The voice starts out by itself, but is suddenly joined by many other like voices. As the voices continue, they form into a rhythmic yet lilting chant, and you become aware that there are hundreds of small forms just outside the circle, flitting about you. Straining to see them through the blackness outside the circle, you realize that they are tiny human forms with wings on their backs, either butterfly wings or dragonfly wings, varying from individual to individual. Fairies! And you damaged their fairy ring, didn't you?
"Wait," you blurt. "I-I'm sorry! It was an accident!" But your words fall dead in the air. However, you don't sense any malice from the tiny figures. What are they doing? You don't have much time to wonder before the circle is fill with a fine, sparkling dust. You try to avoid inhaling, but you can't help it. Your lungs filled with a fine cloud of the stuff, you sneeze violently several times. All of a sudden, you feel drowsy, and you sink to the ground, unable to even sit up. As the chanting increases in tempo and shifts from its original mysterious key to something inspiring and yet a little frightening as well, your eyelids drop shut, and you lose consciousness.
You come to in a standing position. You can see the glade where you had been, but in front of you is something like tree bark, only transparent. Looking around, you find that it's on all sides of you. Panicking, you attempt to run away, though it's plainly obvious that you're enclosed. But the bark parts like a curtain, and you dash out into the glade before, finding yourself terribly off-balance, you trip and sprawl in the soft grass.
As you pick yourself up off the ground, long green hair falls over your face. Coming back to a standing position, you reach up a hand to pull the hair out of your face, but stop when you notice that the hand is clearly not yours. Or rather, although it's responding to your motor signals, it doesn't look the least bit like what your hands did, the last you looked at them. You were never a rugged sort of guy, but your hands were still those of a normal male, broad and at least somewhat tanned. The hand in front of your face is slender and delicate, with smooth, pale pink skin and nails notably longer than you remember yours being. As the groggy daze of your drugged sleep begins to wear off, your brain begins putting the pieces together. Frightened at the conclusion your mind has reached, you brush the hair out of your face and survey yourself.
It's exactly as you fear: what you can see of your body is the body of a girl, about sixteen years of age, slender and gracefully curved. In the corner of your eye, you can see a pool, and you rush over to see what has happened to you, nearly tripping again on the way. Your reflection confirms it; your face is soft and feminine, your figure graceful and slim, girlish yet full. Your hair is long and green, falling past your waist to brush against your shapely behind, and it's clearly not died either; it's a natural green that you realize couldn't possibly be artificial. Your eyes, too, are a deep green. What did the fairies do to you? Confused, you look around for anyone who might provide you with some answers. Though you do not spot anybody, you see behind you a tall willow tree. You feel drawn to it, somehow, and begin to walk slowly back to it.
You reach the tree and place your delicate hands on its bark. Although it's not actually warm, you get a warm sort of feeling inside you when you touch it; something about this tree connects with you. Then it hits you: you've become a dryad! Your hair is the same color as the delicate strands coming down from the tree; this must be your tree. So you're...a willow dryad? Yes, something about that thought seems right to you. But wait, you think. I'm not a dryad, not a girl! I'm a guy...right? But still the tree calls to you. You tentatively push lightly against the bark, and your hand slips inside, though the surface of the tree is undisturbed. Curious, you step forward, and you pass through the bark once again, going in as easily as you went out. Inside, the feeling of rightness is stronger still; this is your tree, the other half of you.
You stand in your tree for a long moment - or is it an hour? Or two hours? It's difficult to tell. And is it really standing? You can stay in the same position as long as you like, but your legs don't tire like they ought to if you were standing up that long. But it's not sitting either; it's more like just...being. You think that you ought to get out, to search for some way of returning to your former self, but being in your tree is like being in bed on Saturday morning; no matter how many good reasons you can think of for getting up, it's difficult to make yourself do so.
As you stand or sit or...remain...there, a lone fairy flitters into view. "Hello?" she calls. "Willow? Are you here?"