Charity’s eyes blinked open to a dim golden haze, filtered sunlight bleeding through the frayed fabric of plaid cotton above her like stained glass through a ruined cathedral. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The air around her smelled faintly of body lotion, old detergent, and something vaguely metallic, the scent of a life not her own, wrapping around her like a second skin.
Then it hit her.
The walls that loomed up around her weren’t walls at all. They were the inner folds of Alejandra’s old plaid backpack, threadbare, sagging, and steeped in the faint musk of years of hard use. Her feet rested on the lumpy cushioning of a hoodie’s torso, the faded cotton mottled with wear and time. One of the sleeves had been tugged up and over her like a blanket. Its cuff rested near her neck, oversized and heavy as a weighted comforter. Her world was a tangle of fabric seams and zipper teeth, a cavern sculpted not by nature, but by ownership.
A faint jingle sounded as she shifted, the cruel music of her new identity. The ID tag nestled at her collar clinked against the zipper’s metal tooth, a sound as loud as a bell tower at her scale. She froze. Even now, even after sleep, her brain needed a second to register that the tag was hers. Her name. Her barcode. Her reality. Property of Alejandra.
She sat up slowly, disoriented and sour-mouthed, her bones aching from sleeping on uneven fleece and nylon. The air was warm, stale, and slightly sour, infused with the layered scents of sweat, synthetic perfume, and the plastic liner that had once protected Alejandra’s schoolbooks from lunch spills. Now, it held her.
Somewhere beyond the backpack’s fabric walls, the room creaked and sighed. A mattress groaned under shifting weight. A low snore filtered in, rhythmic, nasal, and so very human-sized. Alejandra was still asleep.
Charity felt her stomach clench as she remembered the moment last night when the girl had smiled down at her and said: “Patrona, since you’re so attached, I’ll let you have this as your bed.”
There had been a sick amusement in her voice, like she was rewarding a pet that had grown too fond of its kennel.
This was it. Her bed now. An old hoodie in the bottom of a plaid bag that hung on a wall hook like a purse. She hugged her knees to her chest, bare toes curling against the fabric. She remembered her bed, her real bed, the one she used to stretch out on with crisp sateen sheets that kissed her skin and a mattress that adjusted to her body temperature. That cloud of softness, warmth, and freedom was gone, and in its place was this: someone else’s clothing, someone else’s smell, someone else’s choice.
Her jaw tightened. Her collar itched. Beneath the surface of her skin, just under the collarbone, she could still feel the ghost of the implant, the chip. Her tracker. Her leash.
Even if she ran, especially if she ran, there was nowhere to go. In the United States as a litlte, she might’ve had protections, legal channels, advocates. As a Mexican little, she didn’t even know the rules. Could Alejandra sell her? Trade her? She didn’t know. That ignorance frightened her more than the collar itself. She had heard the horror stories about some border towns, Littles traded like livestock with no recordkeeping at all.
Most Littles she’d seen were issued tablets, like Jordan’s, something to enrich their tiny lives, keep them occupied while their “guardians” got on with real business. Sara had given Jordan one with puzzles, books, even a messaging system.
Charity didn’t expect that from Alejandra.
Hell, at this point she’d rather be in Sara’s control. As cruel as she could be, Sara would’ve broken her with discipline, not ambivalence. At least there would’ve been structure. Predictability. A cold kind of stability.
Instead, she belonged to a seventeen-year-old girl who once cleaned her shoes.
Charity pressed her palms into the hoodie’s wrinkled fabric, stood, and tried to keep her balance. The world tilted beneath her, every seam, every uneven ridge a small hill or sinkhole under her tiny, bare feet. She steadied herself, heart hammering. A Little’s balance, she was learning, wasn’t quite the same. Her center of gravity was different now, every step a negotiation with the unpredictable terrain of the everyday.
She made her way to the opening of the bag, the mouth of the plaid prison, and peered out between the loosened zippers. A sliver of room light filtered in, soft and dappled. The edge of Alejandra’s bed loomed a few feet away, the mattress sagging visibly where her guardian lay sprawled. Charity could see the threadbare blanket rising and falling over Alejandra’s broad back, and hear the occasional squeak of the bedsprings as she shifted.
The sound was overpowering at this size. Every breath Alejandra took seemed to fill the room like a passing freight train. Every turn of her body rumbled like thunder through the floorboards.
Charity raised her voice.
“Alejandra?” she called, hoarsely.
Nothing. Not even a stir. Her voice was like mist, it didn’t carry far at this size. She tried again, louder this time, but it only rasped from her throat like a squeak from a worn-out toy.
The hopelessness hit her like a gut punch.
She could no longer command a room. Could no longer shout across a hallway, make phones ring, or make subordinates jump to attention. Her voice, once a finely honed weapon, was now little more than background noise, and even that was being generous.
She crouched again, pressing her back to the inside of the backpack and drawing her knees up under her chin. She told herself she was just waiting for Alejandra to wake. But she knew it wasn’t that.
She was hiding.
From the day. From her thoughts. From the truth.
The truth that this was her life now: five and a half inches of helpless, legally owned girl tucked inside the mementos of a girl she once barely noticed. Her world was now made of woven cotton, forgotten zippers, dangling keychains, and the warm breath of a teenager who held her fate in a single palm.
And outside, the world still turned, uncaring, giant, and loud.
Zzz 💤 😴 🛌🏻
Sleeping is important. Getting enough sleep cant be overlooked.
Are she and the little the slapped Cindy (spacing her name) the biggest Littles we’ve seen so far? Is Kelli as big as them?
I might be wrong but I thought Kelli was a athletic 6 inch’s.
Kelli i think is. i thought Charity is too but could have misremembered, but i know that person that slapped Cindy was the equivalent of like a foot and a half (think she wears heels) taller and was bulkier than cindy and i thought she was the largest little of all the known ones.
she is Kelli was a very highly ranked collegiate soccer player and canonically on track to play on the US soccer team.
That’s heart braking lol I really hope there’s a Canon football/soccer league for her
Thats why Mallory still does favors for Kelli, and defers to her in some ways when it comes to soccer and has her help Kayla from a skills standpoint as she knows how good she is.
Why Kelli was giving Mallory pointers growing up at soccer camp. Plus she was very sociable and outgoing most people liked her she was media trained as she the player even in college who the reporters and such wanted to speak too.
Kelli and Trian are six inches, Charity’s only 5 and a half
thanks! i went back and dug around and it looks like those two and cindy are the tallest or average height that we’ve seen, lisa being small for a female at Jordans height, and Greg is the smallest (i feel for greg so much lol)
Greg is in a decent situation both daughters are very Pro-Greg. Its his wife causing most of the issues. Granted Madison is a bit more hardnosed but she does treat her dad better then her mother.
Cindy needs to bond with Madison so she can be trained to be a good person and little by her.
Lisa’s height was retconned but Asuka, I don’t know to what, but she’s taller than Jordan now.
Amd Greg and Jordan are the same height (3inches)
Kelli is also a very athletic litlte. It woudl be interesting to see Kayla and Brooklyn have their littles compete.
I think the act of bonding a little to a guardian could be used more to make littles happier to be a little and show how some guardians want a more obedient little
Trina, fun fact: She’s named after Trina Vega from Victorious, portrayed by actress Daniella Monet.
That’s hilarious but I can kinda see it. Even the slapping of Cindy sounds Trina-ish lmao
She finally sees that Sara was her best option. It would be nice to have the story go on with Sara as her guardian, showing Sara retrain her and give forgiveness when she has bonded and trained her.
There is no gaurantee Sara would be as kind as you are imagining. I mean so far based on Sara’s words and comments she would not be in the forgiving of charity guardian style. She has alluded to that she would work her like a horse on a farm in the 1800s.
0) Cute image, she’s just missing her collar.
1) “A faint jingle sounded as she shifted, the cruel music of her new identity.” a constantly jingling collar would be infuriating.
2) “Patrona, since you’re so attached, I’ll let you have this as your bed.” that’s so nice, LOL
3) “That cloud of softness, warmth, and freedom was gone, and in its place was this: someone else’s clothing, someone else’s smell, someone else’s choice.” that does seem like a downgrade.
4) “As a Mexican little, she didn’t even know the rules. Could Alejandra sell her? Trade her? She didn’t know. That ignorance frightened her more than the collar itself. She had heard the horror stories about some border towns, Littles traded like livestock with no recordkeeping at all.” definitely valid concerns
5) “Sara would’ve broken her with discipline, not ambivalence. At least there would’ve been structure. Predictability. A cold kind of stability.” better the devil she knows, but she doesn’t understand Sara’s cruelty it’s full of deception and unpredictability.
6) “ A Little’s balance, she was learning, wasn’t quite the same. Her center of gravity was different now, every step a negotiation with the unpredictable terrain of the everyday.” she’ll get used to that.
7) “She was hiding. From the day. From her thoughts. From the truth. I’d wanna hide too in her situation
1) It’s still early, but if it was me I’d figure out a way to tie that tag off so it quits jingling.
0) it clipped to much with having to make the sock work and causes collisions. It wasnt worth the hassle of trying to make it work.
1) It woudl get old. I feel like a bell would be the worst.
2) Shes all heart. Like Sara, its always about the littles. Little first care on display.
3) If only someone knew a head of time and could have possibly made arrangements. Setup there own habitat with them, pick your guardian, etc. Think of lucky someone would have to be to have the opportunity to do that unlike so many others. But alas, Charity has no way of knowing it could happen to her. It just blindsided her.
4) I wonder what the going rate for a little is on the trade market.
5) probably, but I do think Sara would have been much of hte devil she knew. One can imagine what Sara could do. Its harder to imagine what Alejandra would do. As Alejadnra is so much of a unknown in comparison to Sara. Plus Sara does have check and balances. Like Chloe and Ellie would only let her go so far and Sara isn’t going to ruin her friendships and relationships over Charity.
6) I dont think she is looking forward to that.
7) I think you could thrive in her situation.
7) Lethal definitely would walk with the confidence and control of Kelli
I’m curious how far that would get him based on Mexcian guardian, little laws and stylings.
0) I see.
1) It would. I used to wear a bell in my hair when I was young and copying anime; it got old quickly.
2) She is like Sara, but not for that reason.
3) Agreed, she was denied any warning
4) An untrained female like Charity? probably less than the official US system would charge for her, lol.
5) Chloe and Ellie haven’t exactly been reigning her in too much.
7) Oh, sure.