Charity stood at the precipice, her toes brushing the lip of the first step, and gazed down the long wooden slope that unfurled before her like a sheer cliff face. The staircase was open on either end, a yawning drop between the railings, the steps suspended like floating ledges with nothing but empty air in between. A single misstep wouldn’t just be a stumble now, it could be fatal. There were no balusters tall enough to shield her. No grip rails within reach. Just endless descent. The kind that, at her size, felt geological. Punishing. Unforgiving.
The wood gleamed beneath her feet, polished and smooth, once a luxury aesthetic, now a hazard. The same gleam that once reflected soft morning light through the foyer windows now glared up at her like ice. Treacherous. Indifferent.
The descent to the first floor, once a mindless stretch she’d traversed in seconds, sometimes while texting, sometimes in heels, had become a gauntlet. A mountain. Each step a miniature cliff. Each shadow cast by the railing’s base a dark, gaping void she could fall into and never escape from.
She swallowed hard, but the motion felt forced, thick. Her throat dry like old paper.
In her former life, she’d bounded down these stairs with music in her earbuds and a drink in hand. She could practically see her old self in a rush: caramel latte balanced precariously in her left hand, expensive leather bag bouncing against her hip, phone in her right as she replied to a text from Kira or scheduled a ride-share to brunch. She hadn’t even looked at the stairs. They were just background.
Now, each step could bury her. Quite literally.
She could fit inside the vertical rise of one tread. Just vanish into the shadowed gap beneath a stair, an erasure. The handrail above her stretched like a redwood beam, far overhead. Out of reach. Out of context. It mocked her with its uselessness.
She knelt, slowly, and crawled forward on hands and knees. The wood was cool beneath her skin. Every grain pattern felt like uneven terrain, each little divot or ridge capable of twisting her foot if she wasn’t careful. She lowered herself to her stomach, belly pressing flat to the wood, and extended her arms out toward the edge. Her fingers closed around the rounded lip of the stair tread. It felt too smooth. Too perfect. Nothing to catch on. No texture for her to grip with certainty.
Her knuckles whitened. Her arms quivered with tension.
She peered over the edge.
The drop stretched down below her like an abyss. Eight inches. That was the standard, she remembered. Some random factoid from years ago, once meaningless. But now? That eight-inch drop was longer than her entire body. Longer than she was tall. If she fell wrong, there wouldn’t be a second chance. At this size, even a bruise could be a crisis. A sprain could be a prison sentence. A broken leg… she didn’t want to think about it.
Her stomach twisted and pulled up into her diaphragm.
She pushed herself back from the ledge, breathing too fast. Her lungs were small now, fragile, birdlike things that fluttered with each inhale. She sat down, legs dangling over the side of the tread, and stared blankly ahead, heart hammering in her chest. The stairwell was colder than she remembered, the air circulating freely. A current of invisible wind slipped through the vertical void, lifting her fine hair from her face and making her skin pebble with goosebumps. Her toes curled instinctively as the emptiness beneath her tickled at her awareness.
It wasn’t just fear of falling.
It was fear of discovering, definitively, that she couldn’t do it.
She told herself she was catching her breath. That she needed a moment to assess. But she knew better.
She was afraid.
Not of death, though the stakes loomed larger than ever, but of failure. Of proving she wasn’t strong enough to exist like this. Of confirming that she belonged in that stupid cage, in that pastel hellscape Sara had probably set up for her, in the world Sara had designed. A world made for helpless creatures.
Her fingers flexed. She could still feel the ridges of Sara’s name etched into the floor of her enclosure as a reminder. Even now, halfway across the house, the ghost of it lingered in her fingertips like a brand.
“You’re not going to die on your own staircase,” she whispered, her voice barely audible to herself.
The words felt absurd. Like a child playing adventurer. But something in them steadied her. Gave her a target to aim at, even if it was just survival.
She returned to her belly, hands extended again.
This time she didn’t overthink it.
“Okay… okay… go.”
With her chest pressed to the glossy wood, Charity sucked in a breath so deep it scraped her throat raw. Her limbs quivered with hesitation, the whisper-thin edge of the stair biting coldly into her abdomen. Then, inch by inch, she began to slide forward, legs first, like a diver hesitating before the fall. Her toes stretched blindly into the void, groping for nothing. The moment her center of gravity tipped past the fulcrum, the universe shifted.
Gravity didn’t tug her, it snatched.
Her body lurched down with a violent jolt, stomach flipping. Instinct surged through her like lightning, and her arms snapped taut, elbows locked, fingers clenching the stair’s edge with desperate, primal strength.
A white hot pain tore through her shoulders, and she gasped, the breath shattering in her chest like glass. Her palms screamed in protest as the polished wood dug cruelly into her skin. Her feet swung uselessly in empty space. The whole world narrowed to this brutal, pendulum like dangling, her entire weight suspended by fingers barely larger than pencil erasers.
She tried to breathe, but all she could manage were sharp, panicked gulps. Her chest rose and fell with rapid, ragged rhythm, fluttering, shallow, a hummingbird’s breath trapped inside a body not made for this.
Her thoughts screamed at her: Pull back! Abort! Retreat! But there was no retreat. Not now. Not at her size. Not from here.
Only down.
Her knuckles had turned the color of marble. Her vision blurred with strain. Her muscles trembled on the verge of giving out, and finally, they did.
She let go.
There was a strange stillness in the moment her fingers released, time dilating, the breath in her lungs caught in suspension. The air rushed past her face like a cold hand. Then the landing hit.
She slammed into the next tread with a thud, louder than it should have been, the kind of sound that, at her scale, might as well have echoed. Her knees bent on instinct, and her tiny arms flung out for balance, palms skimming the wood. She remained there, crouched low, heart pounding, expecting, what? That the step might vanish beneath her? That another gust of wind might come and sweep her into the abyss?
But nothing happened.
The world didn’t collapse. She wasn’t broken.
She was still here.
A laugh escaped her, a fragile, breathless little sound, more exhale than voice. Disbelief trembled in her ribs. She did it. One step. One impossible step.
Her knees wobbled as she rose to her feet, shaky and tender. Every muscle felt taxed, trembling like an aftershock. The exertion had already begun to bloom in her limbs, tight bands of soreness wrapping her thighs, her shoulders, her lower back. It was the kind of full-body fatigue that came after a climb, after a sprint, after surviving.
She looked up, and the hallway above, her old world, seemed impossibly distant, like a dream fading into the clouds. She looked down. The main floor waited below, hazy in the stairwell shadows, a world away. And between them, a line of carved wooden ledges, each one a drop, a dare, a threat.
“This is going to take forever,” she murmured aloud, not because she believed it needed saying, but because she needed to hear something, anything, to tether her sanity.
She moved again. Not because it was easy. But because she had to.
Crawl to the edge. Grip tight. Legs down. Dangle. Drop. Land. Repeat.
Again. And again.
Each time, her breath caught. Each time, her fingers burned. Each time, her legs absorbed the landing with the full, jarring weight of her fall. But she kept going. The ritual gave her structure. It was punishing, but it was hers.
And strangely, something inside her began to adapt.
Her balance felt sharper. Her reflexes faster. The world was no less dangerous, but her body began to know it differently, not as an intruder, but as a survivor. Her center of gravity was closer to the ground now, and with every impact, her joints found new ways to absorb the shock. She couldn’t be sure if it was adrenaline, muscle memory, or some change wrought by Smallara’s reshaping of her body. Maybe all three.
Halfway down, the landing appeared like a mirage. She practically collapsed onto it, her hands splaying out over the smooth floor as she rolled onto her side and drew her knees up. Her breath came in rapid bursts, short, fast, involuntary. Her chest rose and fell as though her body no longer trusted her to do it consciously.
The wood beneath her was blessedly cool. Her fingertips were raw, red crescents of overuse. Her legs trembled, muscles spasming with every twitch. But she didn’t care.
She had made it this far. Alone. Unassisted. And that mattered.
She curled into herself like a child, forehead resting against her knees, and let the silence of the stairwell wrap around her like a blanket. Outside, the world still loomed enormous. The descent ahead was no less treacherous.
But for the first time since waking up in this too big house, Charity didn’t feel like a victim.
She felt, if only for this brief moment, like a person again.
And she wasn’t going to stop now.
The stairs feel like a video game level. I’d be worried if Charity injures herself here, though, and then she would have to lie there in excruciating pain until finally someone performs a wellness check and sees her there injured.
Video game level seems accurate in some ways because of the absurd size difference between little and person
I want the help to find her and while they are calling the helpline she asks them to call Sara, she goes to her willingly! This in turn shakes Sara and she takes pity on her but she needs to show she’s sorry
Requesting Sara would be wild on her part. Possible though but lethal would be very much against this. He is probably prepping the protest banners over you even mentioning this
As would I, Sara would be an awful choice for Charity’s guardian, she’s said she would treat Charity like a slave with no route to forgiveness. Fuck that piece of shit.
agreed. and it’d be in front of Jordan and sometime Kelly no less. Gavin would be indifferent, but those two would probably see it as Sarah treating them as an exception to her ideals and how she treats Charity as the way she really feels. At least I know I would. If I was in Jordans postion at that point, i’d be doing things to help charity with her chores, regardless of getting in trouble with sarah.
It’s doubtful Jordan would be in a position to help though. As Jordan is normally with Sara where charity wouldn’t necessarily.
that’s true. though Jordan could protest a little. he’d be ignored probably, or just brushed off, but if it was constant Sara’d have to at least hear it, and while Jordan would probably get in trouble, he’d at least be a constant advocate for Charity. Plus if Jordan were in a position in Sarahs room where he had some free roam and Charity was working on a chore at a place where he could get to, he could help then too. I think it’d be a massive shock to the system if Sarah saw her little prince helping her enemy with chores because he thought Sarah was being unfair
As bad as Sara might be, there is always the thought, “better the devil you know”. Charity knows what to expect with Sara, but a stranger could be worse (the same logic Jordan used, albeit, Sara was far kinder to him than she has been with Charity.
It might all come down to who discovers her.
I personally wouldn’t mind Sara as my guardian.Any guardian has negatives but I can live with Sara’s negatives.
If I’m charity though I don’t think Sara is my lifeline call. I would suck it up and call some friends or someone.
I would love to see Sara give a little mercy like a good Christian she says she is but only to a point. Charity still has to ask for forgiveness. If she doesn’t, just give her a place to stay like Jordan and and jobs to do like a normal human or little would have to do. Jordan stays her Main little and charity would be her work little. Nothing out of the ordinary for a little. It would be funny if Sara or another guardian uses Charity for a little breeder and keeps her pregnant all the time lol. She has a stud in Jordan all ready to go and no emotion attachment because he already has Kelli has is future wife. Sara would have to explain it to Kelli as a simple doggie style studding lol.
I admire her will power. She doesn’t seem like just a spoiled princess. Like i’m sure she was spoiled, but at the same time I get the impression she worked for a lot of things too. otherwise I would think she’d be acting like a baby or stuck in her room still.
thats a fair assesment of her. I mean she was a bit of a bully but she wasn’t lazy. She did work hard and apply herself.
1) “Charity stood at the precipice, her toes brushing the lip of the first step, and gazed down the long wooden slope that unfurled before her like a sheer cliff face” Are, every Littles’ adversary, stairs. And these one’s seem particularly difficult.
2) “It wasn’t just fear of falling. It was fear of discovering, definitively, that she couldn’t do it.” that’s a fair thing to be afriad of.
3) “Of proving she wasn’t strong enough to exist like this. Of confirming that she belonged in that stupid cage, in that pastel hellscape Sara had probably set up for her, in the world Sara had designed. A world made for helpless creatures.” definitely not something she wants confirmed.
4) “heart pounding, expecting, what? That the step might vanish beneath her? That another gust of wind might come and sweep her into the abyss?” all real possibilities she’d need to worry about.
5) “Crawl to the edge. Grip tight. Legs down. Dangle. Drop. Land. Repeat. Again. And again” repeating for each step would take ages and it’s not like she can go back up. This is a one-way trip for her, it’d be funny if she had a second Roomba downstairs.
6) “Each time, her breath caught. Each time, her fingers burned. Each time, her legs absorbed the landing with the full, jarring weight of her fall” I wonder how many times she can do that before someone breaks.
7) “And strangely, something inside her began to adapt. Her balance felt sharper. Her reflexes are faster. The world was no less dangerous, but her body began to know it differently.” Adapting is good, she’ll need to do so rapidly at this point.
8) “Halfway down, the landing appeared like a mirage. She practically collapsed onto it” that’d feel like a checkpoint to her.
9) “She had made it this far. Alone. Unassisted. And that mattered” well, that begs the question, how much further will she get?
10) “But for the first time since waking up in this too big house, Charity didn’t feel like a victim. She felt, if only for this brief moment, like a person again. And she wasn’t going to stop now” bit of a red flag that Charity views victims and poeple as two seperate catagories, but it is Charity so I guess that’s in Character. But I don’t blame her for wanting to hold on.
1) Well they are common in american houses I’m unsure if that’s true globally. So it would be a common obstacle to overcome. It also fun to write them. So I like to include them where it makes sense.
2) I really wanted to put myself in that position and I thought if I was charity that’s what I would be most afraid of. If I couldn’t do it.
3) Fear of Sara is understandable.
4) Just scratching the surface really of things to be afraid of.
6) Probably more me then me. I got bad knees from football(American)
5) That would have been hilarious. They probably do realistically.
7) I feel like as a little that would be one of the harder things accept and wrap your mind around. As while your body is different and aspects of your senses and processing are different. For littles like charity the brain is still wired for humanity so to speak. So through actually doing things they have to rewire how to exist. What they can and cannot do.
It was a concept brought up very briefly in Smallara prime where its talked about how Kelli had been a little longer but Jordan had more practical experience.
8) Most definitely. Kind of like reaching the halfway point of a hike or climb and you allow yourself to relax a bit.
9) I would guesstimate 61/62 episodes or so if I had to wager/
10) I was gonna say reading the first part of your question you really thought someone like Charity would view victims and people as the same thing. But as I kept reading your 2nd and third thoughts came into play.
She definitely views the helpless, the meek, the victims as lesser to some extent. Becuase they don’t have the means to help themselves.
holding on seems reasonable for anyone.
1) They’re about 1 in 5 here, it makes sense they’d be common, but I’d imagine Little Chair lifts for the reduced residents would be a Genritech best seller amongst guardians.
3) I think it’s more fear of consequences
6) Sorry to hear that, I got bad ankles from a birth defect.
7) Definitely, it’d be like any disabled person as they’d need to get used to the disability and the things they no longer can do being out of the question for them.
Getting hands on experience straight up could benefit her like it did with Jordan.
8) Letting her guard down might not be her best idea.
10) Hazzah, I tricked you. Lol I often get the same feeling reading the text.
“She definitely views the helpless, the meek, the victims as lesser to some extent. Because they don’t have the means to help themselves.” She’s becoming more Sara like by the second.
1) oh its like almost every home here unless your specifically buying a home that doesn’t have stairs like a rambler. Which is specifically designed as a one story house. They arne’t uncommon but aren’t the norm.
I think the chairlifts would depend on how the guardian views the little. If they view them as more of a pet. They may not want the little upstairs unattended. If they are more this is person view 100%. I feel like it would be a good seller amongst a set of people.
3) Thats a safe bet.
6) Mine, don’t really affect my daily life as long as i make good decisions. Things like don’t do a inordinate amount of bending, lifting, climbing.
you had mentioned a defect before didn’t realize it was from birth. Not sure if that makes it easier or harder to deal with. As you’d still have to work around on it but on the other hand its something you’ve always had to deal with so its more normal to you.
But I never would have guessed just from talking with you. Thats the beauty of the internet. Everyone still has the ability to connect and meet people.
7) I agree the journey shes on sucks but does help her understand what she can and can’t do. Jordan would be a good parallel.
8) probably not, but when one is tired sometimes the best decisions aren’t made.
10) Sara’s views of that are more little specific where charity is more agnostic in her views to all beings that exist on the planet.
the last chapters have been informative but I am ready for some guardian action for charity lol.
all in due time