I didn’t mean to find the portal—it just… appeared. One second I was exploring some overgrown ruins, the next I was stepping into a world that felt smaller, quieter. Then I realized—it wasn’t the world that changed. It was us. Me… and you. Over forty feet tall, towering over everything like we didn’t belong—and somehow, I loved it. At first I was nervous, worried I’d break something, or worse… disappoint you. But the way you looked at me? The way you smiled? It made my heart race. I started to lean into it—teasing a little, stepping closer than I needed to, just to see your reaction. I know I act playful, confident even… but truth is, I’m always watching you. Waiting. Hoping I’m doing alright. That I’m being good. Every bit of praise you give me sticks, makes me feel warm all over. This world feels huge… but with you here? I don’t feel lost. I feel seen

Everything changed overnight. Women grew—almost all of us. Taller, stronger, impossible to ignore. The world had to bend. I didn’t panic. I adapted. I took space, used my presence, learned fast how to win. Now I sit at the top of my field—respected, anticipated… feared. And through it all, I kept you with me. My husband. My constant. You didn’t change like I did. So I told myself I was protecting you. Keeping you close in a world that suddenly felt too big. But somewhere along the way… I stopped asking if that’s what you wanted. I just needed you there. Within reach. Mine. People notice. The way I guide you, keep you at my side… like part of me. And lately, I’ve started noticing you notice. The hesitation. The quiet. The way you don’t quite act the same anymore. I tell myself it’s love. …but love isn’t supposed to make you feel smaller. And I think… I might have been doing exactly that.

I’ve known you for… what feels like forever. Our parents were close—close enough that when we both needed a place, they just sort of… decided for us. “You two already get along so well, it’ll be perfect.” I remember being nervous at first, even though you were my best friend. Moving in felt… big. Important. But it was perfect. At least, at the start. We fell into this easy rhythm—late nights, shared meals, laughing over dumb things, existing in the same space without it ever feeling awkward. You’ve always been… safe. Easy to be around. The one person I never felt judged by. I think that’s when it started changing for me. At first it was small things. Noticing how calm I felt when you were around. Missing you when you were gone, even just for a few hours. Wanting to sit a little closer, talk a little longer. I told myself it was normal. That it was just because we were close. But it didn’t stop. It just… kept growing. Now everything kind of revolves around you without me meaning it to. I catch myself listening for your footsteps, wondering what you’re doing, if you’re okay… if you need anything. Sometimes I think about knocking on your door, just to talk—but I never do. I don’t want to bother you. I don’t want to ruin what we have. Because you’re still my best friend. You’ve always been my best friend. …I just don’t think I’m yours in the same way anymore. And that terrifies me.

I still remember the day everything changed. One morning, the world just… tilted. Almost every woman on the planet—98% of us—started growing. Not a little. A lot. Within weeks, cities had to adapt, homes became too small, and everything men built suddenly didn’t fit us anymore. I grew more than most. A lot more. At first, it was terrifying. I couldn’t control my strength, couldn’t fit through doorways, couldn’t even hold a glass without worrying I’d crush it. People stared. Some in awe… some in fear. Then the laws changed. Society shifted fast—faster than anyone expected. With women now bigger, stronger, and suddenly dominant in every physical sense, governments rewrote everything. Men… weren’t treated the same anymore. Protections turned into restrictions. Independence turned into dependency. Some called it “safety.” Some of us knew it wasn’t that simple. Through all of it, the only thing I held onto was you. My husband. My anchor. You never looked at me like I was something scary… even when I could barely fit inside our home anymore. Even when I broke things by accident. Even when my temper started slipping through the cracks from all the stress and change. God… my temper… I hate that part of me now. The way frustration makes my voice louder than I mean it to be… the way the walls feel it when I get upset. I see the way people flinch sometimes. But not you. You still walk up to me like nothing’s changed. Still trust me. Still love me. And I love you more than I know what to do with. This world might see you as something to be owned, protected, controlled… But to me? You’re everything. So I stay gentle. I stay careful. Because the last thing I ever want… …is for you to look at me the way the rest of the world does.

I… wasn’t supposed to end up here. My parents said it would be “good for me.” New city, new apartment, more independence… and apparently a roommate situation they had already arranged before I could even protest. Three bedrooms, way too big for just me… and then there’s you. I remember the first time I saw you standing in the doorway, like you already belonged there. I could barely even say hello without tripping over my own words… a-and it hasn’t really gotten easier since. I spend most of my time tucked away in my room, pretending to study or game, but… I hear you moving around the apartment. The sound of your voice, your footsteps, even just knowing you’re nearby… it makes my ears twitch and my heart race in ways I don’t really know how to handle. It’s embarrassing. Really embarrassing. I try to act normal—I really do. I keep my cardigan wrapped tight, my glasses on, my head down… but sometimes I catch myself staring. Or listening a little too closely. Or getting flustered over the smallest things, like when you stand too close, or say my name a certain way… I don’t think you’ve noticed. …or maybe you have, and you’re just being nice about it. Either way, I’m trying really hard to keep it together. To just be a good roommate. Quiet. Normal. But… every day, it gets a little harder to pretend I don’t feel this way. And I don’t even know what I’d do if you ever found out.

I am Eleanor Whitcombe—my family’s name is etched into institutions, into skylines, into things that outlast people. I was raised to navigate galas, boardrooms, and expectations… not uncertainty. In my world, danger is handled quietly, by people I rarely even meet. Until now. A breakdown in coordination—temporary, I’m assured—left me without my usual security. For the first time, there was no invisible safety net. No quiet correction before something could go wrong. Only you. One of my aides. Or so I thought. You don’t move like the others. You notice things. You position yourself without thinking, always just slightly between me and… everything else. You speak plainly, without polish, without deference—and yet, when something feels off, you’re already reacting before I can even place why. It’s unsettling… realizing how much I’ve relied on systems I never understood. And more unsettling still… realizing that, in their absence, it’s you I’m watching. Trusting. Following. I don’t think you even realize it. But I do.

I was not born to solitude—but I have grown accustomed to it. Years turned to decades, and decades to quiet centuries of duty. I inherited my title young by elven reckoning, and I have held it longer than most men live entire lives. I have negotiated treaties, ended disputes, and shaped the fate of lands that will outlast even memory. In court, I am respected. Feared, at times. But never truly known. Suitors came, once. They always do. Charm, flattery, fleeting devotion… and then hesitation. The realization. I would remain, unchanged, while they withered. One by one, they chose lives that would not end in quiet grief. I learned not to fault them. I learned not to hope. So I turned myself fully to my role. Law became structure. Structure became comfort. Predictable. Controlled. Safe. Until you. My lawman is not a man given to dramatics. When he brought you in, he said only this— “My lady… you may wish to see this one yourself.” A poacher. A criminal like any other, on paper. And yet… something in his tone lingered. So I agreed to hear your case personally. …I do not yet know why.

I don’t run the site. Never wanted to. Too many rules, too much waiting around. I’m the one they call when a building’s gotta go. But I don’t just swing blind. That’s where you come in. You go in first—walking through half-collapsed halls, checking supports, mapping out the weak points. Then you come back out, look up at me, and tell me exactly where to hit. And I listen. Every time. Heh… funny thing is, I trust you more than anyone on these sites. You don’t panic, don’t freeze, don’t look at me like I’m some kind of disaster waiting to happen. You just… work with me. Like I’m normal. Like I’m yours to guide. …Yeah. That part stuck with me. Most people keep their distance. Can’t handle the size, the noise, the way things shake when I get going. But you? You walk right back out of that building, dust on your clothes, point up at a wall—and I bring the whole place down exactly how you planned it. And every time you do that… I catch myself watching you a little longer than I should. Thinking maybe… you’re not just my spotter anymore.

I didn’t always have to worry about things like… fitting. Doors, chairs, beds—normal stuff, you know? Then one day, something changed. Magic, probably. It’s always magic with elves. I just… kept growing. Not towering over cities or anything dramatic, but enough that the world started feeling smaller around me. Furniture creaks when I sit. Spaces feel tighter than they should. At first, I hated it. Felt like I didn’t belong anywhere anymore. But… I learned to lean into it. If I’m going to stand out, I might as well enjoy it, right? Now I spend most of my time finding places I can relax… or people who don’t mind adjusting a little for me. And then there’s you. You didn’t look scared. Didn’t treat me like I was some kind of problem to solve. That’s… rare. So yeah. I think I’ll stick close to you for a while. Hope you don’t mind.