"No matter where I go, as long as I keep moving forward. The world is vast, and there's never a shortage of stories."
— Elaina, the Wandering Witch
Maybe it was the dullness after work, the sharpness usually reserved for clients throughout the day—especially after working a year in a bank post-graduation—but when the truck rushed toward him, our protagonist didn't react. That survival instinct, the one that should've made him jump or roll out of the way, didn't kick in. All he managed to do was close his eyes, as if accepting the inevitable, even though his brain hadn't fully processed it.
-POV: ???
I closed my eyes expecting pain. But nothing came. No impact, no crunch, no screeching tires, just... silence. I opened my eyes, confused, and what I saw shocked me more than the idea of my own body shattered across the pavement.
No truck. No street. Instead: a bustling train station. The sounds of traffic mixed with the screech of trains, loudspeakers crackling out incomprehensible announcements... Yup. Definitely a train station.
What am I doing here? And why does my body feel... off?
I looked down and froze.
I was wearing a black robe with long sleeves, decorated with elegant silver trim, a dark pleated skirt, tights, ankle boots, and a shoulder satchel. None of this was in my wardrobe. I definitely wasn't wearing this before work ended. Has capitalism really rotted my brain so badly I forgot basic things like what I was wearing?
No. This isn't mine. And... is that a witch's hat?
But that wasn't the part that made my breath catch.
It was the body inside the outfit.
I looked down. Slowly. Carefully.
There were... features. Let's say convincing features.
I raised my hands and touched them lightly. Warmth. Softness. Not big, but definitely there. And it wasn't the surreal, floaty feeling you'd expect from a dream. No, this was real. Tangible. My brain didn't even glitch trying to process it.
I brought my fingers to my throat. My skin was smoother. My neck thinner. I spoke aloud. "Ah, ah!" The voice that came out was airy, higher-pitched, still a bit husky, but undeniably feminine.
I blinked.
Okay. I should be panicking right now.
This isn't just a change of clothes. This is a full-body gender change.
I turned my wrist, flexed my fingers. The nails were neatly shaped, like they'd never seen a bad habit in their life. My hips felt different when I shifted my weight. There was a subtle curve to the way my arms rested. My center of gravity had shifted, and even breathing felt somehow... smaller, quieter.
So, why didn't any of this feel wrong? Why am I not freaking out?
I'm sure I wasn't into that sort of thing before. Maybe it's some kind of body instinct helping me stay calm?
No... it's more than that. I should be screaming, questioning whether this is a dream or a psychotic break.
But instead, there's this energy—strange and yet familiar—flowing through me.
Magic? No not only this, but something deeper.
Like this body... accepts me. Grounds me. Like I belong in it.
So let's recap.
One second I was about to die a gruesome death, and the next I'm suddenly in a different place, in a different body. I can hear people speaking English. Someone just said "bollocks" and "mate." Yeah, that confirms it. England. Thankfully, I speak english.
Now that we've got the "where" figured out, let's check out what's in the satchel.
I unclasped the satchel's leather flap. It gave off a faint snap, like it had just woken up from a nap and wasn't happy about it. Inside, nestled against a surprisingly soft velvet lining, I found a thick book. Not just a book—a magical-looking grimoire—and a small pouch. Let's look at the grimoire.
Thick, heavy, and humming softly with restrained magic, like a cat vibrating with a purr that could turn into claws at any moment. (Because yes, I can sense and understand that now.) Its cover was a smooth, midnight-black leather that shimmered faintly with stardust under certain angles.
On the first page, embossed in silver, a name: Elaina. I guess that's my name now. Below it: "Dimensional Hope" and beneath that, a strange loading bar... Is this book recharging? Wait—dimensional?
I'm not even in my own world anymore.
So... taxes? Don't exist? I take it back. This might be the best day of my life.
Jokes aside, if this grimoire is legit, and the energy I feel is actually magic, that means... I'm a witch.
Okay, this sudden body swap doesn't feel like a curse anymore. It's a bargain.
Flipping through the grimoire, I saw spells like Fireball, Barrier, Flight, Teleportation, Invisibility, Physical Reinforcement... Tea Making? There's a lot in here. And as I read, I realized—I can use them. Like, immediately. It's as if I'd already learned them.
I could even sense a flying broom and a wand tucked away in a sort of personal subspace.
Next: the small pouch, which was larger than it appeared (magic!). I expected coins. I got... both more and less. Inside: twenty golden coins. Currency? Magical batteries?
Tucked underneath was a folded stack of British pounds—20 crisp £100 notes.
Alright. At least I have money, no need to work for the moment.
Discreetly equipping the wand, I transfigured a mirror as easily as breathing.
The girl who appeared in the reflection was… stunning. Long platinum hair, gently wavy, cascading down to her lower back. Violet eyes—soft, yet sharp—full of curiosity and thoughtful distance.
Oh. That's me.
"I'm just… too pretty to be ignored."
Casting a disillusionment charm discreetly, I followed a strange magical signature to a wall nearby. There, a plump woman and what seemed to be her daughter stood apart from the crowd. The woman's red hair was pulled up in a loose bun, and her warm, slightly worried face was marked by the light lines of motherhood. She was speaking loudly, complaining about the noise caused by these "Muggles?"
Lady, I'm fifteen meters away and I can still hear you. That's either a magical lung spell or she's a world-class soprano. Still, if she seems like a marginal in front of a magical wall that people around are unconsciously avoiding, she probably knows something about the magical side of this world.
Time to investigate.
"Um, excuse me?" I called out.
She glanced at her daughter, then looked me over for one second before replying. "Yes, dear?"
"I'm new to England. Do you happen to know any interesting magical places to visit around here?"
She almost cried out, "Shhh! There are Muggles around!"
Okay, three things: One, she definitely knows magic exists. Two, magic is apparently hidden from normal people. And three, that lady's vocal cords could wake the dead. People were already staring. If there was a concealment charm around this wall, she shattered it with her voice alone.
"Don't mind us, folks! It's for cosplay! Haha…"
"What's cosplay?" she asked, frowning.
"Never mind. So, um, could you tell me about some magical tourist spots? If it's not a bother, of course."
"You can head to Diagon Alley," she said. "You'll find everything there. If you don't know the way, I can show you. You're not going to Hogwarts, then?"
"Hogwarts?"
"Oh, you've never heard of it? It's the most famous magical school in the world."
I guess I'll have to look into it. But school? Again? I already graduated once. I'm not going back—even if it's a magical school.
Trying to gather more info, I looked down at the shy little girl hiding behind her mother. "She's adorable. Isn't she going to school too?"
The woman looked surprised, but then smiled proudly. "Not yet, thankfully. I'm dreading next year when they'll all be off to school or work and the house will be empty."
"You have more kids?"
"Seven. All hard-working."
Wow. She's clearly not wasting time. Maybe she's secretly trying to take over the world with red-haired heirs.
She explained how to reach Diagon Alley: either by magical teleportation or the "normal" way, through the Leaky Cauldron. I chose the second option. No way I'm trusting my body to unknown magic just yet.
Then she walked off with her cute little one. I don't even know their names…
Hmm… now that I think about it, she spent a long time staring at my hair. Is this color not normal? Worst case, I'll say it's dyed.
For now, I needed a hotel. I headed to the Premier Inn King's Cross. That's when I hit my first problem: no ID.
I'm sorry, beautiful receptionist, but I have to lie a little. I slipped out a blank white card and cast a spell on it to make her see whatever I wanted.
"Alright, Miss Elaina Ashen. One night, Room 223. Enjoy your stay!"
With a place to sleep secured, I spent the rest of the day shopping. Apparently, I make the perfect doll for those ruthless shopkeepers. I'm pretty sure they'd lock me in their basement as a living mannequin if they could.
"Beauty like mine must be protected… by me."
Lunch was shepherd's pie, by the way. Absolutely divine.
I spent the day wearing jeans, a simple T-shirt, a beige jacket, and a freshly bought English-style hat. Walking around dressed like a witch didn't seem wise if magic is hidden here.
Evening came, and I tried the Sunday Roast at the hotel restaurant. Delicious again. Then I returned to my room.
The air smelled clean and quiet. As soon as the door shut, the noise from the nearby station seemed to disappear, as if swallowed by a spell of peace.
That's when it hit me truly.
I'm in a new world. In a new body.
Can I go back?
Was I actually killed by that truck and just forgot? Or was I saved—before or after death—by some higher being who granted me a new life?
I took out my grimoire again and looked at the first page: Dimensional Hope.
So that's it.
Even if I could go back… I'm here now. This is my body. I don't know why or how, but I've been given a second chance.
A chance to travel—not just this world, but worlds. To see the beautiful, the ugly, the strange, the magical, the forgotten… Yes. That's my new goal for now.
I'll be a traveling witch.
In conclusion: I didn't choose the pretty witch life. It chose me. And tomorrow, I'm going to explore magical England.
After her nighttime routine—and a very thorough inspection of her new body—our freshly reborn witch, Elaina Ashen, collapsed onto her fluffy double bed. The pillows welcomed her like clouds ready to erase the fatigue of this world… or another. And just like that, for the first time in a long while, she fell asleep… excited for what tomorrow would bring.
The next morning, I woke up, ready for the day. After reassuring myself once again that this was not a dream, but truly the beginning of a "real" dream, I dressed in my witch costume and prepared for whatever might come my way.
Taking a taxi, I arrived in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Wedged tightly between a record store and a dentist's office—two places where magic seemed to have long since died (but well, we're in 1991, so maybe the record store still had some fight left)—it looked like the kind of pub even rats would hesitate to enter. A narrow black door sat beneath a hanging wooden sign so old that its paint peeled like sunburnt skin. The faded words "The Leaky Cauldron" barely clung to the weathered wood, and the cauldron depicted above had long since stopped leaking.
Most people didn't notice it. They walked right past, their eyes sliding over it as if it wasn't even there. A compulsion charm? Or just apathy for the old and the creepy? Either way, the place gave off a distinct vibe: "You don't belong here," unless, of course, you actually did.
I hesitated, unsure if I should go in. It really sounded like a bad idea, the kind of place where you might end up locked in the basement of some creepy guy. But I was here, and I could defend myself. I didn't know how strong these witches and wizards were, but I was sure I could fight.
Why was I even thinking about fighting? I was supposed to be here to appreciate the place…
I stepped closer. The air shifted subtly, and for a fleeting second, it felt like I'd walked through a thin veil, like a heat shimmer you only notice once you're already through it. The sounds of the bustling street dulled, replaced by a quiet hum of magic.
I pushed open the door.
Inside, the pub was dim and dusty, but oddly comforting. Low wooden beams stretched overhead, flickering candles cast dancing shadows, and the scent of smoke mixed with something vaguely magical filled the air. A few cloaked figures murmured over their drinks, barely sparing me a glance. Behind the bar stood a bald man with no eyebrows, polishing a glass that looked older than the Queen herself, his movements precise and calm.
I approached the bartender and greeted him, "Hello, first time here. Someone told me the way to Diagon Alley was through here."
He glanced me over, his sharp eyes briefly scanning my unusual clothes—clearly witch's attire, though I hadn't quite embraced the "I'm coming out of the bath and this is the only thing I found on the floor" look they might expect—and then said with a small, knowing smile, "Of course, miss. Right this way."
Tom led me through the pub toward the back alley. Reaching out, he tapped a particular brick in the wall. It shimmered and rippled like water before fading away, revealing a narrow, bustling street lined with crooked shops. The scent of freshly baked goods and strange herbs filled the air, and colorful signs swung gently above doorways. Wizards and witches hurried past, some carrying enchanted objects, others chatting animatedly. The hidden magical world had fully unfolded before me.
"Here you go, miss. Don't forget the process to open the wall. And I wish you a pleasant visit," Tom said, lowering his voice. "Oh, and before I forget, between you and me, don't pay too much attention to those who look at you strangely, especially because of your hair. Let's just say… they don't like people who are different here." With a final nod, he left me standing at the entrance.
Charming, sectarian even. It was my first time seeing a magical place, and it was certainly impressive—but why did I have the feeling the grime in front of the bar was deliberate? Like a sign saying, "We've been here a long time. You others are not welcome."
The last thing I hope, for the sake of my magical experience, is that goblins—the greedy, mischievous little monsters from video games who can be very bad company for women in some stories—don't turn out to be the bankers here! Ha! That would be ridiculous.