Here is the revised version with proper em dashes (—) for dialogue, following standard formatting for novels/webnovels in Portuguese or English styles that use dashes for spoken lines. I kept the rest of your excellent translation intact, only adding the dashes and adjusting punctuation around dialogue where needed:
Aiko Fujimura walked through the city streets, absorbing the modern, forgotten routine of the crowd. For months she had searched for a rare and ancient item: a medallion steeped in mystery. Today, she would finally meet it in person. The seller, discreet, had agreed to hand over the object only in person.
The shop was small, hidden between modern buildings, with a dark wooden door and a simple sign: "Rare Items — Personal Pickup Only." Upon entering, Aiko smelled old wood mixed with burning incense, as though time had stopped inside.
On a dark wooden table rested a black velvet tray. Ancient coins, an enameled brooch, a cracked pocket watch… and the medallion that had called her here.
The object was smaller than in the photos: about four centimeters in diameter, circular, made of aged silver, with runes almost worn away. A delicate vegetal pattern framed the edge, like intertwined roots. The silver seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
"Why do I feel like it's not just an old object? Why does it feel… like it's calling me?" Aiko thought, hesitating before touching the central rune with her fingertip.
— You may touch it — the seller said in a low voice. — Just don't force it open. I don't know if it still has an internal mechanism.
Aiko nodded and touched it lightly, just enough to feel the relief of the metal.
Suddenly, pain shot through her hand, racing up her arm to her chest. A low sound, like glass breaking in slow motion, echoed inside her mind. The medallion vanished, and Aiko dropped to her knees.
"What… happened? I don't feel anything anymore… and yet I feel everything."
The air changed. A metallic taste mixed with something burnt filled her mouth. Every muscle pulsed with reflexes that weren't entirely hers. Fragments of memories surfaced: precise movements, whispers of reverence and fear… and a name: Vivienne.
Consciousness returned slowly.
First came the silence.
Then the soft weight of her own body sinking into something plush.
Aiko opened her eyes.
The ceiling above her was not white or concrete like the one in the apartment where she used to sleep. It was high, ornate, with delicate moldings and a crystal chandelier hanging in the center, unlit, catching the gentle morning light.
She blinked several times.
"Where…?"
Her own voice sounded strange. Softer. Lower.
She sat up slowly in the bed. The mattress was wide and comfortable, covered in light sheets embroidered with silver threads. Long curtains allowed golden morning light to filter in, illuminating the spacious room.
Dark wooden furniture occupied the space with elegance: a writing desk, a bookshelf filled with ancient volumes, a tall wardrobe… and a large standing mirror near the wall.
Aiko slowly raised one hand. The figure in the mirror did the same.
This… is me?
Her gaze traveled down the reflection.
The face was of ethereal, delicate beauty: fine, symmetrical features, high soft cheekbones that gave an air of aristocratic fragility. The lips were full, naturally pink, slightly parted in shock, revealing perfectly aligned white teeth. The cheeks held a subtle, almost translucent flush, and fresh tears still slid slowly down, leaving shining trails on flawless skin. Golden eyebrows, thin and arched, were furrowed in confusion, framing large expressive eyes — deep amber-gold irises, luminous like ancient resin under sunlight, with warm reflections that seemed to capture and return light in liquid honey drops. Long, elegantly pointed elven ears poked through blonde strands, sensitive and faintly pink at the tips.
Golden hair fell in silky, voluminous waves, shining like molten gold in the morning light. Some strands clung to the damp skin of her neck and collarbones from sweat and tears, creating a sensual contrast between the cold perfection of the elf and the vulnerability of the moment.
The body was a symphony of exaggerated, harmonious curves. The skin was milky white, almost luminous, without a single visible imperfection. Shoulders narrow and delicate, flowing into slender, graceful arms that ended in fine hands with long fingers and perfectly manicured nails.
The bust was voluptuous to an extreme: large, round, firm breasts lifted and squeezed by a deep-purple satin-and-lace corset. The plunging neckline left most of them exposed, pale skin contrasting sharply with the dark fabric, the deep valley between them inviting. The corset was tight, laced with golden cords at the back, cinching the waist to an almost unreal degree—dramatically accentuating the contrast between the tiny waist and wide, rounded hips.
The skirt was a dream of volume: layers upon layers of glossy purple fabric, white lace-trimmed tulle, and ruffles cascading to the floor, supported by an internal structure that gave the silhouette an exaggerated, theatrical hourglass shape. The sleeves were puffed at the shoulders, ending in white lace cuffs that partially covered the hands. Around the neck rested a purple choker with a small golden pendant sitting just above the exposed collarbone.
She turned slowly, examining the profile in the mirror.
The buttocks were prominent and lush: round, high, plump, projecting generously and firmly backward. Every movement made the full cheeks tremble slightly beneath the voluminous skirt layers, the satin fabric brushing and outlining the curves in an almost indecent way. Thick, shapely thighs pressed together under the skirt's volume, and long legs ended in delicate feet slipped into purple satin slippers.
Everything about her—from the angelic, tear-streaked face and glowing amber eyes like golden embers, to the hyper-feminine, provocative body wrapped in that opulent purple gown—radiated an innocent yet irresistible sensuality, as though the very image had been crafted to awaken both desire and awe at once.
Aiko stood frozen, breathing slowly, eyes locked on the reflection.
But… why does moving like this feel so natural?
A wave of memories that weren't entirely hers swept through her mind: mansion corridors, polite conversations, respectful glances from servants… and a name repeated in murmurs.
Vivienne.
Vivienne… am I her now?
Name: Vivienne Dael
Age: 24 years
Race: Elf
Height: 1.70 m
Weight: 64 kg
Before she could think further, a soft knock came at the door.
— Lady Vivienne? — said a voice from outside. — Lady Odette is waiting in the winter garden.
Odette.
The name echoed in Aiko's mind with strange familiarity.
Beloved…
She took a deep breath.
Alright… whoever this Odette is… it seems she knows me.
A few minutes later, Vivienne walked through the mansion corridors. The body seemed to know the way on its own, turning at the right corners, descending the right stairs. The purple dress whispered with every step, layers of tulle and satin brushing against thick thighs, the tight corset pressing voluptuous breasts with each breath.
This is strange… my body knows things I don't.
When she reached the winter garden, soft light poured through the high glass ceiling, illuminating carefully tended plants.
And there she was.
Odette Montflourentes.
Long brown hair was braided perfectly, a few plaits resting over her shoulders. Deep green eyes turned immediately toward Vivienne.
Name: Odette Montflourentes
Race: Human
Age: 26 years
Height: 1.72 m
Weight: 58 kg
She smiled.
— You're finally awake.
The voice was gentle, yet carried a calm warmth.
Vivienne approached carefully, the voluminous dress brushing against the surrounding plants.
— I… woke up a little confused.
Odette studied her face for several seconds, as though reading every detail—especially those amber eyes now shining under the filtered light.
Then she took a small step forward.
— Confused? — she said with light curiosity. — Or just overly thoughtful?
Vivienne maintained the elegant posture her body seemed to know so well.
— Perhaps a little of both.
Odette laughed softly.
Then she stepped even closer, stopping just a few paces away.
The delicate perfume that drifted from her was floral with a warm undertone that seemed to linger in the air.
She held her posture perfectly upright, elegant as always. Then she placed one hand over her heart and gave a slight aristocratic bow, a gesture reminiscent of old noble rituals.
With natural grace, she extended her hand toward Vivienne.
— I, Odette Montflourentes… have a request — she said in a soft yet solemn voice, as though performing a small ceremony.
Her green eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement.
— Would you grant me… a kiss?
Vivienne blinked.
— A… kiss?
Odette smiled from the corner of her mouth.
— On the lips — she added calmly.
Aiko's heart raced inside the chest.
Wait… what?!
She had never kissed anyone before. Not a man… not a woman.
But Vivienne's body didn't seem surprised.
In fact… it seemed to recognize the situation.
Odette took one more step. Now they were close enough for Vivienne to notice every detail of her face, the soft gleam in those green eyes, the elegant smile that seemed to hide a certain provocation.
— You usually say the day begins better this way — Odette murmured.
Vivienne swallowed hard.
This… is normal for her?
She took a deep breath.
Well… if I'm Vivienne now…
Slowly, she leaned forward a little.
Odette raised her hand with delicacy and touched Vivienne's face gently, guiding the movement naturally.
Vivienne, driven by an impulse that seemed to rise straight from the body she now inhabited, leaned in first. Her lips met Odette's in a slow, deliberate kiss.
The contact began softly, almost ceremonial: lips brushing with tenderness, sharing the same breath for a second before deepening. Vivienne moved her mouth against Odette's with growing confidence, her tongue shyly grazing the other's before entwining in a firmer motion. The kiss gradually intensified—wet, exploratory, with light sucks on Odette's lower lip that drew muffled sighs from her.
At the same time, Odette responded with equal surrender, but her hands moved with clear purpose.
The moment their lips met, Odette's palms slid down Vivienne's back. They traced the curve of her spine with precision, circled the tiny waist molded by the corset, and reached the lush buttocks.
She gripped them with possessive firmness.
Fingers dug into the soft, rounded flesh beneath the voluminous skirt layers, squeezing with controlled pressure that made the satin fabric rub against skin and vibrate with pleasure. Odette pulled Vivienne toward her in a slow, decisive motion, forcing their hips to press fully together—belly against belly, the heat between their legs immediately noticeable through lace and tulle.
Vivienne let out a low moan against Odette's mouth, the sound escaping involuntarily as the kiss deepened further. Odette didn't break lip contact: her tongue invaded with greater demand, exploring, sucking Vivienne's lower lip until another trembling moan broke free.
Meanwhile, Odette's hands continued their possessive work. She kneaded the buttocks in rhythmic motions, thumbs tracing the central line between them through fabric, pressing lightly to part and feel more of the plump shape. One thumb slid a little lower, brushing the underside where the cheeks met thick thighs, where skin was thinner and more sensitive beneath the layers, sending waves of pleasure that made Vivienne's legs tremble.
Odette kept the firm grip, pulling Vivienne against her in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made their bodies move together—a subtle yet insistent grind of one sex against the other through voluminous skirts. Fingers sank into soft flesh whenever possible, claiming every inch with a possession that was both gentle and unquestionable.
Vivienne returned the kiss with greater urgency, hands rising to wrap around Odette's nape, pulling her even closer as her hips instinctively rocked against the hold of those hands.
When they finally parted—just enough to breathe—Odette kept her hands exactly where they were: firmly embedded in Vivienne's lush buttocks, fingers still pressing the plump flesh as though refusing to relinquish control.
— Good morning, my Vivienne — Odette murmured, voice husky and satisfied, lips brushing hers in one final light touch. — You start the kiss… and I finish it by claiming what's mine.
Vivienne, breathless, felt heat pulsing through her entire body, the marks of Odette's fingers still warm and palpable even through the dress layers. For the first time since awakening in this body, the kiss wasn't merely a gesture—it was the beginning of mutual surrender, sealed by the firm, deliberate touch that anchored her to that moment and to that woman.