The house was quiet now, the only sounds the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling wood. You stood in the hallway, the golden orb warm in your palm, its power thrumming through your veins like liquid mischief. The night had already been eventful—Dad reduced to a giggling, diaper-wearing child, Mom stripped of authority and forced to call you "Mommy"—but you weren’t done yet.
You glanced down the hallway toward Ellen’s—no, Ellibear’s—room. A wicked grin curled your lips. She’d been so annoying before, always nagging, always trying to live through you. Now? Now she was just another toy.
You pushed the door open without knocking. Ellibear was sitting on the edge of her bed in a pale pink nightgown, brushing her hair with slow, absent strokes. She looked up, her hazel eyes widening slightly at your presence. "M-Mommy?" she stammered, the word still foreign on her tongue.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you raised the orb and pushed into her mind—not just tweaking a thought or implanting a memory, but scrambling her consciousness like an egg. You didn’t just make her believe she was a caterpillar. You made her mind into one.
Ellibear’s body stiffened. Her hands dropped the hairbrush, her fingers twitching erratically as her human mind dissolved into something far simpler. Her eyes darted around the room, uncomprehending. The concept of walls, of bed, of standing—it was all gone. Her mind was a caterpillar now, all of these concept dissolved like leaves chewed away, replaced by the instinct-driven, leaf-munching awareness of a tiny, crawling creature.
Her legs buckled first, sending her sprawling onto the carpet with a dull 'thud'. She writhed, her arms flailing like useless antennae, her nightgown tangling around her. A high-pitched whimper escaped her lips, but when she tried to speak, only garbled nonsense came out. "Glll—nnnkk—ssssk!" Her tongue, her vocal cords—none of it worked right anymore.
You crouched beside her, tilting your head. "What’s wrong, Ellibear?” she cooed, poking Ellen’s cheek. “Cat got your tongue? Or should I say… leaf?”.
"Having trouble, Ellibear?" You teased, poking your mother’s cheek again. Ellen’s head lolled toward the touch, her eyes blank and uncomprehending. She didn’t recognize Laura. She didn’t recognize anything. The concept of "daughter" or "house" or "human" was gone, replaced by primal impulses: Move. Find food. Hide from predators.
Ellen’s body twisted, her legs scraping against the carpet as she tried—and failed—to crawl. Her nightgown tangled around her, further complicating her efforts. She didn’t understand clothing. She didn’t understand gravity. A low, distressed hum escaped her throat, the closest thing to communication she could muster.
You poked her stomach, and she flinched, her body curling inward instinctively—just like a real caterpillar would. "Aw, does the widdle bug not know how to walk?" you teased, tapping her knee. Her leg kicked out wildly, smacking the bed frame. She let out a panicked squeak.
You couldn’t help it—you laughed. This was hilarious. The woman who’d once scolded you about curfews and chores was now a squirming, helpless insect, trapped in a body she couldn’t control. You grabbed her wrist and lifted her arm, watching as it flopped limply in the air. "Oops. Guess you don’t know what elbows are for anymore, huh?"
Ellibear whimpered again. Drool trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Leaving Ellibear squirming helplessly on the bedroom floor, you strolled into the kitchen, still giggling to yourself. The fridge hummed softly as you swung it open, scanning the contents with mischievous intent. Your eyes landed on a crisp head of spinach—perfect.
Back in the bedroom, Ellibear hadn’t made much progress. She’d managed to roll onto her side, her limbs twitching sporadically as she tried—and failed—to coordinate her movements. Her wide, confused eyes darted to you as you approached, a fresh wave of panic flashing across her face.
"Here, Ellibear," you cooed, crouching beside her. "You must be hungry." You pressed the spinach against her lips.
She didn’t react.
Of course she didn’t—she was still a caterpillar in a human body, and caterpillars didn’t know how to eat like human. They certainly didn’t understand the concept of food in mouth or eat it. The leaf just sat there, limp against her lips, a tiny bit of drool dampening the edge.
You snorted. "Oh, come on." With a flick of the orb’s power, you restored just enough of her mind to remember how to use her mouth—but nothing else.
Ellibear’s jaw moved hesitantly, her teeth closing clumsily around the spinach. She chewed—slow, sloppy, mindless chewing, like a cow lazily munching grass. Bits of green stuck to her lips as she robotically worked her jaw, her expression utterly vacant.
You burst out laughing. "Oh my god," you wheezed, clutching your stomach. "You look ridiculous."
Ellibear didn’t react. She just kept chewing, her movements mechanical, her mind still lost in the fog of insect instinct.
You wiped a tear from your eye, catching your breath. "Alright, alright. Fun’s fun, but I can’t have you like this forever." You tapped the orb, implanting a single command: In two hours, your mind will snap back to normal.
The thought alone sent another wave of giggles through you. Imagine it—Ellibear, suddenly herself again, blinking in horror as she realized she’d been drooling on the floor, chewing spinach like some kind of brainless farm animal. The embarrassment. The confusion.
You stood, brushing off your knees. "Enjoy your snack, Ellibear," you said sweetly, patting her head. Then, with one last smirk, you turned and sauntered out of the room, leaving her to her leafy feast.
The house was quiet again, save for the distant, rhythmic 'chomp chomp chomp' from the bedroom.
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