Madison’s World Redux Season 3 Episode 44

The door to Madison’s bedroom closed behind them. 

Cindy was fully supported in Evan Kingsley’s hand, unable to do anything but feel the warmth radiating up through Evan’s palm. The house outside the heated habitat felt cooler, and Cindy’s body responded almost immediately, leaning into the warmth before her pride could stop it. 

She hated that. 

She hated how quickly her body betrayed her now. The habitat had been humiliating, but it was warm. Predictable. Climate controlled. The rest of the house, her house, felt like open air and danger. A normal hallway had become a long exposed passage. A staircase had become a cliffside descent. A teenage girl’s hand had become transportation. 

Evan moved down the hall with an ease Cindy no longer possessed. 

“Oh good, you brought your tablet,” Evan said, glancing down. “It would be horrible if you couldn’t work on Brooklyn and Ava’s homework. I mean, you have all night to do Madison’s. You don’t want to send them home without completed work, do you, Cindy?” 

Cindy’s fingers tightened around the tablet. 

“Ms. Kingsley, look,” Cindy said carefully. “Let’s talk about this.” 

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Talk about what? We’re just going downstairs. I figured you’d want some time out of your habitat.” 

“I know you’re still upset about what I said about Charity.” 

Evan’s expression changed. 

Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone downstairs would have noticed if they were watching. But Cindy felt it through the girl’s hand, through the pause in her steps, through the tiny tightening of her fingers. 

“No,” Evan said. “I think we’re past talking.” 

Cindy’s stomach tightened. 

“You’re a Little, Cindy,” Evan continued, walking toward the stairs. “And what was it you used to say? Oh yeah. A good Little speaks when spoken to and minds their Little manners.” 

Cindy lowered her eyes. 

“I believe I asked you about homework,” Evan said. “Last time I checked, that’s one of your roles now, isn’t it? I mean, I get that it’s taking you away from cleaning toilets in your little harness, but still.” 

Cindy’s face burned. 

The stairs appeared ahead of them, each step dropping away with a stomach-turning rhythm as Evan descended. Cindy had once walked these stairs without thinking. She had carried laundry baskets down them, called for Madison to stop leaving shoes at the bottom, told Greg the railing needed tightening before someone got hurt. 

Now she clung to a tablet and trusted Evan Kingsley not to drop her. 

The noise from the living room grew louder with each step. 

Teenage laughter. Voices overlapping. The television blaring too loudly. The smell of Pizza Rolls and warm sauce drifting through the air. The house felt alive, but not in the way Cindy remembered. Not the comfortable life of family dinners, homework reminders, and Greg watching sports with one eye while pretending to listen. 

This was something else. 

Occupation. 

Evan carried her into the living room proper, and Cindy saw it all at once. 

Brooklyn was sprawled across the couch like she had claimed it by divine right. Krysi was perched nearby with a plate of Pizza Rolls, talking around a laugh. Ava sat cross-legged on the floor, still flushed from whatever ridiculous dancing she had been doing earlier. Madison was seated with Greg in her lap, one hand resting protectively around him while the other gently stroked along his back. 

Cindy saw the Pizza Roll near Greg. 

She saw the way Madison had opened it for him. 

She saw the way Greg sat there, small and careful, but not terrified. Not humiliated in the way Cindy felt. He looked uncomfortable, yes, but also included. Loved. Warm. 

For one terrible second, Cindy resented him for it. 

Then Greg looked up and saw her. 

His expression changed immediately. 

Concern. 

Recognition. 

A silent question he could not safely ask. 

Cindy looked away first. 

“It looks like Greggy got a Pizza Roll,” Evan said brightly. “I’d offer you some, but you don’t do people food. Wouldn’t want you getting sick.” 

Brooklyn looked over from the couch, grinning. “Oh my god, did she bring the tablet?” 

“She did,” Evan said, sounding pleased. “Very responsible.” 

Madison’s eyes flicked to Cindy, then to the tablet. “Good. You have a lot to finish.” 

Cindy swallowed. “Yes, Ms. Wessen.” 

Krysi leaned forward slightly, studying Cindy with open curiosity. “Is she doing all of it tonight?” 

“Madison’s first,” Brooklyn said. “Then mine.” 

“And Ava’s,” Madison added. 

Ava winced a little. “Mine’s not that bad.” 

Brooklyn looked at her. “You say that because you’re not the one doing it.” 

Ava shrugged. “Fair.” 

“I’m sure we can get Cindy some Little pellets as a treat later,” Evan said as she sat down near Brooklyn. “Though I don’t know if she’s earned a snack yet. Not with Brooklyn and Ava’s homework unfinished.” 

“Little Cindy will get it done,” Brooklyn said brightly. “I know she will. The great Cindy Wessen is a hard Little worker.” 

Cindy could not say anything. 

She hated this. 

In this body, they would not listen to her. They treated her like a Little because that was what she was to them now. They did not understand, and worse, Cindy was running out of ways to make them understand. 

“Ms. Wessen,” Cindy started, looking toward Madison. 

Madison’s gaze dropped to her. “What?” 

For a moment, Cindy almost asked to sit with Greg. She almost asked for Madison to take her instead of leaving her with Evan. She almost said she was cold, tired, humiliated, overwhelmed. She almost said something human. 

Then she saw Brooklyn watching. 

Evan smiling. 

Krysi interested. 

Ava uncomfortable but quiet. 

Greg tense in Madison’s lap. 

The words shriveled. 

“Nothing, Ms. Wessen,” Cindy said. “I’ll work.” 

Madison studied her for a second, then nodded. “Good.” 

It should not have hurt. 

It did. 

Evan leaned toward Brooklyn before Cindy could fully settle. Cindy watched Evan’s hand extend toward the coffee table. Charity stood there, small and composed, waiting with the kind of patience that made Cindy feel even more clumsy by comparison. 

Charity stepped confidently into Evan’s hand. 

She looked up at Evan with a warm little smile. 

“There’s my little Charizard,” Evan said. 

Charity’s smile softened. “Yes, Ms. Evan.” 

Evan returned to the couch and got comfortable, then carefully set both Charity and Cindy into her lap. 

The difference was immediate. 

Charity settled naturally against the fabric of Evan’s yoga pants, knees folded beneath her, posture balanced, hands resting neatly in her lap. She knew where to sit. How much space to take. How to remain visible without drawing attention. How to be present without becoming a problem. 

Cindy sat stiffly beside her, tablet clutched to her chest like a shield. 

She had never felt more amateur. 

From Madison’s lap, Greg watched them. Cindy could feel his gaze. She did not look back. 

The girls resumed talking above them almost instantly. 

To them, Cindy and Charity had been placed. 

That was all. 

The conversation rolled on around them as if nothing significant had happened. School. Boys. Some argument in Ava’s class. A video Brooklyn insisted was hilarious. Krysi complaining that Madison’s freezer snacks were better than hers. Madison laughing at something Brooklyn said while her hand continued to pet Greg with absent affection. 

Cindy looked around the living room from the unfamiliar height. 

Her living room. 

Her couch. 

Her coffee table. 

Her television. 

Her home. 

And yet nothing in the room seemed to belong to her anymore. 

There were crumbs on the coffee table. Someone’s shoes were half kicked under the side chair. A throw pillow lay on the floor. The television volume was too high. The girls had drinks without coasters. 

Once, Cindy would have corrected all of it. 

Not angrily, necessarily. Just automatically. Shoes by the rack. Coasters under drinks. Food stays in the kitchen unless someone asks. Lower the volume. Madison, pick up the pillow. 

Now the corrections sat trapped behind her teeth. 

She could almost feel the old version of herself standing in the doorway, arms crossed, surveying the room with tired authority. That Cindy would have sighed, and the girls would have groaned, but they would have listened eventually. 

This Cindy sat in Evan Kingsley’s lap and opened Brooklyn’s homework. 

Charity shifted slightly beside her. 

Cindy glanced over. 

Charity was not looking at her. Not directly. Her eyes were forward, her expression controlled, her body relaxed in a way Cindy could not mimic. Charity’s collar caught the living room light when she moved, a small flash at her throat. 

Cindy knew Charity Stevens before this. 

Not deeply. Not personally. Charity had been part of another world. Events. Donations. Families with money and influence. Polite conversations at parties where everyone smiled and measured each other at the same time. Cindy had known her parents, or at least known of them. She knew the fall. Everyone did. The tragic collapse, the shrinking, the humiliation that must have followed. 

Once, Cindy had pitied Charity. She was bright but she also remembered  herself saying she was smart for an animal.  

Now Charity sat beside her with more status. 

More permission. 

More freedom. 

The unfairness of it made Cindy’s hands shake slightly as she tapped open Brooklyn’s class portal. 

Charity noticed. 

Of course she noticed. 

She did not say anything. 

That almost made it worse. 

Cindy knew Charity would not speak here. Not now. Charity was too smart for that. Any comment she had to make would come privately, quietly, when the girls were distracted or when Evan was not listening. Charity understood timing. She understood social rooms. She understood how to survive under attention. 

Cindy had understood those things once too. 

Apparently, not anymore. 

“Cindy,” Brooklyn called from above. 

Cindy looked up quickly. “Yes, Ms. Reynolds?” 

Brooklyn smiled. “Make sure my science answers don’t sound like Madison wrote them. No offense, Mads.” 

Madison looked offended anyway. “Excuse you.” 

“You write like you’re trying to sound smart,” Brooklyn said. 

“I am smart.” 

“Exactly. That’s the problem.” 

Krysi laughed. “She’s not wrong.” 

Madison threw a pillow at her, missing by a mile. 

Cindy kept her face blank. “Yes, Ms. Reynolds. I’ll make sure the tone is appropriate.” 

Brooklyn pointed at her. “See? Useful.” 

The word landed heavily. 

Useful. 

Not respected. 

Not free. 

Useful. 

Beside her, Charity’s fingers tightened briefly against her own knee. It was a tiny motion, almost invisible. Cindy saw it anyway. 

For the first time, she wondered if Charity hated the word too. 

Evan shifted, and both Littles moved slightly with the motion of her lap. Charity adjusted immediately. Cindy had to grab the tablet to keep it from sliding. 

Evan looked down. “Careful, Cindy.” 

“Yes, Ms. Kingsley.” 

“Don’t drop the tablet. Madison will be annoyed.” 

“Yes, Ms. Kingsley.” 

From across the room, Madison looked over. “She better not. That tablet was expensive.” 

Greg’s mouth tightened. 

Cindy saw it. 

Madison probably did too, because her fingers moved over Greg’s back again, soothing him before he could say anything. 

The gesture was gentle. 

Possessive. 

Cindy looked away and began typing. 

The first question was about Little physiology and reinforcement response. 

Of course it was. 

Her throat tightened as she read the prompt. 

Above her, the girls laughed about something on the television. Greg took another small bite of Pizza Roll from Madison’s lap. Charity sat beside Cindy like a quiet, polished reminder of everything Cindy was not. 

Cindy placed her fingers on the tablet keyboard. 

For a moment, she did nothing. 

Then Evan’s hand came down, one finger brushing lightly over the top of Cindy’s head. 

It was not quite a pet. 

Not quite a warning. 

“Go on,” Evan said. “You’re good at this.” 

Cindy hated the warmth that flickered through her chest. 

She hated Brooklyn’s science lesson. 

She hated her body. 

She hated that part of her wanted to be told she was doing well. 

“Yes, Ms. Kingsley,” Cindy said softly. 

And then, sitting in Evan’s lap beside Charity Stevens, beneath the thunder of teenage voices in what used to be her living room, Cindy began Brooklyn’s homework. 

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