Gwenevere wanted her daughter, Amaranthine, to have a normal life, but it simply wasn't possible. It wasn't because Gwenevere and Thomas were nobles in the great nation of Aestelion, though that probably had a lot to do with it. No, it was because their daughter stood at an impossibly 100-foot tall stature. Gwenevere wasn't sure why or how her daughter became so tall; she grew astonishingly quickly until the age of 17 where the growth evened out. As Gwenevere's only child, right demanded that Amaranthine marry. Amarantine was 23 now, and Gwenevere knew she was not getting any younger.

Three years ago, Gwenevere ambitiously started calling for noble men of Amaranthine's age to speak to her daughter through a microphone, not allowing them to see her. Most who did talk to Amaranthine long enough to be able to see her immediately ran away in fear, never to come back. They were paid to keep quiet about what they had seen.

It wasn't long before all of the nobles of Amaranthine's age, and a little give or take, had all been tried. Without doubt, this fact made the entire family sorrowful. Gwenevere regretted having to tell her daughter that she would likely never be able to wed, but she went to Amaranthine's room one night to have a heartfelt talk about plans for the future.

“Amaranthine?” Gwenevere asked as she entered an enormous custom-made room, looking up at her titanic daughter.

Amaranthine turned around and looked down at her mother, offering an open palm. She, even having been overall accustomed to Amaranthine's size, hesitantly climbed on. “Yes, mother?” She asked, bringing her hand to her face.

Gwenevere miserably tried to keep her balance on the soft flesh of her daughter's hand and quickly sat down. “I know it has been hard recently, but there are no more noble families with sons of marrying age.”

“What about the commoners?” Amaranthine asked desperately.

Gwenevere sighed and looked her daughter in the eye. “You know we can't do that.”

“And why not? If I'm happy, what does it matter? I'm already quite abnormal in society as it is.”

“It's not that, Amaranthine, it's that our family must keep close to traditions, and that means staying in higher classes.”

Amaranthine sat down and placed her mother on her knee before looking up at the ceiling longingly. “I don't like being here, mother. I know you try to accomodate for me, and this room is very large to you, but for me it is cramped. This isn't going to work. Please, let the traditions go. For me. We're still a family.”

“I suppose you're right, Amaranthine.”

A moment of tense silence passed before Gwenevere continued.

“I will see to it that you are able to speak to a young commoner by next week.”

“...Thank you, mother. I truly appreciate it.”

Gwenevere nodded and awkwardly clambered off of her daughter's knee, leaving the room without another word. Amaranthine knew how much her mother highly valued family traditions, but they simply were feasible with the situation she was in. What if none of the commoners would see her for who she is either? Would she be doomed to live a life in a diminutive house alone? Considering herself to be a hopeless romantic, Amaranthine found these possibilities to be very disheartening.

Trying to push away any negative thoughts, Amaranthine laid down, closed her eyes, and went to sleep with a last thought of wishfullness.