Madison’s World Redux: Season Two: Episode Thirty Two

Madison strolled back into her room, her steps light and carefree, unaware of the turmoil she had left in her wake. Greg and Cindy watched her from the confines of their habitat, their eyes following her every move as she finally looked down at them for the first time today. A smile spread across her face, oblivious to the hours they had spent waiting, watching. She had no idea they had been sitting there since morning, silently observing her sleep, waiting for her to stir, to acknowledge their existence. She hadn’t noticed them as she scrolled through videos, messaged her friends, and then casually walked out of the room without a glance in their direction.

It was as if they hadn’t existed at all from their perspective.

The door to her room slowly creeped forward until it hung wide open, something so rare in their household that it felt like an anomaly, a strange rupture in the routine. Madison never left her door open, it was a rule she had enforced upon herself, her way of controlling her space, her privacy. But now? Now she was ruler of this domain, the queen of her castle, with no need to close herself off from anyone. The door could hang wide open because there was no one left to intrude, no one to challenge her authority in the space she had claimed as hers.

“Well, good morning, my Littles! Did you guys sleep well?” Madison’s voice was sweet, chipper, filled with the familiar energy of the old Madison, the girl they had once known. There was no malice in her tone, no sharpness, only the bright innocence of an honest question. It was almost jarring, the way she shifted so easily into this role, talking to them as if they were still her parents. As if nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Greg and Cindy exchanged a glance, both instinctively looking toward the lid of the habitat, still firmly sealed atop their enclosure. The weight of it, though unseen, was felt in every fiber of their being. They knew the script, knew what was expected of them. And just as they were about to assume the proper “Little sit,” prepared to answer her through the thick barrier, Madison casually reached up and removed the lid, as if remembering at the last moment that she needed to give them space to respond.

The air between them and Madison felt different now. The weight of their confinement was ever-present, but the removal of the lid offered a fleeting sense of connection—though they knew it wasn’t real. Madison’s face, bright and expectant, loomed above them, waiting for their response.

“Yes, thank you, Madison. We slept well,” they answered in unison, the words coming out smoothly, carefully. They had learned to hide their frustrations, to mask the undercurrent of anger and helplessness that simmered beneath the surface. There was no room for that here. Not if they wanted to avoid drawing Madison’s scrutiny, her disappointment.

Cindy swallowed hard, feeling the familiar sting of the morning’s frustration, the hours spent waiting for this very moment. Waiting to be acknowledged, to be seen. But now that it was here, the hollow pleasantries exchanged, it felt anticlimactic, a bitter reminder that their lives had become a series of moments dictated by Madison’s whims.

Greg, too, felt the weight of the situation settle over him, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, though he kept his voice steady, measured. He could feel the tension between them, the shared unspoken reality of their helplessness. But they both knew better than to let it show. Better to play the part, to say what needed to be said, to keep Madison happy. They had a strategy and couldn’t mess it up right out of the gate.

Madison’s smile widened at their response, her eyes twinkling with the satisfaction of hearing what she wanted to hear. It was a smile they had seen countless times before, when she had aced a test, or when she had made them proud in some small way. But now, the context was different. Now, that smile felt like a reminder of the power she held over them.

“That’s great!” she chirped, completely oblivious to the strain in their voices, the forced cheerfulness in their responses. To her, this was just another morning, a normal, pleasant start to the day. But for Greg and Cindy, it was anything but.

The truth was, they hadn’t slept well. They hadn’t felt rested, or content, or in control. They had spent the morning suffocated by the weight of their new reality, waiting for the moment when Madison would remember them, acknowledge them, even if just for a brief exchange. And now that the moment had come, it felt like a hollow victory. Their words, their actions, were all choreographed by the expectations Madison had set for them.

They weren’t people anymore—they were her Littles. And that reality, no matter how brightly Madison smiled, was always hanging in the air between them.

“I figured you could have some breakfast pellets today instead of just the original chicken ones,” Madison chirped, her voice filled with the lightness of an early morning conversation, as if the weight of the last few days had simply evaporated. “A little bit of flavor beyond chicken in your food will do you wonders, I bet. Sorry, though, coffee’s out of the question. But hey, when you graduate to being taken outside, we can maybe grab a littlecino! That’ll be fun, won’t it?” Her tone was bright, cheerful, entirely devoid of any malice or manipulation.

It was unsettling.

Greg and Cindy exchanged a glance, the same thought racing through their minds. The Madison standing before them sounded like the girl they had known, the daughter they had raised. The daughter who had spent mornings laughing with them over breakfast, complaining about school, chatting aimlessly about her friends. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was no edge to her words, no underlying sense of control or condescension. She was simply Madison, chipper, energetic, as if the past two years hadn’t happened at all.

Cindy felt her breath catch in her throat, the tension she had been holding in since Madison entered the room starting to unravel. Could this really be happening? Could her daughter, the girl she had lost to the world of teenage rebellion and power plays, have suddenly returned? The shift in Madison’s demeanor felt surreal, like some sort of dream that could shatter at any moment.

“Madison?” Cindy asked softly, her voice laced with disbelief, hope, and a cautious hesitation. She couldn’t help but question whether this was really her daughter standing before them or if it was some kind of cruel mirage. Was this fleeting moment of normalcy just another trick of the mind, a desperate grasp at something she wanted so badly to believe?

Madison turned to her, that same bright smile still plastered on her face, her eyes sparkling with what seemed like genuine affection. “Yeah, Mom?” she answered, the question hanging in the air with an almost eerie lightness, as though they were merely having a casual conversation about breakfast, not navigating the chasm that had grown between them over the years.

Cindy felt her heart tighten. This was her daughter, wasn’t it? The tone, the kindness, it was so familiar, so achingly normal that it made Cindy’s chest ache. But at the same time, the context was wrong. Everything was wrong. Her mind reeled with confusion. This was still the same Madison who had locked them in the habitat, who had dictated their every movement. The same Madison who had reduced them to Littles in every sense of the word like she was taught. And yet here she was, offering them flavored pellets like it was a treat, talking about littlecinos like it was something to look forward to.

The dissonance was almost too much to bear.

Greg, who had been silent through the exchange, watched his wife carefully. He could see the hope flickering in her eyes, the way she leaned into the sound of their daughter’s voice. He knew how badly Cindy wanted this to be real, how much she wanted to believe that Madison had returned, that their daughter had re-emerged from the haze of control, teenage rebellion and dominance that had defined her for so long. But Greg couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He didn’t trust it. How could he? Preteen Madison had been gone for so long.

“Breakfast pellets, huh?” he said slowly, trying to keep his voice light, though the tension in his words was unmistakable. “That’s… nice of you, Madison.”

Madison grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! I figured you’d like that. I mean, it’s not as fun as going out for real breakfast, but it’s a start, right?” She spoke with such sincerity that it was almost impossible to believe she had ever been anything but this sweet, well-meaning girl.

But Greg wasn’t fooled. Not entirely.

The atmosphere in the room felt strange, charged with a mix of cautious hope and lingering unease. Cindy wanted so badly to believe that this moment signaled the return of the daughter they had lost. But deep down, both she and Greg knew that things weren’t so simple anymore. Madison’s cheerful tone, her casual promises about littlecinos and flavored pellets, only underscored the fact that she still saw them as something less than her parents.

As her Littles.

It didn’t matter how kind or affectionate she seemed in this moment. The underlying dynamic had shifted irrevocably. And no amount of flavored breakfast pellets or sweet words could change that. Was this merely how she treated her pets. Had they fallen so far, they were just Madison’s cute littles and no longer do they have to deal with the teenage attitude as now they are mere littles?

Still, Cindy couldn’t stop herself from hoping, from grasping at this sliver of kindness. She looked up at Madison, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. “That sounds… nice,” she said, her words cautious, hesitant. She wanted to believe it, wanted so badly for this to be a sign that things could change, that they could go back to something resembling normal. But she also knew better. She had learned the hard way that nothing was as it seemed in this new reality.

Madison beamed, seemingly unaware of the turmoil her parents were grappling with. “Great! I’ll grab the pellets for you guys,” she chirped, turning away without a care, her tone still filled with that same sunny disposition. As she moved toward the door, Cindy watched her go, her mind swirling with questions, doubts, and a flicker of something that almost felt like hope.

But Greg knew better. He could feel it deep in his gut, the tension that remained beneath the surface, the quiet reminders of who was really in control. Madison’s sweetness didn’t erase the reality of their situation. It didn’t change the fact that they were still trapped, still bound by the rules she had set for them.

As the door clicked shut behind Madison, the silence that followed felt heavier than before. Greg turned to Cindy, watching as her shoulders slumped slightly, the brief hope that had flickered in her eyes starting to dim.

“She’s still Madison,” Greg said quietly, his voice filled with both sadness and a resigned understanding. “But she’s not the same.”

Cindy nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I know,” she whispered, though her heart ached to believe otherwise.

The truth was, the Madison they had known was gone, replaced by someone who still looked and sounded like their daughter but held a different kind of power over them now. And even in moments like this, moments of sweetness and familiarity, the underlying reality was impossible to ignore.

Madison bounded back into the room a few moments later, her energy as bright and carefree as ever. The lid to the habitat remained off, and Greg and Cindy glanced upward as her shadow fell over them. Her hand hovered above their small world, and then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she released the handful of breakfast pellets, letting them tumble down into the habitat. The pellets landed with soft thuds on the pink carpet below, scattering across the floor like breadcrumbs.

In her other hand, Madison tore open a granola bar, taking a large, enthusiastic bite as she stood there, watching her parents from above.

“Go on, eat up, guys,” she chirped, her mouth still half-full. “I thought we could eat together, you know? Like a family breakfast.” She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then continued, her voice still upbeat but tinged with a note of disappointment. “It’s a shame McKenzie’s at work. I asked her to get me a job at the convenience store too, but she shot it down. She said it’s important I focus on school and, you know, still being a teen. I told her it wasn’t fair, though. I want to help out.”

Greg and Cindy exchanged a quick glance. There it was again, that strange shift in Madison’s demeanor. This wasn’t the commanding, controlling figure who had been overseeing them like a guardian or the rebellious, argumentative teenager they had fought tooth and nail the past couple years. No, this version of Madison felt so different, so abruptly altered that it was almost surreal, like they had stepped into a dream they hadn’t asked for.

Madison sighed lightly, taking another bite of her granola bar. “But I guess there’s not much I can do. I trust McKenzie to let me know if I really need a job. And, from what I know, money-wise, things are fine. We’ve got a budget and all. We talked about it last night after you guys went to bed.” She spoke so casually, as if she and McKenzie were the adults in the room now, discussing finances, planning their futures, while Greg and Cindy were tucked away like children, unaware of the serious conversations happening around them.

Cindy’s stomach churned as she listened to her daughter’s words. The subtle shift in power, the fact that they had gone to bed while their children stayed up to talk about money and responsibilities, it was another reminder of how far things had changed. It made her feel small in more ways than one, helpless to intervene in the life she used to oversee, used to guide.

“Go on, guys,” Madison repeated, her voice as bright as ever, though now a little more insistent. “Eat your breakfast pellets. I know it’s not as good as people food, but it’s important for your bodies. McKenzie and I want you to stay little and strong for us. We don’t want to lose you guys because we were negligent.” She smiled warmly, as though her words were meant to reassure them, but Greg and Cindy both felt the weight of what she was really saying.

We don’t want to lose you.

The underlying message was clear. They were no longer just parents. They were Littles, beings under the care of their daughters, reliant on them for everything. Their survival, their health, even their meals were no longer in their own hands. And Madison, despite her chipper tone, was enforcing that reality, even if she didn’t realize it.

Greg crouched down, his hand brushing against the pellets scattered on the carpet. He picked one up, examining it between his fingers as if it might reveal something more than just its functional purpose. The thought of eating these while Madison stood there, casually munching on her granola bar, felt like another small humiliation. But what choice did they have? Refusing to eat would only draw more attention to the imbalance between them, and neither he nor Cindy wanted to upset Madison, not when she seemed so…normal today. So like her old self.

Cindy, too, knelt down, picking up a pellet and holding it in her hand. She felt the familiar tension in her chest, the conflict between wanting to resist and the harsh truth that resistance meant nothing in this world. They had to play their part. They had to eat, smile, and thank Madison for her “kindness” while swallowing the bitter reality of their situation.

“Thank you, Madison,” Cindy said softly, forcing a smile as she glanced up at her daughter. The words felt hollow, but they were necessary. She had learned that much by now.

Greg echoed her, his voice quieter, but the same polite gratitude threaded through his tone. “Yeah, thanks.”

Madison’s smile widened as she watched them. “See? Isn’t this nice? Just having breakfast together,” she said, her voice full of warmth, as if this were any other morning in their family life. As if nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

The normalcy Madison was projecting, the bright and breezy way she spoke, was perhaps the most disorienting part of all. Greg and Cindy sat there, holding their breakfast pellets, while Madison stood tall above them, casually eating her granola bar. The scene felt so close to the life they used to know, but twisted, distorted by the roles they now played.

As Madison continued to talk, mostly about herself, Greg and Cindy did what was expected of them. They began to eat, their movements small and methodical, though neither could truly focus on the task at hand. Madison’s voice filled the room, her words blending into the background as the weight of their situation settled back onto their shoulders. This wasn’t just a normal breakfast. It was a reminder, a reminder of their new place in the world, of the life they now lived under Madison and McKenzie’s watchful eyes.

And no matter how kind or cheerful Madison appeared today, they knew the truth: they were still her Littles.

“Yeah, so Evan and Brooklyn are coming over later today,” Madison said warmly, the lightness in her voice almost making the moment feel casual, like any other weekend visit from friends. “They want to see you guys. I think they just want to make sure you’re okay. I mean, it kind of came as a shock to everyone that you’re not only Littles now, but that you caught Smallara. You guys were such big parts of our lives…” She trailed off for a moment, as though weighing her words, before continuing with the same breezy tone. “I tried to reassure them over the phone, but some things you just have to see, I guess.”

Madison spoke with such ease, as though this was a normal update in a regular conversation between family members. But Greg and Cindy, sitting in their habitat below, felt the weight of her words settle over them like a suffocating fog. They want to see you guys. Those words echoed in their minds, their implications clear: they were now objects of curiosity, people to be seen rather than simply visited.

Greg glanced over at Cindy, catching the flicker of apprehension in her eyes. He could see she was thinking the same thing he was, that this new, sweet version of Madison was almost worse than the more controlling, distant one they had been dealing with. This Madison, with her cheerful tone and seemingly genuine concern, was harder to navigate. The old Madison had been sharp, assertive, and you could brace yourself for the edge of her words. But this? This required them to tread carefully, to watch their words, to constantly gauge her mood, unsure when, or if, the other shoe would drop.

They were balancing on a tightrope, not daring to upset her, not wanting to ruin whatever fragile peace was hanging in the air.

Greg looked up at his daughter as she smiled down at him, her expression filled with the warmth and innocence of the little girl he had once known. For a brief, painful moment, he felt the familiar tug of fatherly pride, that protective instinct that always rose to the surface when he saw her smile like that. But the warmth quickly dissipated, replaced by a sharp pang of caution. He couldn’t afford to be lulled into complacency. This was still Madison, the same person who had taken him out of McKenzie’s room last night and sent him to bed like a child at 9 p.m. The same Madison who now held all the power over their lives.

“So, I don’t want this to be weird between us, you know?” Madison continued, taking another bite of her granola bar before pressing on, her voice still sweet but now tinged with something more serious. “But with McKenzie adopting me and everything, I don’t want you guys to think that I, like, don’t appreciate your time as parents. You’ll still be Mom and Dad, even though McKenzie’s my parent now.”

Her tone was gentle, kind, but the words struck like a blow neither Greg nor Cindy had been prepared for. They exchanged another glance, this one filled with more than just unease—there was a sense of loss hanging between them, a shared grief for something they hadn’t fully processed yet.

They had known this was coming, had been vaguely aware of the legal steps that were unfolding behind the scenes, but there had been so much else, so much change, so much to adjust to, that they hadn’t truly grasped what it meant until now. The reality of their new status as Littles, the struggle to accept the loss of their autonomy, had consumed their thoughts. But now, with Madison’s gentle reminder, they were forced to confront the truth: McKenzie had adopted Madison. Their eldest daughter was no longer just her sister, she was now her legal guardian, her parent.

Cindy’s chest tightened, the enormity of it all pressing down on her. She hadn’t let herself think too deeply about it before. There had been too much else, too many other small humiliations, too much adjustment to their new roles as Littles. But now, it was all too real. They weren’t just dealing with the loss of their independence, their authority, or even their freedom. They were losing the roles that had defined them for so long: parents.

Greg, too, felt the weight of Madison’s words sink in. He had always taken pride in his role as a father, in guiding and protecting his daughters, in being the steady presence they could always rely on. But now, that responsibility had shifted. McKenzie was the one guiding and protecting Madison. McKenzie was the one making decisions. And while Madison’s voice was kind, her intent gentle, there was no mistaking the fact that things had changed irrevocably. They were no longer Mom and Dad in any practical sense, they were Littles, subject to their daughters’ care.

Madison smiled again, the same chipper tone returning to her voice as she tried to soften the blow. “You’ll always be Mom and Dad to me,” she added, her words sweet, as if they were supposed to offer comfort. But they didn’t. Not really.

Greg cleared his throat, trying to steady himself, to find the right words. “Of course, Madison,” he said slowly, his voice tight with the effort to keep his emotions in check. “We’re… glad McKenzie is taking care of things.”

Cindy nodded in agreement, though her throat felt tight, her words caught somewhere between acceptance and grief. “Yes, of course,” she echoed, her voice softer than usual. “We’re happy that McKenzie’s looking after you.”

The room felt heavy with unspoken emotion, the distance between them both literal and figurative. Madison, still standing tall above them, seemed oblivious to the depth of what she had just revealed. For her, this was just another part of the new normal—a transition she had already accepted, perhaps even embraced. But for Greg and Cindy, it was another devastating step in the unraveling of their old lives.

The conversation drifted back into lighter topics as Madison talked about her plans for the day, her excitement about seeing Evan and Brooklyn later. But Greg and Cindy remained silent, the weight of her earlier words settling over them like a thick blanket. They weren’t just adjusting to being Littles. They were adjusting to being something else entirely—people on the periphery of their own children’s lives.

“I can tell I probably caught you off guard about McKenzie and all,” Madison continued, her tone still light, still filled with that same casual warmth. She took another bite of her granola bar, chewing thoughtfully before she spoke again. “The paperwork and stuff is still going through. I just didn’t want it to be weird between us, you know. I mean, I’m your guardian, and McKenzie’s my guardian. It’s kind of funny if you think about it.”

Greg and Cindy didn’t laugh. They didn’t even smile. The words landed between them like stones, heavy and unsettling, even though Madison’s voice was as cheerful as ever, as if she hadn’t just upended their world again. The casualness with which she spoke about it, the ease with which she referred to herself as their guardian, was almost more jarring than the revelation itself.

Funny? Greg thought, feeling a strange sense of detachment as he tried to process what she had just said. Madison genuinely seemed to believe that there was something amusing about this—a kind of cosmic joke where they all swapped roles, everyone just adjusting to the new normal. But to Greg and Cindy, nothing about this was funny. Nothing about this was right.

Cindy felt her stomach twist as she watched Madison casually munch on her granola bar, completely unaware of, or perhaps indifferent to—the emotional storm she had just stirred up. The very idea of Madison being their guardian was still too surreal to fully grasp. Her daughter, the one she had raised, cared for, disciplined, and loved unconditionally, was now responsible for her, for Greg. And the fact that McKenzie, their eldest, had to step into a parental role for Madison only deepened the wound. It was a tangled mess of shifting roles and lost identities, one they hadn’t even begun to truly process.

Madison’s words echoed in Cindy’s mind, and a cold realization settled over her. They weren’t just losing their roles as parents—they were being absorbed into this new, strange hierarchy where Madison ruled over them and McKenzie ruled over Madison. It was a layered prison, and every word out of Madison’s mouth felt like another bar being added to their cage.

Greg forced himself to stay composed, though every muscle in his body was tensing up. He couldn’t let himself react. Not now. Not in front of Madison. But the longer he sat there, listening to her describe their new lives so casually, the harder it became to keep the frustration from bubbling up. The fact that she saw this as funny—as some kind of quirky twist of fate—only made it worse. He glanced at Cindy, who sat stiffly beside him, her expression strained, her lips pressed together as though she were physically holding back the torrent of emotions building inside her.

“It’s definitely… different,” Greg said carefully, trying to keep his voice even. “But we appreciate you telling us, Madison.” He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to navigate the strange dissonance of their new relationship without triggering something in Madison.

Madison smiled, seemingly satisfied with his response. “I’m glad you guys get it. I didn’t want there to be, like, any weirdness between us, you know? It’s all just part of the process. You’ll always be Mom and Dad to me, but… things are different now.” Her tone remained sweet, almost apologetic, as if she were reassuring them that everything would be okay.

But for Greg and Cindy, the words only deepened the sense of finality. Things are different now. The shift in their lives, in their roles, wasn’t temporary. This wasn’t something they could wait out or endure until things went back to the way they were. The paperwork might still be “going through,” but the reality had already set in. They were no longer the ones in charge—not of their own lives, and certainly not of Madison’s.

Cindy’s mind raced as she tried to process it all. Every fiber of her being wanted to protest, to scream that this wasn’t right—that parents weren’t supposed to be the ones being taken care of, especially by their own children. But the words wouldn’t come. There was no room for protest in this new world. Not when everything had already been decided for them.

Madison continued speaking, her voice bright and untroubled, but Greg and Cindy could barely register her words. They were too focused on the implications of what she had said, on the looming reality that they had been stripped of their roles not just as individuals, but as parents.

Cindy’s hands, resting on her lap, tightened into small fists as she fought to keep her emotions in check. The sheer unfairness of it all, of everything, was almost too much to bear. How could it have come to this? How could they have lost so much so quickly? And the worst part was, there was no one to blame but themselves. They had allowed this. They had taught this.

Greg, sensing Cindy’s turmoil, reached over and placed a hand on hers, giving her a small, reassuring squeeze. It was the only form of comfort he could offer in that moment—just the simple reminder that they were in this together, even as everything around them seemed to be crumbling.

“Yeah,” Cindy finally managed to say, her voice small and tight. “It’s… different, but we understand, Madison. We do.”

Madison beamed, her face lighting up with that same childlike innocence that made it so hard to reconcile who she had become. “I knew you guys would get it,” she said, as if they had just agreed to something much less significant than the complete dismantling of their identities. “You’re so strong. I’m really proud of you both.”

Greg felt the sting of those words, proud of you both, as if they were meant to console them, to offer them some kind of validation in the face of their diminishing roles. But they weren’t the ones who needed to be proud. They weren’t the ones who should have to adjust. That was supposed to be their role, as parents. But now, they were the ones being praised for simply accepting their fate.

As Madison stood up and took another casual bite of her granola bar, Greg and Cindy remained still, the weight of their new reality pressing down on them more heavily than ever. Madison might not have meant to hurt them—her voice had been nothing but sweet, her words coated in affection, but the sting was still there, sharp and undeniable.

They weren’t just Littles now. They were parents in name only, and even that title felt like it was slipping away, replaced by something far smaller, far more confining.

Madison looked down into the habitat, her eyes soft and warm as she counted the small breakfast pellets scattered across the pink carpet. The last bite of her granola bar disappeared into her mouth as she chewed thoughtfully, her attention lingering on her parents below. “I’m gonna need to see at least ten of those breakfast pellets eaten when I come back,” she said in that same sweet, sing-song tone that Greg and Cindy hadn’t heard in so long. It was the voice of the old Madison, the one who used to ask them for permission to stay up late or for a new pair of shoes. The voice that once conveyed innocence and affection, now laden with new layers of control.

“I can’t wait to hear what you think of them. They should be better than the original pellets you were eating before. These cost a little more, but I really pushed McKenzie to get some for you. I wanted to do something nice for you guys.” Madison’s tone was full of pride, as though the act of upgrading their pellets was a genuine gift, something special she had gone out of her way to provide.

Greg and Cindy exchanged a look, the weight of the unspoken between them heavier than the scattered pellets at their feet. Madison had become an expert at blending kindness with control, her every word dripping with affection even as she reinforced the fact that they were now her Littles. Her gestures, pushing McKenzie to get better pellets, wanting to do something nice—felt more like reminders of their dependence than real acts of love.

“I know I pushed you guys pretty hard yesterday,” Madison continued, her voice soft, almost apologetic. “But you made so much progress. McKenzie and I are both proud of you. I’m sorry if it felt like too much, but I really want you guys to be happy and able to have a full life as my Littles.”

Happy, Cindy thought bitterly. How could they be happy living like this—eating pellets, following commands, existing at the mercy of their daughter’s whims? But Madison’s voice was so warm, so genuine, that it was disarming. It almost made Cindy want to believe that Madison truly thought this was all for their benefit. But there was no mistaking the reality beneath it: they were no longer her parents, not in any real sense. They were her Littles, subject to her expectations, her love wrapped up in layers of control and discipline.

Madison crouched down beside the habitat, her face looming large above them. “It’s important to me that you understand that,” she said softly, her eyes wide and sincere. “If I’m hard on you, it’s coming from a place of love. You two are everything to me. I promise this will get easier. I just want you to have the best life possible as my Littles.”

Greg stood there, stiff, his mind racing. Madison’s words, despite their sweetness, only reinforced the bars of the invisible cage they were now trapped in. She wasn’t just their daughter anymore—she was their guardian, their keeper. And yet she spoke as if all of this was for their benefit, as if this life, this existence, was something they could eventually come to accept and even enjoy.

“This has been nice,” Madison continued, a smile creeping across her lips. “Just us getting to talk like this. When I thought about dinner last night, I realized McKenzie and I were talking above you. We didn’t mean to, and I’m sorry if it felt that way.” Her voice softened even further, as if she were offering them a heartfelt apology. But even this was laced with the underlying message that they were no longer on the same level. They weren’t part of the conversation—they were subjects, waiting for their turn to speak when prompted.

As Madison picked up the lid to the habitat, Greg and Cindy both felt an instinctive tightening in their chests, the familiar weight of confinement pressing down on them even though the lid wasn’t yet sealed. “I promised McKenzie I’d clean up downstairs,” Madison said, casually, as if she weren’t about to lock them back in their tiny world. “And since I pushed you guys with the little training so much yesterday, I figured you could have some time to relax up here while I straighten up for her.”

Her words, relax up here, felt like another slap of reality. They weren’t being offered freedom, but the illusion of it. They could rest within the confines of their habitat, but nothing more.

Madison paused, her eyes lighting up as though she had just remembered something important. “Oh! If I have time, I’ll work on reformatting one of my old iPhones with LittleOS so you guys can watch Little TV content and read the Little news. I know how much you all loved the news and stuff.” She grinned, clearly excited by the thought. “They even have Little fiction novels and all kinds of stuff. It’s a pretty diverse ecosystem of content for you all. I just want you to be happy.”

The casualness with which she described their new lives—a life filled with curated content designed specifically for Littles—made Cindy’s stomach turn. She could already imagine it: the sanitized news, the fictional worlds designed to reinforce their place in society, the carefully constructed narratives that would keep them docile. The thought of it made her want to scream, but her voice felt trapped inside her, stifled by the ever-tightening grip of Madison’s well-intentioned words.

“I love you guys,” Madison said softly, the sincerity in her voice almost unbearable. “Eat up, please.”

With that, she reached down into the habitat, her fingers lightly brushing against Greg and Cindy in a series of affectionate pets. The simple act, once a tender gesture from parent to child, now felt humiliating. Each stroke of Madison’s hand sent a wave of conflicting emotions through them—resentment, shame, and a hollow kind of gratitude, all tangled together. Cindy could feel her body respond despite her mind’s resistance, relaxing involuntarily under Madison’s touch, the way it had been conditioned to.

As Madison stood and placed the lid back over the habitat, her smile still lingered, a reminder of her unwavering belief that she was doing the right thing. Greg and Cindy sat in silence, staring up at the now-closed world around them, the sound of Madison’s footsteps fading as she left the room.

They were alone again, left with the pellets scattered on the floor, the weight of Madison’s affection pressing down on them like a suffocating blanket. The sweet words, the promises of a better life, the offer of Little TV and news, it all rang hollow in the quiet that followed.

And yet, despite everything, they knew they had no choice but to play along.

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