not leave the confines of these walls!”

Rolly trembled with rage and agony. Her own kin was looking at her as if she were dirt beneath his boots.

“Me… me get back… what me lost—” she began, but her voice broke, and before she could finish, her hands moved of their own accord, reaching for the nearest dirty pan.

The Count merely huffed, watching as she, shaking with fury, began to scrub the pan methodically, her tiny clawed fingers moving at an unbelievable speed. The sickly-sweet scent of flowers filled the kitchen, and with an idiotic smile plastered on her face, tears threatening to spill, she kept working.

“Well then,” the Count remarked, standing up straight. “It seems you’ve already accepted your fate, Rolly. Or… whatever they call you now.” He turned and made his way toward the exit, tossing one final insult over his shoulder: “How sad that even the great house of de Laurens couldn’t preserve the dignity of its ‘proudest’ member.”

And with those words, he left, leaving Rolly there, filling the kitchen with that cursed floral scent as she, powerless against her own magic, continued serving as the perfect, obedient little kitchen goblin.

…

Rolly still hadn’t accepted her fate, even though it had been nearly three months since she was transformed into a worthless goblin girl and stripped of her former status. The once-proud knight, Roland de Laurens, trapped in his own body, fought every day, feeling her pride and will to resist slowly wither under the crushing weight of this new magical reality. Her new abilities weren’t just a curse—they turned each of her days into torture.

Today, as usual, she was working in the royal kitchen, meticulously scrubbing the massive pots used to prepare breakfast for the king and his courtiers. Her clawed fingers seemed to have a will of their own—they scrubbed relentlessly until the metal shone, despite Rolly’s furious attempts to make herself stop. Deep down, she still hated every movement, every second that reminded her of her humiliating position. But her mouth continued to spew those idiotic rhymes, and that sweet floral scent filled the room.

No one remembered that she had once been the mighty knight Roland—all they knew now was an exotic goblin cook who had been “honorably” assigned to the kitchen. Almost no one noticed the mocking glances in the eyes of those who watched her submissive toil. Instead, most believed she was incredibly lucky, for serving at the royal court was a great honor for an ordinary goblin.

Rolly slowly raised her gaze to the servants and cooks around her, watching as they smiled at her… not cruelly, but with something almost like genuine warmth, as if they didn’t see her as an object of ridicule but as one of their own. Her floral magic, that cloying scent she exuded with every movement, was having an effect—it had started to change how those who worked near her viewed her. They no longer laughed openly, no longer whispered behind her back. Instead, they began to approach her with questions, to ask for cooking advice, and even… to offer help.

“What is this? Why are they acting like this?” Rolly wondered, struggling to understand the cause of these changes. The answer didn’t come immediately, but gradually she realized: the floral scent that accompanied her every move was affecting those around her. They became more loyal, gentler when they were near her. And though everything returned to normal the moment they left the kitchen, the longer they stayed around her, the stronger the magic’s influence.

It was her first discovery. But it was a bitter realization—because even this newfound power was just another trap. The scent of flowers, that foolish smile, and the forced songs—they all made her seem like a silly, harmless, obedient little goblin girl in the eyes of everyone around her. Rolly clenched her fists in impotent rage, but there was nothing she could do. Her magic was simply… a part of her.

Today, she had decided to try something she hadn’t dared to attempt before—to use this magic to get closer to Arkanius. She had endured every new day of humiliation, put up with the mockery and the commands, but now she had decided: if no one remembered who she used to be, then she would try to take control of her situation herself.

Rolly moved cautiously, almost sneaking, as she slipped out of the kitchen and made her way down the hallway where, according to rumors, Arkanius liked to seclude himself for his experiments lately. Her small feet made no sound on the stone floor, and her eyes, adapted to the darkness, easily discerned every turn and curve of the castle’s corridors. She crept onward, slow and steady, trying not to draw any unwanted attention. Every time a guard passed by, she froze, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Oh, it’s just the kitchen goblin,” one of the guards grumbled tiredly whenever he spotted her lingering on the sidelines. “Probably left something behind again.”

Hearing these dismissive words made Rolly seethe internally, but she kept her expression neutral and just offered a vacant smile in response. She continued forward, a faint flicker of hope stirring deep within: if her scent really did influence people, she might be able to use it against Arkanius. Even the slightest effect, the tiniest concession on his part—and she’d be one step closer to her goal. Her ultimate aim was to force him to restore her old body, to reclaim everything she had lost.

Reaching the mage’s chambers, she stopped in front of the massive doors. Strange sounds drifted from behind them—soft whispers, the hum of energy. Rolly clenched her teeth and took a deep breath. If she went in there now, looking like a foolish goblin, she’d just be thrown right back to the kitchen. But she couldn’t afford to let another chance slip away.

Slowly, as if in a dream, she placed her clawed hand on the door handle and, pushing it open a crack, peered inside.

Arkanius stood by a large table, his gaze focused intently on an ancient tome. He was muttering something softly, his fingers flipping rapidly through the yellowed pages as magical symbols shimmered and danced around him. But the moment he noticed her, he froze and turned his head slowly, his eyes instantly hardening.

“Rolly,” he drawled, his voice cold, but tinged with a sort of laziness, as if he wasn’t even surprised to see her. “You’ve wandered off from the kitchen again, I see?”

Rolly took a deep breath, feeling her floral scent begin to fill the room, and stepped closer. Arkanius narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharpening with a flicker of irritation as he wrinkled his nose slightly.

“Do you want something? Or did you just miss being humiliated?” His voice dripped with mockery.

“Me… me…” Rolly tried to speak slowly, to make her words sound convincing, but even then, her voice remained sharp, nasally. She forced a smile, looking up at the powerful mage. “Me want… talk…” She hoped the scent would take hold, but knew it would take time, and she held back every instinct to snap at him, desperately trying to be… sweet?

Rolly continued to look up at the mage, her clawed fingers trembling with tension, but she struggled to keep her inner rage in check. The floral scent gently filled the room, and she felt her voice betray her, softening, almost becoming gentle, as she tried to find the right words.

“I… I want… say…” she stammered, seeing how Arkanius lazily tilted his head to the side, watching her frantic attempts with clear mockery. “Me… undastand… be wrong. Me… sory, Arkanius. Very, very sory. Me… want… chance… show… me… fix.”

Arkanius didn’t move, his eyes keenly focused on her face, catching every word. He leaned forward slightly, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh, really?” he drawled softly, his voice quiet but laced with so much sarcasm that Rolly felt the blood boiling in her veins. “You’ve ‘fixed’ yourself? Hmm, interesting… But tell me, Rolly,” he leaned down even closer, his cold gaze burning through her, “what exactly did you understand?”

Rolly clenched her teeth, her claws digging into her palms, but she forced herself to keep that idiotic, polite smile on her face. Her floral scent was now even stronger, filling the room with a sweet, intoxicating aroma. She tried as hard as she could to push out more of that scent—hoping to sway the mage’s decision. It seemed like the only way to get her life and body back!

“Me… undastand… dat bein’ gnight…” the words choked in her throat, “not for me. Me… be bad gnight… Me… ‘cept… dis role. Me… want be… useful, yes-yes!” She squeezed out a smile, straining to look as sincere as possible. “Me wanna serve, like you say… You be right, dis… dis me place!”

For a moment, Arkanius frowned, his face twisting into an odd expression as if he hadn’t expected to hear that from her. Then, he slowly straightened, staring down at her with disdain. ‘Me trick him, den me say me serve like human, den he make me back!’ she naively thought, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

“‘Fixed,’ you say?” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but behind that softness was a steel-cold cruelty. “And what does that mean? Dat you know your mistake and be ready to ‘cept… your new role? You want show… dat you accept dis place?” He squinted at her, examining her like a specimen under a magnifying glass. “Or you tryin’ fool me… again?” His gaze bore into her like a blade, piercing through her fragile facade.

Rolly barely suppressed a shudder, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She stood before the mage, desperately holding that foolish, stupid smile on her face, straining every muscle to make the sweet floral scent around her intensify. He could smell it—she could see his nose twitch slightly, his expression darkening for a split second, only for his lips to stretch into another cruel grin.

“Yes, yes… me be useful,” Rolly bleated, bowing her head. Her clawed fingers trembled, and she had to fight with every ounce of willpower not to lunge forward, not to try and claw at this wretched mage’s throat. But she knew—the magic binding her was too strong. She would never overpower him. Her only chance was to play along… for now.

Arkanius slowly turned around, taking a step toward the window. He paused, then glanced back at her over his shoulder, his eyes glittering with barely concealed amusement.

“If you’re truly… ‘fixed,’ then…” His voice dripped with mockery, and Rolly felt a painful tightening in her chest. “Well… I’ll consider what can be done about this… state of yours. But for now, I think it should be a pleasure for you to help me—as the one who’s opened your eyes to the world, yes?”

Rolly barely held back her rage. ‘What else he want?!’ she thought, not daring to risk being thrown back into the dungeons for stepping out of line and coming where she wasn’t supposed to be. No. She had to be smarter. Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to smile even wider, trying her best to appear genuine.

“Yes, be joy for me… What… what you want me do?” she whispered, her voice high-pitched, almost pleading.

Arkanius turned around, his smile widening even further.

“Oh, my dear Rolly… it’s quite simple. If you truly accepted your new role, then it won’t be hard for you to… clean all of this,” he gestured to the room filled with tables, shelves, and a thick layer of dust covering everything. “Everything must be immaculate. Every corner, every book, every scroll—everything should sparkle. And then…” — he stepped closer to her, his face nearly brushing hers, — “you’ll prepare dinner for me.”

Rolly felt her heart drop. She trembled, her hands involuntarily reaching forward, feeling for the nearest surface. Dust on the books, dirty spots on the tables—everything suddenly seemed unbearably glaring, as if every speck was screaming at her, begging her to start cleaning it right away. Her clawed fingers scratched at the air, and Rolly struggled to suppress the urge to immediately rush over and start scrubbing.

“M-Me… me can…” she whispered, fighting with herself. “Dis be joy… dat you let me, meanin’... And you… you promise, dat you…”

“Promise?” Arkanius laughed, a cold, unpleasant sound. “Ah, Rolly… Promise you, a puny, worthless goblin, something? The fact that I, the great mage of the kingdom, am even speaking to you and letting you clean this place should already be precious to you.” He leaned closer, his face turning icy, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You are nothing, Rolly. Just a pathetic little goblin who once thought she was someone important... But I said I’d think about it, and the words of a mage aren’t just the ramblings of some stupid goblin... Maybe I’ll consider whether you deserve your old body back… or whether I should just turn you into a pathetic little cockroach, crawling on these floors for the rest of your days... I haven’t decided yet!”

Rolly gasped, her entire body freezing. She stared up at the mage, feeling rage and hatred burning through her insides. But she couldn’t argue. She was trapped—and he knew it. Slowly, gritting her teeth, she nodded.

“H-Hokay…” she muttered, her voice weak, almost a whisper. “Me… me clean. It be honor for me! Yes-yes!”

Arkanius smirked and stepped back, as if giving her space to start.

“Honor, yes, heh. Well, maybe you have changed,” he murmured softly, his voice dripping with poison. “Show me, Rolly, show me that you’re truly… useful. Maybe I’ll even let you stay here… as my little maid. Or a cook. Hmm? What you say?”

Rolly’s whole body shook with humiliation. She clenched her teeth and forced herself to nod, a wide smile plastered on her face as she looked at the dirty tables and dusty shelves before her. She threw herself into cleaning Arkanius’s study, each motion filled with barely suppressed fury, but her hands moved on their own—reaching for the dusty books, the sweaty stains on the desk, and the tangled scrolls strewn everywhere. Dust rose in clouds, but as soon as her fingers touched the surfaces, the magic within her flared, and the dust vanished instantly, leaving a sparkling shine behind.

Arkanius leaned against the wall, watching her efforts with a faint smirk. Her movements grew faster, and within moments, she dropped to the floor, scrubbing the dirty stones until they gleamed. With each sweep of her hands, more and more of that sweet floral scent spread through the room.

“That’s it, my dear Rolly,” Arkanius said softly, his lips twitching in a barely-there smile. “I see you’re trying. But still… don’t you think this isn’t quite… enough?” His voice was laced with subtle mockery.

Rolly froze, her clawed fingers still scrubbing the floor automatically. She shot a quick glance at the mage, trying to mask her hatred, but he easily read her emotions and laughed. Arkanious watched her attentively, as if measuring every one of her movements. Rolly, sensing the mage’s undivided interest, tried to hide her unease. She was putting in her best effort—never in her time as a goblin had she emitted such a dense and potent floral scent. But why? Why wasn’t it working on him? Or… was it? It was hard for her to tell. But something felt different… something inside her.

Something inside her began to shift, and now it was becoming more evident. Rolly herself hadn’t noticed it at first, but as she cleaned, she felt a slight tingling in her fingers, as if a thin mesh of invisible light was forming over her hands. Gradually, the sensation grew stronger, and the dust she cleaned away didn’t simply vanish—it started to evaporate, transforming into barely visible clouds of floral pollen.

“Hmm, curious,” Arkanious murmured thoughtfully, watching as the shimmering spread slowly up her arms. “It seems you truly have chosen your path.”

Rolly didn’t understand what he meant. Her face still wore that idiotic smile, her voice continued humming that silly tune, but inside, everything was trembling. Then, she felt it—the change in her body began anew.

At first, it was just a light prickling at the tips of her fingers. She froze, feeling her claws slowly retracting into her palms, as her hands lost their harsh, rough shape. Her skin, still green and coarse, gradually became smoother and softer, and then, delicate, feminine nails formed where sharp goblin claws used to be—no longer goblin, but still looking strange on her small palms.

“What is…?” Rolly stopped, her voice barely audible. But instead of her usual nasal goblin screech, she heard a soft, almost melodic whisper.

Her eyes widened as she raised her hand to look at herself. The tips of her fingers now had a slight rosy hue, and the green color of her skin gradually began to lighten. Arkanious, observing her reaction, merely smirked, though his gaze turned cold and tense.

“Interesting…” he murmured softly, rubbing his chin, though his voice now held a note of tension, as if he hadn’t expected this. “Keep cleaning!”

Rolly swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Every new movement came with difficulty, but the more she cleaned, the more she felt the strange changes. The skin on her hands had completely altered color—changing from dirty green to a soft, light olive, and her fingers elongated, taking on a graceful, delicate shape. She felt thin lines of magic spreading upward, enveloping her shoulders and neck.

“What… what’s happening?” she murmured, her voice changing once more, becoming even higher, now completely losing the nasally tone. A faint, almost dreamy smile played on her lips. The floral scent she emitted grew stronger, richer, and the entire chamber filled with the sweet, slightly intoxicating aroma.

“Ah…” Arkanious murmured softly, his gaze glowing with dangerous fire. “So, that’s what it is…”

Rolly froze, her fingers trembling. She threw a look full of fear at the mage, feeling her body continue its transformation. Her hands no longer looked goblin-like—they had become almost human, slender and graceful. Her skin now glowed with a soft, pale radiance, and the pollen she unconsciously scattered around began to transform into miniature, glowing flowers blooming on her palms.

But that wasn’t the end. Her legs began to change as well: thin, small feet stretched, her toes becoming longer, more delicate. She felt the muscles in her legs soften, losing their former roughness. Her entire body seemed to elongate, as if she were growing before his eyes. She could even feel her hips widening, while her waist became slender and narrow.

“No… no-no-no!” Rolly whispered desperately, trying to stop the transformation, but the magic had already taken over. She watched helplessly as her chest, which had only been small lumps, began to swell, rounding into fuller, softer curves. Her tiny goblin face transformed: her nose turned dainty, her eyes grew almond-shaped, and her lips plumped into soft, enticing curves.

When it finally ended, what stood before Arkanius was no longer a pitiful goblin, but a strange, ethereal creature with the figure of a graceful girl, still tinged with a faint greenish hue and crowned with long, floral hair. The floral scent around her grew so strong that Arkanius instinctively grimaced, stepping back a pace.

“What… what have you… done to me?!” Rolly croaked, her voice changing once more, becoming melodious and sweet, like a song. She touched her long hair, which now cascaded down her shoulders, and felt the soft, velvety fabric of her dress clinging to her new form.

Arkanius watched her reaction, tilting his head slightly.

“Don’t you really understand?” he asked softly, his voice quiet, almost contemplative. “You’re not a goblin anymore, Rolly. Your magic… it changed you. You’ve become… something else.”

Rolly shivered, her eyes widening in horror. “Not a goblin? Then… what am I?!” But even before she could fully grasp his words, she felt her lips curl into a soft, gentle smile, and a light, delicate laugh escaped her throat — sweet, ringing, and… feminine.

“No…” she whispered, staring down at her new hands. They were delicate now, almost fairy-like fingers adorned with faint floral patterns on her skin. “What… what am I…?” she whispered, glancing at Arkanius, who now regarded her with a newfound, dangerous interest.

“Oh, my dear,” he murmured softly, stepping closer. “You are no longer just a little goblin. You are a flower nymph, a spirit of purity and order…”

“F-flower nymph?” she whispered, staring at her new palms in shock. Her voice sounded like the delicate chimes of bells in a spring breeze. “No… I cannot be a nymph! I… I… am… a knight!”

But her words sounded less convincing by the second, and even she began to feel the absurdity of her protests. Her face stretched into a strange, gentle smile, and within, deep in the very core of her being, a new, gentle pull began to stir — a desire to belong to something greater, to be part of… another reality. Rolly could feel it, and with every moment, that feeling grew stronger. As if her entire inner world was shifting along with her body.

Arkanius, watching her desperation, merely smirked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“Oh, did you truly think you could ever go back to what you were?” His voice was almost comforting, but beneath that sweetness was a sharp edge of mockery. “You need to understand, Rolly,” he murmured, stepping closer and lifting her chin gently, “your magic has only revealed your true nature. You were never truly a knight. Deep inside, you always longed to be… like this. And now that your body has finally accepted it, you must follow your purpose.”

Rolly trembled, feeling her own thoughts begin to tangle. The magic she felt seemed to be calling her… somewhere far away. Images flashed before her eyes: tall trees, filled with radiant light; strange, glowing flowers with faces, like living beings. And among them—creatures like her… long-haired, graceful, floral beings, dancing in the light. Her heart tightened, and she realized these beings were not strangers to her. Her soul longed for them. She was one of them. A flower nymph.

“N-no…” she whispered, feeling her hands involuntarily reaching out in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t want to be… I don’t want to be…”

“You do want to,” Arkanius murmured softly, almost in a whisper. His eyes gleamed. “You know you want to. I will let you go if you accept it. Flower nymphs, spirits of spring and purity,” he slowly traced a finger down her cheek, causing her new skin to glow softly, “are waiting for you. You feel their call, don’t you?”

Rolly froze. Her mind was tangled, contradictions tearing her thoughts apart, but a strange, sweet melody in her head grew louder, beckoning her… to a place where she was never despised or unwelcome. A place where she could become part of something greater, find her place among others like her. Flowers, nymphs, magic — they all called to her, pulling her away from the castle, where she had always been a nobody.

“Go, Rolly,” Arkanius whispered, his voice almost gentle. “You don’t belong here. Your place… is in the groves, among the flowers. Where you can be yourself. You no longer belong to humans… or even goblins.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but to her horror, she felt her legs move on their own, carrying her toward the door. A soft, melodious laugh escaped her lips, and Rolly realized: she couldn’t fight it. Something inside had broken completely. All her protests, all her desires to return disappeared, drowned out by this new yearning — to leave the castle and go where she belonged, among those like her.

“Yes…” she whispered, her lips trembling, but her words grew louder and more certain. “I… will go. I… belong with them…”

She took a few hesitant steps, then turned back to Arkanius, casting one last, desperate look at him.

“But… I will remember. I… will never forget who I was.”

Arkanius only smirked.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll remember,” he whispered, his voice cold, laced with a light mockery. “But it won’t matter to you anymore.”

With those words, he waved his hand, and before Rolly, a window opened wide, revealing a green grove bathed in light and radiance. The nymph in her new form felt her body step forward on its own, and then, just as she began to comprehend what was happening, she took flight on delicate wings made of flower petals, dissolving into a shimmering whirlwind, vanishing beyond the castle’s walls.

Epilogue

Rolly stood at the edge of the forest, barely visible amidst the thick greenery of tall grasses and shimmering flowers. Her new, delicate form blended effortlessly with the surrounding foliage. Her long hair, adorned with tiny blossoms, flowed softly over her shoulders, and with every movement, a light scent of spring filled the air around her. The forest, where she had now spent several months, welcomed her like an old friend. A gentle warmth enveloped her, and the fireflies flitting between the trees seemed to be her loyal companions. Yet, Rolly’s gaze was not turned inward, into the peaceful, serene realm of the woods.

She stared into the distance, where the stern walls of the royal castle loomed far away, the distant and now alien homeland she once knew. She had dared to return here after all this time, hoping to understand something for herself, or perhaps even… return?

Once, only a few months ago, she—Roland de Laurens, the proud knight—had strode through its corridors with her head held high, expecting bows and admiration. Her name had evoked fear and respect. She had been strong, arrogant, and certain of her unshakable power. Back then, it had seemed so important. But now… now it felt like a distant, insignificant dream. Were those titles, that grandeur, and the admiring glances truly of any value? Once, she had thought "yes," but now? Now, it all seemed empty, unreal—just tinsel that fell apart into fragments the moment her world was upended. Strength, titles, noble blood… All those things that had seemed so vital were now just echoes of a past that held no meaning, no power over her life.

Rolly sighed softly, running her delicate fingers through the thick, fragrant grasses growing at her feet. Her hands, once capable of breaking bones and wielding a heavy sword, now seemed fragile and tender, like petals on a spring flower. Yet, despite that, they hadn’t lost their strength—only the nature of that strength had changed. The forest responded to her touch: flowers blossomed the moment she brushed against them, light swirls of pollen danced around her, as if rejoicing in her presence. And now, as Rolly looked into the distance at the castle where once her name had inspired fear, she suddenly realized that she no longer felt the same longing.

“Were those people ever sincere, or was it merely an act born out of fear and obedience?” she wondered, her gaze still fixed on the blurred silhouette of the castle. Even if she were to return now, who would recognize her? The proud knight de Laurens had vanished the day Arkanius, with a smirk and a spell, destroyed everything that made up her essence. Her own family had turned away from her the moment they saw she no longer justified their pride. No one stood up for her, no one sought to bring her back. They simply turned away, closed their eyes to her existence, as if wanting to forget that she had ever been a part of their lineage.

A soft breeze rustled through her long, flower-strewn hair, and Rolly tilted her head back slightly, letting the springtime aromas soothe her heart. Were those who had so easily discarded her from their world truly worth the struggle to return? Was it worth trying to win their approval again?

“No…” she answered herself, her quiet, melodious voice carrying through the stillness of the night. “They never cared about me.” Her lips, as gentle and delicate as the petals of spring flowers, curved into a soft smile. “They only ever loved the image, that proud knight who fit their status. They were afraid of this knight. But no one ever saw the real me.”

Rolly laughed softly, her laughter melodic, like the chime of bells. Now it seemed almost amusing — she, a knight who had once despised everything weak and delicate, was broken, transformed into something she herself would have considered a cruel joke of fate. At first, she hated her new body, her "weakness," her helplessness. But the longer she lived within the forest, the more she realized that this hatred didn’t come from the changes themselves, but from the fear of facing the truth: even before, her strength had been only superficial.

Now, she felt a new kind of power within her. Invisible, gentle, yet no less real. The forest responded to her every desire. The sisters-nymphs, who seemed so helpless and naive, could achieve things that neither a sword nor brute force could ever accomplish. They created beauty and harmony, they ruled over the forces of nature, their strength coming from the very essence of the earth and life. And Rolly… She turned out to be one of them. Though, at first, her heart was torn apart by anger and rage, now, standing at the forest’s edge, she felt, for the first time, that she had found a place where she was truly accepted.

"But is this really my place?" — she whispered again to herself, her gaze becoming distant as she looked once more at the place where her former home stood. — "Or is it just magic making me forget?"

These thoughts would not leave her. She lived among the forest, danced with her new sisters, sang and wove patterns from flowers, but deep inside her remained a tiny spark that reminded her of the past. A spark that whispered to her of lost pride, of knightly honor, of who she had once been. But whenever she focused on these memories, the forest would start to whisper back, surrounding her with warmth and comfort, carrying her mind away in a whirl of peace and tranquility.

"Does that mean I’m truly happy?" — she wondered, her eyes slowly closing as the wind rustled softly through the trees again. Rolly longed to know the truth — the real truth about herself. But how could she distinguish what she truly felt from what the magic was imposing on her?

"Let it be so… — she thought, her lips curling into a soft smile once more. — Maybe I truly no longer belong to the past." She raised her head, allowing the fireflies to circle around her figure, their soft glow feeling like home. — "Let it be. Even if all this is an illusion… I don’t want to go back to a place where I was despised."

And with these words, she slowly turned, her light, almost weightless steps leading her back into the depths of the forest. The fireflies glowed softly around her, the leaves of the trees rustled quietly, welcoming her return, and a gentle, sincere smile spread across Rolly’s face.

There, far away, lay the castle where she had once been the proud knight Roland. There remained the life she had thought was the only one possible. But now… Now she had a different life, a different home. And though this home was filled with the sweet, hazy charm of magic — it was her home. She felt it with every fiber of her being.

Rolly paused for a moment longer, her gaze drifting once more into the distance, but now it was a farewell — a final farewell to who she had once been.

"I… am free," — she whispered, and the forest answered her with a gentle, warm murmur.