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Story Notes:

No, I didn't depart at all from object stories. This is just a one-off, an exception.

Also, thanks to LifelessExistence/FetchinglyAwesome for listing me - it means a lot, as I'm a frequent visitor to his DeviantArt account :).


Author's Chapter Notes:



I stood before her.

 But it felt like she was before all of us.

She was our goddess, our captor, our world. True, when she might have found each one of us, we might not have thought highly of her, us of little faith. She might have seemed like a normal student girl, just one of the heads on a crowded train or just another silhouette at a dark night park.

The moment we were transformed to one of dozens of her slaves, everything changed. She went from someone we didn't even acknowledge to a master of our fates. But the most important change was the deep and intense feeling we began to indulge ourselves in towards her.

Now that I'm standing naked in front of her, it is kind of hard to understand why would I feel anything but hatred and fear towards this giant, monstrous as she is when I am significantly smaller than her little toe. It must have been magic, to make us all worship her, chatter about her when in our shoebox, trying to find out which one of us she liked the most when it was apparent all she wanted to do was to torture us and then kill us so that it would bring pleasure to her devious mind.

We loved her. We were like tween girls talking about our first boy crush. The way he looks, the way his hair curls by his eyes as he plays on his gameboy, while he doesn't have the slightest idea what he creates in those who got their heart woven into that play. Except we didn't see her properly, or only at short intervals, when our prison roof was elevated and one of our compatriots was selected to bring solace to the girl after a busy day. Never to be seen again. Never to be remembered by us nor by her.

It's as if he had a mental image of her, of the girl we ought to love and give our lives for, or indeed that archetypal image of most intense beauty, subjective as it might be, has been fulfilled by her regardless. When someone is able to shrink a person, what hard can it be to make one love them. Although that goes so differently in the human world.

Still, standing before her, I felt I loved her like no one else could. To be able to give her a tiny bit of pleasure, to be able to make the evil witch just a tad bit more beautiful and relaxed, to grease just a fraction of her skin in my blood if she wills, to send a tiny kiss on a square millimeter of her toe skin, to sacrifice myself along with millions for the sake of a single twitch of her godly toe. Every molecule of her flesh, nay, of the dirt along the ridges and folds of her forgotten skin more important than the whole world.

I stood before her, loving her to death and beyond, ready for whatever she had planned to do with me. Her bare, beautiful toes like mountains of godly body. I stared as if I had been invited before the most sacred altar in the universe.

Her toes moved and spread slightly as she grabbed a book. I was left there to try to stand of the wobbly surface of her bedsheets. Did she forget about me? Did she know she put me there a few minutes ago? Did she know that... that this was me? Where did she shrink me, what was my name, what was my life story? No. She did not care. I was there for a simple reason. For her.

She stretched one of her legs, felt me between her sweaty and sticky toes, not even looking. She clenched them. I was gone.

„I'll probably need more if I have to go through Dostoyevsky and have fun,“ she thought as she grabbed a handful of fresh slaves.



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