Charity watched, powerless, as Alejandra rose from the bed like some ancient giant roused from her cavern. The mattress creaked under her shifting weight; the cold floorboards popped in protest beneath each step.
For a long moment, Charity stayed hunched inside the bunched hoodie, her knees drawn tight to her chest, the folds of the fabric doing little to muffle the distant city or the household noises that felt so sharp at her size: the tap of Alejandra’s foot on the tile as she crossed to the tiny kitchenette, the whoosh of the old fridge door opening, the slap of something cold being dropped onto a scratched cutting board.
Charity tried to keep her mind on the next step, Kira. If she could just get Alejandra to call Kira. If she could hold herself steady enough, behave enough, coax enough, then all this filth and noise and humiliating warmth could be left behind. She would be Kira’s little, yes, but Kira was civilized. Rich enough. Careless, maybe, but not… this.
She clung to that thought like a life raft as the familiar rhythm of Alejandra’s voice drifted back to her. Muffled Spanish, fluid and musical, carrying a casualness that stung Charity’s pride every time she heard it.
Alejandra didn’t talk to her the way people used to, not the polite stiffness of her parents’ circle, not the deferential hush her old staff used. She spoke to her like she was a child, or worse: a pet that could understand tone but not words.
The scent of cooking drifted to her next. Oil, salt, cheap frying bacon, so different from the elegant brunch platters she’d always ignored in favor of organic smoothies or guiltless fruit plates made by chefs paid six figures.
Her stomach clenched. It wasn’t true hunger, not yet, but an animal reminder that her tiny body ran hot, fast, and needed to be fed more often than her old one.
She hated that Alejandra knew that now. Knew it and controlled it.
A shadow fell across her hoodie fortress again. Charity flinched, even though she had told herself she wouldn’t.
Alejandra’s hand lowered, palm open. She didn’t say anything this time, just watched with her steady dark eyes as Charity hesitated, then shuffled forward, tiny feet slipping on the fabric until she crossed the span of Alejandra’s palm.
The heat of it hit her instantly. She didn’t want to enjoy it, the rough warmth, the way the pads of Alejandra’s fingers curled slightly, caging her without force. But she couldn’t help it. It was warmth, and she was so small.
A gentle lift, no fanfare, no comment. Just the world dropping away beneath her as she rose up, higher and higher, until she could smell Alejandra’s hair and the faint trace of cooking oil on her skin.
She half-expected Alejandra to say something cutting, a reminder of who held who, but instead, she heard Alejandra humming under her breath. A soft, wordless tune, Spanish lullaby or pop hook or maybe nothing at all.
It made Charity’s chest tighten in ways she didn’t understand.
Alejandra set her down on the same old coffee table, now cleared but still dotted with faint burn marks from an iron and rings from a thousand mugs. In front of her was a chipped saucer with a slice of cheap bread spread with avocado and salt.
Charity stared at it. Then at Alejandra.
“I want to call Kira,” she said, fighting to push her voice above the hum of the fridge and the faint street noise.
Alejandra didn’t reply immediately. She just pointed at the bread, then tapped her own lips: “Eat, Patrona.”
That word again. Charity felt the urge to scream twist inside her throat. But she said nothing. She stepped forward, knelt on the cool ceramic plate, and tore off a crumb. Her hands trembled with cold and humiliation, but she forced herself to chew.
Alejandra nodded once, approving but not gloating, then turned back to the kitchen, humming again as she rinsed the knife and leaned against the counter to watch her.
For a while, the apartment felt oddly peaceful. Sunlight fought through the grimy window, making the worn floorboards look almost golden. Outside, a neighbor yelled at a barking dog; somewhere far off, a train rumbled past.
Inside, the only sounds were Alejandra’s humming, the quiet scrape of her nails against her phone screen, and Charity’s own tiny breaths as she chewed and swallowed and reminded herself: Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll be gone from this.
But somewhere deep down, a place she didn’t dare touch, she knew tomorrow might not be hers to plan anymore.
I think Charity is starting to figure out that she belongs to Al now.
at the very least suspicious. Any rational person would have suspicion
That they would.
Anyway, back to rewriting my Brothers story.
1.1) “If she could just get Alejandra to call Kira. If she could hold herself steady enough, behave enough, coax enough — then all this filth and noise and humiliating warmth could be left behind.“ Charity’s plan relying heavily on good behavior feels like self sabotage
1.2) “She would be Kira’s little, yes, but Kira was civilized. Rich enough. Careless, maybe, but not… this.” It’d be funny if Al did agree to give her to Kira and Kira ended up being untrained
2) “She spoke to her like she was a child, or worse: a pet that could understand tone but not words” that’s pretty typical for people addressing Littles
3) “She half-expected Alejandra to say something cutting — a reminder of who held who — but instead, she heard Alejandra humming under her breath” horrible people do tend to assume everyone else is like them.
4) “I want to call Kira,” – “Eat, Patrona.” Al is having none of her shit.
5) “That word again. Charity felt the urge to scream twist inside her throat” well, she does know the power of name-calling.
6) “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll be gone from this.” Are you sure about that?
Very observant and I agree with everything. I am wondering since most of Mexico’s population cant afford pellets, does the website have a section for what their littles can eat to stay healthy? I think Al loves the power she has over charity, because its makes her feel true power for the first time in her life and maybe a pet love for charity growing inside her every day she sees & feels her little body move around on her skin like a kitten.
If you can’t afford pellets you probably can’t afford a little. It would be like buying a dog but to poor for food and vet visits.
Most people enjoy power. So I can imagine she doesn’t dislike it.
that would mean Al is not Qualified by your own words lol.
Alejandra wouldn’t be able to own a little in the traditional methods. As if she had to buy one from the store she wouldn’t have the funds to do so.
So she’s not qualified nothing in the story has validated her as a credible qualified person to care for a little.
she has at no point been ever presented canonically as qualified up to this point. The only qualifications have been desires and wants and guesses from people in the comments section.
However qualifications and reality don’t always meet. There are alto of people who shouldn’t be parents who are. There are people who shoudln’t own pets that do.
Thats just part a part of life. Qualifications and how things should work don’t always align.
Unfortunately you are so right, money doesn’t make you a good parent or person. I just allows you to get away with more mistakes.
1) its not her strong suit but i guess drastic measures call for drastic action.
1.2) lol, she has to go to holding facility until Kira passes.
2) yeah, in a world where littles are viewed as pets. Speaking to them like pets would be standard for the guardian. The little would need to just get used to it.
3) the old im not horirble. This is just how people are.
4) nope, Charity i feel like would get draining.
5) the ironry of her being on the recieving end of a unwanted name.
6) Paritally a coping mechanism laced with hope. As sometimes thats all you have.
2) I love in the picture charity tries to look at giant Al with her hand on her tiny hips and Al makes sure she knows who is boss lol.