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A Telepath's Wish (AP FTF)
🕑 Added 2025-01-04 11:58:12 +0000 UTCAnya Forger trudged into the Forger household, her small frame weary from the day’s events at Eden Academy. Narrowly escaping another Tonitrus Bolt badge—much to the relief of her “father” Loid—she was met with the warm scent of dinner wafting through the air. Loid, the Westalian spy codenamed Twilight, managed to juggle his dual roles as a master espionage agent and a father to his pretend family. Yet, Anya knew he cared deeply, even if he’d never admit it outright.
Her “mother,” Yor, greeted her with a cheerful yet slightly flustered smile, her airheaded demeanor contrasting with the deadly precision of her secret identity as the assassin “Thorn Princess.” As the family settled around the dinner table, laughter and light-hearted banter filled the room, momentarily making them forget their precarious realities.
Later, as the clock crept towards midnight, Anya completed her homework and climbed into bed. Her tiny voice murmured into the stillness of her room. “Mama… Yor is so cool… I wanna grow up and be like Mama…”
Outside, a comet streaked through the night sky, unnoticed by the sleeping Forger household. Its radiant trail shimmered faintly before disappearing into the void, leaving behind an untraceable ripple of energy.
The next morning, Anya awoke earlier than usual, her body drenched in sweat. Something brushed against her back, a sensation that jolted her upright. The sheets felt oddly small beneath her, and an unfamiliar weight tugged at her scalp. Padding to the bathroom, her bare feet tapping softly against the wooden floor, she caught her reflection in the mirror and froze.
A young girl, older than Anya by a few years, stared back. Her once-short pink hair had grown longer, and darkened slightly, and her “horns” were gone. Her round, childlike face had sharpened into a visage hinting at adolescence. Anya reached out to touch the mirror, her fingers trembling as her reflection mimicked her movements. “Wh-what’s happening?”
Before she could process the change, a sharp ache coursed through her body. Anya gasped, clutching the sink for support. She watched, horrified and fascinated, as her features matured further. Her arms lengthened, her legs stretched, and her childish frame transformed into that of a 15-year-old girl. Her hair darkened further, taking on reddish-black hues, and her once-bright blue eyes shimmered with a hint of purple. Her once-flat body began to fill out, her hips subtly widening and her posture beginning to reflect the grace of someone older.
“I… I’m getting older…?” she whispered, her voice cracking and slightly deeper than before, a nervous hand brushing over her now-taller, more defined frame.
The changes didn’t stop there. Another wave of pain—followed by a warm, tingling sensation—washed over her. Anya’s body aged again, this time into her late teens. Her figure grew curvier, her waist narrowing as her hips became more pronounced. She looked down in disbelief, her face heating as she muttered, “Why am I… getting curves?” Her voice trembled slightly as she ran her hands over her changing frame, noting the growing similarity to a certain someone.
Her hair grew longer and darker, cascading past her shoulders in a way that reminded her of Yor’s elegant locks. Her eyes fully shifted to a lighter red, their hue unmistakably mirroring her mother’s. “Wait… my hair… my eyes… my body… am I turning into Mama?” she gasped, the realization dawning on her like a slow sunrise. Her reflection in the mirror no longer looked like a stranger but like a younger, evolving version of Yor herself.
"This can’t be real," she whispered, though a small part of her couldn’t help but be intrigued. "But it all makes sense… I’m becoming Mama!"
Finally, the transformation peaked. Her body matured into that of a woman in her twenties, her curves fully developed, her hair darkening into a deep raven-black that shimmered under the light, and her figure now identical to Yor’s. Her eyes completed their transformation, glowing a striking crimson red, exuding an intense allure that was unmistakably her mother’s. Her face, once marked by youthful cuteness, now carried the refined, elegant beauty of a mature woman. Anya stared in awe at the mirror, her heart pounding as realization dawned on her. "No way... I-I’m Mama!" she gasped, her hands running over her new form, tracing the elegant curves and sharp features, as if confirming the impossible transformation.
Her voice, now rich and full, startled her. "I even sound like her," she murmured, a mix of wonder and disbelief flooding her senses. "This scar," she noted, brushing her fingers over her palm. "It’s the same as Mama’s... from her training, right? But... how did this even happen?"
Her gaze lingered on her reflection, her mind racing. "I look just like Mama... no, I’ve become her! The hair, the eyes, the body... it’s all Mama’s." She paused, her lips curving into a small smile. "She’s so beautiful... and now, I’m beautiful too!"
Her thoughts tumbled over one another as she tried to comprehend the changes. "Mama’s always been so strong, so graceful... maybe this is my chance to understand her better. To see what it’s like to be someone so amazing." A flicker of excitement lit her eyes as she stood straighter, mimicking Yor’s poised stance. "If I’m Mama, maybe I can do the things she does... I can be just as cool as her!"
Her curiosity piqued, Anya decided to test her new form. She dressed in one of Yor’s modest red turtleneck and ventured around the house like a very excitable kid. To her amazement, her telepathic abilities remained intact, though they felt stronger and more controlled. She closed her eyes and focused, testing the extent of her powers. "Wow," she murmured, her voice carrying a resonance she wasn’t used to. "I can hear so clearly now… it’s like all the noise has quieted, but the thoughts are sharper." She opened her eyes, her crimson gaze catching her reflection again. "Mama always seemed so calm and composed. Maybe this is why? Her strength, her grace… it’s like I can feel it inside me now."
Anya tilted her head, studying herself with a mix of curiosity and admiration. "This hair… so dark and shiny," she said, running her fingers through the raven-black strands. "And these eyes… so intense, just like Mama’s when she’s focused." She touched her cheek, noting how her face had completely shed its youthful roundness. "I really do look like Mama now… no cuteness left, just beauty." She sighed deeply, her tone filled with a blend of awe and determination. "If I’m going to look like this, I should try to act like her too… strong, graceful, and, um, really good at protecting the family!"
Anya quickly deduced that Yor must have also been affected by the mysterious event, likely transforming into Anya’s younger self. The thought made her giggle, though a sense of curiosity and concern bubbled up within her. "Mama as a kid? Bet she’s super cute," she said with a chuckle, imagining Yor with wide-eyed innocence and a smaller, more playful demeanor. But her expression turned thoughtful as she muttered, "Wait... if I’m Mama now, then Mama might not remember who she is... what if she’s as clueless as I was as a kid?" The thought both amused and worried her.
"Would she be okay? Would she still try to protect the family even as a little me?" Anya's crimson eyes sparkled as she continued to puzzle over the situation. "What if Papa doesn’t notice right away? Mama’s so airheaded sometimes, but now she might be... more like me!" The idea was both strange and thrilling. She clapped her hands together. "Guess I’ll have to keep everything in check while we figure this out!"
Embracing the situation, Anya decided to act the part of Yor. She tidied the house with surprising efficiency, her newfound adult strength making chores easier. Cooking was her next challenge. Recalling Yor’s less-than-stellar attempts in the kitchen, Anya laughed. “I can do better than Mama!” To her delight, the meal she prepared turned out delicious.
As she moved through the day, Anya’s inner monologue matured, gradually adopting Yor’s composed and nurturing tone. She found herself thinking about Loid and “Operation STRIX” with a new perspective, her respect for her parents deepened as she realized how much they did to protect and care for their unconventional family. Tired of her "motherly" chores at the moment, Anya went upstairs to her "mother"'s room—no, her room—where she tried out some of Yor's clothes as if they were hers, including Yor's assassin outfit as "Thorn Princess." She slipped into the sleek black attire, the fabric hugging her newly matured curves perfectly. The fit felt so natural that a shiver of excitement ran down her spine.
Standing before the full-length mirror, she struck a familiar, imposing stance, her crimson eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and thrill. "This... this feels amazing!" she whispered, twisting her body experimentally. "I feel so... powerful." She extended her arms and mimicked some of the fluid, deadly movements she had often seen Yor practice. Her limbs moved with uncanny precision, each kick and strike flowing as if she had spent years mastering the art.
"Whoa... it’s like I’ve always known how to do this," she murmured, her tone tinged with wonder. "Mama's strength, her agility... it’s all in me now!" She lunged forward, executing a perfect spin kick. The sheer natural ease of it made her burst into laughter. "I really am Mama!"
Her fingers traced the edge of one of the razor-sharp stilettos hidden within the outfit. She tilted her head, feeling an overwhelming confidence bloom within her. "I could protect Papa and everyone... just like Mama does," she whispered. "This isn’t just playacting. I could really be the Thorn Princess." Her reflection stared back at her with fierce determination, a mirror of the assassin Yor herself. "Mama always made it look effortless, but now I understand. It’s not just skill... it’s the will to protect. And I have that too."
As she then tried out a set of lingerie, much to her flustered embarrassment, Anya could not help but feel rather empowered and aroused (the latter of which, much to her confusion) as the woman lay down on her and Loid's bed, her heart skipping beats at this alluring body she now got. Her thoughts wandered, and she found herself musing aloud. "If I’m Mama now, then Loid... no, my husband..." The words startled her, as did the sudden ease with which she thought of Loid as her partner rather than her father. "Oh," she whispered, touching her lips. "I called him my husband. That’s what Mama would say... because I’m her now."
Her heart raced as her mind filled with a vivid image of Loid beside her, lying on the bed as her husband. She felt a surge of warmth and longing that left her breathless. "Am I falling in love with Papa? No... not Papa... he’s my husband now..." She closed her eyes, her body tingling with a strange but exhilarating emotion. "I’m Yor Forger. This is... this is what it’s like to love him as Mama does," she murmured, her voice trembling as the realization settled deep into her being. "It’s not wrong... because I am Yor."
Caressing her own body as she dreams of her husband passionately making love with her in bed, Anya feels a deep, exhilarating transformation unfolding within her. Her thoughts race with a strange mixture of newfound maturity and lingering innocence. She sighs softly, her mind overwhelmed by a vivid sense of longing. "My husband... my love..." she murmurs, her voice carrying the rich, sultry tone of Yor Forger. As she breathes in deeply, the very essence of her identity seems to shift, her thoughts now seamlessly intertwined with those of the woman she has become. Her inner voice, once filled with childish exuberance, transforms into the composed, sensual tone of Yor Forger. Every movement, every touch, grows deliberate and poised, her soul itself reshaping as if the Thorn Princess’s will and instincts mold her from within. Each heartbeat feels heavier, her old self melting away like the faintest echo in the farthest recesses of her mind. Her thoughts of love for Loid—no, her husband—pulse with an intensity she never before understood, now charged with a mature longing. By the time she gasps, trembling with the final release of her transformation, there remains nothing of the young telepathic child, only the fierce, protective, and dangerously alluring woman who now fully inhabits her heart, body, and soul.
The day unfolded like a dream Anya had wished for her entire life. Her every movement, now brimming with the natural grace of Yor Forger, was second nature. Rising from the bed she now instinctively knew as her own, her hands delicately smoothed the sheets where Loid had lain. A subtle warmth lingered, a palpable reminder of their shared life. Her crimson eyes, now effortlessly serene, swept the room with a sense of ownership and belonging that resonated deep within her chest.
She placed a hand gently over her heart, feeling its rhythmic beat, steady with a profound and protective love. Every sensation, every thought, was vivid, not borrowed but wholly her own. "This isn’t a dream," she whispered, her voice rich with Yor’s poised elegance. "This... this is real. This is my life now." Her breath caught as she recalled her morning’s reflection. The mature beauty, the lithe strength, and the unwavering will to protect—everything that defined Yor was hers now, intertwined seamlessly with the memories and heart of a girl who had once dreamed of a family like this.
"Loid," she mused softly, a smile curving her lips at the thought of his devotion and quiet strength. The man who had once been an untouchable father figure now held her heart in a different way altogether. Her fingers curled slightly against her chest as warmth unfurled through her, both fierce and tender. "My husband," she murmured, her thoughts dancing with an intimacy that filled her with a sense of purpose. The love she now carried for him was fierce and encompassing, a protector’s love, a wife’s adoration.
Her steps carried her downstairs with an instinctual elegance, her body moving as if every muscle had been trained for this life. Her eyes softened upon seeing Loid and "Anya"—formerly Yor—enter the house. They looked weary but happy, the unspoken bond of their shared existence deepening with each passing moment. Loid greeted her with a small, knowing smile that sent a thrill racing through her.
"Welcome home," she whispered, her voice brimming with warmth as she enveloped them both in a gentle embrace. The way Loid’s arms lingered around her waist felt as if they had known a lifetime together. The exchange was simple, effortless, and yet, it filled her soul with a completeness she had never imagined.
Later, as the twilight deepened and stars adorned the night, she guided "Anya"—her younger self—toward bed. "Sleep well, my darling," she murmured, her voice imbued with a maternal tenderness that flowed naturally. She kissed her cheek and lingered, smoothing a hand through the girl’s hair before retreating to her own sanctuary.
With a soft click of the door, she turned, her breath quickening. The anticipation of the night shimmered within her as her fingers trailed down her own body, each movement instinctual, sensual. She caught her reflection in the mirror—a vision of confidence and allure. Every curve, every shadow, was a reminder of the woman she had become. This body, this life, was hers entirely.
Sliding into bed beside Loid, her heart swelled with a joy that felt too vast for words. Her hand rested upon his chest as her thoughts, now fully Yor’s, whispered with serene contentment: I am the best version of myself. I am his protector, his love, and forever, this is where I belong.
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Artworks generated with PixAi
Character(s) belong to Tatsuya Endo
