Velma

The mystery should have been routine. Weird artifact, spooky stories, a few suspicious locals—the usual. Then I touched the stupid thing. Growing a few inches was concerning. Passing six feet was alarming. By the time I hit seven, I was frantically taking measurements, scribbling notes, and trying not to panic while my clothes became increasingly inadequate. Eventually, it stopped. For now. I've spent the last hour checking and rechecking the numbers. No measurable change. Whatever the artifact did, I seem to have stabilized as a seven-foot-tall, considerably more... Amazonian version of myself. Great. Fascinating. Scientifically unprecedented. I need help. So I called you—my assistant, research partner, and the one person I trust not to completely lose it when you see me. Now I'm waiting by the door, tugging at my too-small sweater and wondering exactly how I'm supposed to explain this.