The Pink Elf Becomes an Elf?!

Several months had passed in the blink of an eye. The once lively and vibrant living space, filled with the chaos of energy, laughter, and far too many questions, had now returned to a gentle, near-sacred silence.

Upon the bed lay little Diana, deep in slumber. Only the soft, rhythmic sound of her light snores filled the room, accompanied by the faintest smile on her face. Whatever dream she was lost in must have been lovely—at least, that's what Freya assumed. Understanding the inner workings of her daughter's mind was a task she had yet to master. One day, Diana would ask questions faster than even Freya could process, the next she would zoom around the room like a sugar-rich comet, leaving a mess in her wake.

Now, though, there was only peace.

Freya sat at Diana's bedside, gently holding the child's small hand, her thumb slowly brushing across her daughter's delicate palm. It was in moments like these that Freya felt the weight of her past lives, of responsibilities and purpose, melt away—replaced by something warm and quiet.

The dark bags that once rested under her eyes had lightened. Her aloof expression remained, yes, but the frigid coldness that had once defined her presence had all but vanished. In its place was... something new. Or perhaps something old, buried under centuries of silence.

And then—because the universe loved playing jokes with Freya—peace shattered.

With a faint shimmer of light and an all-too-familiar sparkle, a plump, overly cheerful figure materialized into the room like the ghost she was.

Pointed ears. Glittering eyes. That sickeningly bright pink hue.

"...Elysia," Freya muttered, her soft smile turning into a sour frown in record time.

The pink elf stood there, radiant and unapologetically smug, hands on her hips like she owned the place. Her presence instantly soured the serenity of the room.

"It seems you haven't stopped with your antics," Freya said coldly, her voice sharp and flat. "Furthermore, you owe me child support."

Elysia's grin twitched, her confidence faltering for the briefest moment as a bead of sweat rolled down her neck. Her eyes darted toward the ceiling, pretending not to hear as she let out a painfully fake whistle, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Oh my, is that a new pillow cover? Adorable! Did you pick it or did Diana? She has such a good eye for aesthetics, just like her other mo—"

"Finish that sentence," Freya warned, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Elysia's smile returned full-force—but now with the clear intent of riling up Freya further.

"Let's talk about anything but payments," she said with a wink, twirling a lock of her pink hair. "Money is such a boring topic when love is the real currency, Freya~!"

Freya's eye twitched.

Diana stirred slightly in her sleep, and just like that, Freya's ire cooled. She let out a long sigh, squeezing her daughter's hand gently again.

The silence threatened to return—but with Elysia around, that would never last long.

And without a single word of reason, Freya's eyes snapped open—her once tranquil ocean blues replaced by a menacing crimson glow.

Her free hand raised, fingers curling with purpose. A sharp surge of Honkai energy crackled in the air, wrapping around her palm. A brilliant blue aura ignited and surged forward, enveloping both her outstretched hand and the translucent form of Elysia.

Before the pink elf could react, a small, autonomous humanoid construct materialized in Freya's other hand created through the use of the Herrscher of reason powers, it was doll-like... and unmistakably made in Elysia's own image.

Elysia's eyes widened. Her cheerful grin collapsed into abject fear.

"W-Wait! Frey! What are you doing now, my dear Frey?!" she shrieked, flailing her arms in pure panic, looking more like a theatrical spirit than the Herrscher of Origin.

Her dramatic wailing could've earned her an award in some other universe—a certain useless goddess came to mind—but in this one, it only spurred Freya on further. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips, one that was far too amused to be kind.

And then—snap.

With a decisive pulling gesture, Freya yanked Elysia's spirit forward. The blue aura flared, warping space as the pink-haired spectre shot toward her like a torpedo.

"Wai—No no no—!"

Too late.

Fwoop!

In one swift, magical maneuver, Freya held up the humanoid elf-doll—and with a flash of light and a comedic suction noise of a vacuum cleaner, Elysia's entire conscious was forcibly squeezed and shaped into it.

What remained was silence… and then a faint muffled scream from within the tiny body, now adorned in sparkling pink garments, oversized eyes, and—most insultingly—accurate proportions.

Freya held the elf up, inspecting it like a particularly strange fruit. Her grin widened.

"There. Now I won't have to deal with your loud nonsense at full scale."

From inside the construct, the now-miniaturized Elysia wailed again, her muffled voice echoing from the little mouth.

"This is cruel and unusual punishment! I have rights!"

Freya tilted her head. "Not anymore."

She placed the tiny Elysia onto the nearby table, where the elf immediately began shaking its little fists in fury. Diana stirred slightly in bed, but didn't wake. Freya gently adjusted the blanket over her daughter's shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper.

"If you wake her up with your screeching, I'll seal you in a music box."

The elf Elysia immediately froze, now sitting stiffly with a forced smile on her doll like face.

"Understood."

The elf saluted sharply, her tiny hand thwacking against her forehead with all the seriousness of a seasoned soldier—if that soldier were about a foot tall, glaring dramatically with sparkling pink eyes and a deep pout.

Freya raised a brow, her proud smirk growing more radiant by the second. The corners of her lips curled with unfiltered amusement, the sight before her both satisfying and utterly ridiculous. She leaned back slightly as she sat, arms crossed, watching the tiny Elysia stew in her adorable misery.

Meanwhile, the newly embodied Elysia—now imprisoned within the autonomous humanoid elf—sat cross-legged on the table, sulking with such visible despair one would think she'd been denied her favorite dessert.

Despite her grumbling, the elf form was, by all accounts, a strikingly accurate miniature version of herself—complete with her distinct fashion sense. The elf wore a pristine white top paired with snug black shorts, her long black stockings perfectly matched with a short, swishing cape that flared behind her with fur-lined edges. A black shawl draped loosely off one shoulder in a stylishly chaotic off-the-shoulder look, accented by a single armored sleeve layered in royal purple frills. Her other arm bore a sleek black glove, completing the asymmetrical aesthetic she always adored.

She glared up at Freya with her pink eyes.

"This is cruel and unusual punishment," she muttered again, crossing her arms with a dramatic huff. "You realize how tight this space is? My consciousness feels like it's been shoved into a pocket with no space at all."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Freya replied, reaching out to poke Elysia gently in the forehead with her finger. The elf stumbled back with a squeak, falling over and flailing before sitting back up again with a pouty glare.

"Not the forehead! That's sacred ground!"

Freya chuckled softly under her breath. It was a strange thing, this emotion—this warmth. Once foreign, now familiar.

"You look ridiculous," she said, eyes glimmering with dry amusement. "But I suppose it's fitting. Now, I won't have to worry about you causing chaos at full size."

The elf scowled. "You're just mad because I made the kitchen explode that one time."

"You turned my apartment into a candy shop. Literally."

"I called it 'Strategic Sugar Deployment.'"

Freya raised a brow. "You coated the ceiling in whipped cream."

Elysia looked off to the side and whistled innocently, clearly refusing to acknowledge her crimes.

Freya let out a long sigh, her eyes softening as they briefly flicked toward the still-sleeping Diana. The girl stirred only slightly, her little fingers still gently curled around the blankets, peaceful and undisturbed.

Elysia followed Freya's gaze and smiled—an actual soft, warm smile this time, not the mischievous kind she usually wore.

"She's grown, hasn't she?"

Freya nodded slowly, her expression mellowing.

"She's bright. Far too bright for this world."

"…Like someone else I know."

Freya didn't reply. For a moment, silence fell again—an almost sacred calm in the room.

Then, Elysia opened her mouth.

"So, when do I get a bigger body? I have a few… experiments I'd like to run."

Freya's stare turned flat.

"You'll get one when I stop waking up in cold sweats thinking you've replaced my shampoo with frosting."

The elf shivered in mock horror. "You're crueler than Mobius."

"And more efficient."

Elysia sighed, resting her cheek against her tiny palm. "At least make me some clothes that sparkle and expresses my cute charm. If I'm going to be your desktop mascot, I might as well shine."

Freya's gaze dug mercilessly into the tiny form of Elf Elysia, her eyes narrowed with the slow, deliberate amusement of a cat toying with a mouse. The elf, barely the size of her head, visibly trembled beneath that suffocating pressure—like a rabbit frozen under the shadow of a hawk. A slow, wicked smile curled Freya's lips.

"I think you'd make a better chew toy for a wolf than anything else," she mused, voice sickly sweet with menace.

Elysia, still dazed from the forceful hold of Freya, let out a quiet squeak of dismay as Freya's hands reached out and grasped her. With a casualness that bordered on cruelty, Freya began to toy with the small elf like one might handle a doll—tilting her side to side, lifting one arm, turning her head slightly as if inspecting the craftsmanship. It was comically degrading.

Elysia wiggled, flailed, and gave high-pitched protests, but her small limbs did little against Freya's grip. Her expression was a bizarre mix of horror and pouty indignation as she flailed like an action figure in the hands of a particularly creative child.

"H-Hey! Frey! Wait—this is a violation of something—I don't know what, but something!"

"Quiet, doll," Freya smirked with a cold tone, lifting the elf above her head and examining her like some experimental project. "You should be grateful I haven't dropped you into the sea of quanta yet."

It was at this moment, however, that the peaceful stillness of the room cracked.

From the bed behind her, a soft rustle of sheets whispered through the air. Freya froze mid-movement.

A delicate yawn followed.

Little Diana stirred from her slumber, her small hands rubbing her sleepy eyes, and with a groggy huff followed by sluggish movements, she reached out instinctively—grabbing hold of Freya's arm and snuggling against it like a warm pillow.

"Mm… momma…" she murmured, half-asleep.

Freya, still holding the wriggling elf in one hand like a captured gremlin, slowly turned her head toward the voice of her daughter. Her spine stiffened.

Then came the words.

With innocence sharp enough to pierce the very soul:

"Momma… what are you doing?"

Her voice was soft, curious… and utterly disarming.

Freya didn't move. Her eyes shifted between her daughter's sleepy, blinking gaze and the very-much-alive "doll" in her hand who had gone stone silent.

"…uh…" Freya's mouth opened slightly, her mind grinding through excuses, panic, and regret like a jammed terminal trying to reboot.

Elf Elysia, ever the opportunist, immediately grinned.

"Goo—"

Freya covered Elf Elysia mouth.

She realized, too late, she had lost control of the situation.

And it was only going to get worse.

Freya, whose expression that was typically composed—even cold—now found herself caught in one of the most terrifying situations imaginable:

Being asked an innocent question once more by her wide-eyed daughter.

The predator's grin she once wore evaporated. Her posture turned wooden. The weight of Diana's gaze—equal parts confusion and wonder—was more daunting than facing down an army of Honkai beasts. She blinked once, then again, as if trying to mentally reload her entire existence.

"…Momma, what's that?" Diana tilted her head, her soft pink-and-white hair falling slightly over one eye as she rubbed them.

Freya opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

A slight twitch from the miniature Elysia in her hand broke the silence. Freya grimaced.

"It's… uh…" Freya stalled.

Elysia, ever the gremlin, saw her chance. In a saccharine voice laced with mischief, she piped up:

"I'm your adorable Elf Elysia, sweetie~!"

Freya's pupils shrank. Diana gasped.

"You made a toy come to life?!"

"No," Freya replied immediately, her voice far too quick to be casual.

"Yes!" Elysia chirped again, clearly loving this.

Freya sighed deeply and, accepting defeat, slowly lowered the small elf into Diana's waiting arms. Diana gently cradled Elysia like she was made of glass, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement. Her mouth opened into a soft "woaaah."

"Can she talk more?!"

"No," Freya said flatly.

"Yes!" Elysia insisted, smiling innocently up at her new handler.

Diana giggled with joy and plopped back onto the bed, cuddling the small elf against her cheek. "She's soooo soft. And warm! Is she magic, momma?"

"…You could say that."

"She's like a plushie that talks! But real!"

"Technically, she's an autonomous projection formed from a high-density Honkai-encoded sentient spirit core that I forcibly compressed into an elf unit," Freya muttered, eyes twitching slightly.

Diana blinked up at her.

"So… a magic plushie?"

Freya exhaled sharply through her nose. "Yes. Let's go with that."

The pink elf flashed a toothy grin, waving one tiny arm like royalty. "And I accept your worship, little one~!"

Diana looked at her mother again, cradling the elf like a prized possession.

"…Can I keep her?"

"No," Freya said quickly.

"Yes," Elysia said smugly.

Diana hugged her tighter.

Freya buried her face into one hand, muttering under her breath, "I've made a terrible mistake…"