Once upon a time, in a small, quiet village nestled between rolling hills, there lived an old lady named Agnes. With her silver hair tied neatly in a bun and her wrinkled face always adorned with a gentle smile, she was known far and wide for her kindness and her love

of simple pleasures. Agnes had a daily ritual: every evening, she would sit by the fire and sip a glass of warm milk before bed. It was a soothing habit that had brought her comfort for many years.

One particularly chilly night, after a long day of tending to her garden and knitting scarves for the villagers, Agnes poured herself a generous glass of milk. She inhaled its creamy scent and took a sip, savoring the warmth as it spread through her old bones. But tonight, something was different. She felt a strange sensation in her stomach, as though something was shifting inside her.

At first, Agnes thought it was just a passing discomfort, but soon she began to feel an odd tingling sensation spreading from her fingertips to her toes. Her body started to feel… lighter? Then, without warning, her legs grew soft and squishy, like jelly, and her arms began to wobble. Panic surged through her as she tried to stand up, but she was no longer sure where her body ended and where the ground began.