It started with oak bark.

Sylvia had been tasked with preparing remedies for the village's winter stores, and the old healing texts mentioned a particular preparation using oak bark extract. Problem was, no one could remember the exact ratios anymore - the knowledge had slipped through the cracks over generations. So she'd gone digging through the Great Library's archives...

Most elves avoided the deepest sections where the oldest texts were kept. The air smelled of mildew and the lanterns flickered oddly there, like something didn't want the books to be read. But Sylvia didn't mind. She liked the quiet, and the way the wood creaked around her like a living thing.

She found the remedy book eventually, wedged between two crumbling volumes on mushroom cultivation. As she pulled it free, something heavy clattered to the floor - the spiral-clasped tome. The impact dislodged centuries of dust and revealed the glint of metal binding.

At first she thought it was just another herbal compendium. Then she opened it.

The pages weren't pages at all, but a three-dimensional map made of layered parchment, showing overlapping realms like sheets of gossamer. Tiny glowing markers pulsed where the worlds touched. Her fingers trembled as she turned the "pages," watching new sections of the map unfold. The scientist's journal was tucked inside like an afterthought, its entries growing increasingly frantic:

"Third attempt at stabilization today. The humans are more hostile than anticipated, but this creatures are... Interesting..."

The map showed a portal site barely an hour's walk from her village. And the journal mentioned it only activated under moonlight.

Sylvia carefully copied the relevant pages, returned everything exactly as she found it. She told herself she just wanted to see if the old magic still worked. That she'd go no further than the threshold.

Under the light of the full moon, she'd crept to the ancient stone archway deep in the Whispering Woods. Her fingers trembled as she traced the glowing runes exactly as described in the scientist's journal. The air crackled with energy, the portal shimmering to life like disturbed water. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through - and immediately knew something was wrong.

Instead of emerging in some human wilderness as expected, Sylvia found herself suddenly standing in a strange, enclosed space. The early morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the living room, casting a soft glow over the worn but cozy furniture—a plush couch with a knitted throw draped over one arm, a coffee table stacked with books and a half-empty mug of tea from the night before. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old paper, a quiet, lived-in warmth that felt strangely comforting despite the unfamiliarity of it all. Sylvia blinked, her long silver lashes fluttering as she took in the surroundings. The portal’s magic still hummed faintly in her veins, a tingling reminder of the leap she’d just taken. Her bare feet pressed into the soft rug beneath her, and she flexed her toes, marveling at the texture. Human homes were so… enclosed. So full of things. Back in the elven forests, spaces were open, woven into the trees, breathing with the wind. But this—this was curious. She trailed her fingers along the spine of a book on the shelf, her ears twitching at the faint creak of the floorboards under her weight.

Then she heard it—the slow, steady rhythm of breathing from somewhere above. Elven hearing was sharp, and the sound was unmistakable: someone was asleep upstairs. Her pulse quickened. She hadn’t expected to land directly in a human’s dwelling, let alone one that was occupied. But curiosity had always been her weakness. Swallowing her nerves, she crept toward the staircase, her translucent robes whispering against her skin as she moved. Each step was deliberate, her ears straining for any shift in the breathing pattern. What did humans look like when they slept? Were they peaceful, like elves, or restless? The thought sent a thrill through her—she was seeing something no elf had witnessed in centuries.

The upstairs hallway was dim, the air slightly cooler. A door stood ajar, and through the gap, she could just make out the shape of a figure curled under blankets. Her breath caught. This was reckless. If they woke up… But the pull was too strong. She edged closer, her heart pounding in her throat, and peered inside.

The wooden floor creaked loudly under Sylvia’s foot as she tiptoed closer to the bed, her ears flicking nervously. In her haste, she misjudged the distance and bumped her hip against a nightstand, sending a half-empty glass of water wobbling dangerously. She lunged to catch it—only to knock over a stack of books with a loud thud. The man in the bed stirred with a groan, rubbing his eyes as he blinked awake.

Sylvia froze, her breath hitching. Then, like a startled deer, she bolted. In her panic, she tripped over the edge of the rug, flailing wildly before face-planting into a pile of discarded clothes. A pillow went flying as she scrambled back up, her silver hair now tangled over her face. "N-no, no, no!" she yelped, backpedaling until her back hit the wall.

The man sat up, still bleary-eyed, his hair sticking up in all directions. He squinted at her, utterly bewildered, as she pressed herself into the corner like a trapped animal. "Please don’t... don’t touch me!" she pleaded, her voice trembling. One of her flower hairbands had slipped sideways, and her ears—long and unmistakably elven—twitched in distress. She clutched a throw pillow to her chest like a shield, her wide blue eyes darting between him and the door, as if calculating whether she could make a break for it.