The tiny was settled across from the Madam, a small thimble of crimson wine resting in their hands. Grateful for the offer, each sip calmed the nerves and provided a welcome distraction to their host’s attire. She was dressed in light blue silk tied neatly at the waist, worn for comfort and to match the eyes appraising her minuscule visitor. Rather, it did little to conceal her nonchalance, the delicate material rustling gently over slim thighs as she carefully draped one leg over the other.
“I gather you understand why you are here,” she said nodding towards the cream colored stationery on the table. Instructions were written in neat cursive, alongside an address for any tiny curious or courageous enough to accept. “Any amenities are open to you during your stay; all that I ask is that you refer to me by my title, Madam.”
A cursory scan of the living room told the guest that the residence fell far short of the promiscuous institution that one would find a Madam running. For one it was much too tidy and neat. The guest would also defer to point out that the row of Russian literature on the mantelpiece did not rouse one to attention, but instead consign them to pondering their own suffering and unrequited love in the corner. In lieu of any untoward comments on the décor, the tiny settled on introducing themselves.
“My name is...”
“Unimportant,” said the Madam from behind her glass.
“Most people wouldn’t spend the time naming you, assuming you aren’t disposed of right away.” A sip of wine followed the curt response.
“The only question you should be asking is how can I survive,” she said, a hint of a smirk gracing her lips. Before the tiny could propose what they deemed to be a fairer inquiry, “the applications of Dostoevsky in pillow talk,” fingers wrapped tight around the doll sized guest, eliciting a yelp in response.
“Unlike the majority of tinies I’ve taught, your size is the most advantageous. Large enough to scale furniture and carry back provisions with relative ease and maybe even fend off any unwanted attention, with the right tools. However, it also gives you a modicum of durability and don’t think for a second that won’t be exploited by anyone who captures you. Most likely it will be menial labor or worship, but with enough endurance and stamina, escape is possible should the opportunity present itself.”
Emboldened at the mention of worship, the tiny’s hand shot up.
“Question! In that scenario, shouldn’t my goal be out-worshipping any other captured tiny in order to be spared? That would negate the need to escape altogether,” said the tiny waving away any logical notion of running away.
“But then your situation will remain the same, as well as your chances of survival,” she countered. “And don’t even think about doing a bad job because it is painfully clear what that outcome would be.”
Deflated, the tiny crossed their arms with a huff, grumbling quietly. “Then pray tell what should I do?” What would become a familiar smirk flitted across the Madam’s face.
“I’m glad you asked.”
Climbing had become second nature. Finding holds within the wood grain or wrapping around a leg and inching upward, if it was thin enough. A neat spread lay across the dining room table, sufficient for one, but enough that nothing would be amiss if a portion was spirited away. The Madam leisurely took her meal with her ever present glass of wine accompanied by an open book. While her eyes did not stray from the melancholic discourse of some bygone author, the tiny knew her watchful gaze would pin down any amount of reckless scurrying. A plate of raspberry tartlets sat farthest away from the Madam, portably sized and suitable mark, if not for their placement. It was almost intentional the way they sat unguarded, at a distance from the imminent threat of a perturbed woman keen on partaking of dessert in peace. Making a mental note to chastise the Madam later, the tiny settled for a different target. The tiny dropped down once more, this time shimmying along edge of the table before vaulting back up and darting behind the nearby fruit bowl. Rewarding themselves with a grape from the bunch they rested for a moment, content with their prize, for the time being. They glared at the tantalizing dessert just out of reach, damning caution and common sense. Not easily set aside, an audacious spark lingered, bringing with it one final plan to win the sweet prize. The tiny almost laughed at its simplicity, snatch-and-grab. It was all a matter of speed and sticking the landing off the table. Shaking their hands clean of grape juice, they crouched down like a sprinter on the block. Adrenaline pumping they flew forward, legs stretched to the limit trying to close the distance. They would have gotten away tartlet in hand if not for a clear “Stop” from behind them. Skidding to a halt, they whirled toward the voice and the blue eyes of the Madam.
“Was that the wisest choice?” The tiny inched closer to the plate in response, shaking their head no. With a sigh, the Madam beckoned them forward.
“Do you know why I am teaching you?” she said, reaching down to stroke their delicate brown hair with a finger. “It’s so you have a fighting chance out there, in the larger world. A mad dash like that, especially at your size…..yes there are countless people who eat alongside a book or a phone as a distraction, but just a flicker of movement in their peripheral vision would draw their attention to you. It’s….it’s not worth risking your life for such a small reward.” The Madam wanted to say more, but turned away, biting back the words. Dismissed, her charge solemnly returned to their space, the tartlets left alone and uneaten.
They found the Madam seated by the fireplace, a light glow silhouetting her profile. Scrambling up to the small table beside her chair, the tiny approached, head bowed in apology. “Madam, you asked me if I know why you’re teaching me and the answer is to give me a fighting chance, a chance at survival.”
A low chuckle responded. “You are right, but the same courtesy has been extended any tiny, invitation or no, that have found themselves on my doorstep.” She chuckled again at the confusion on her guest’s face, “I’ve been doing this for a long time so I’m sorry to say you aren’t my first student.”
“Why did you start doing this, Madam.”
Turning toward the voice beside her, she appraised her charge once more. Large enough to fit snugly in the palm of her hand, delicate, but charming and filled with the curiosity that accompanied every tiny she’d met. She offered a hand, waiting for the tiny to seat themselves comfortably before raising it up, wishing to satisfy their inquiry face to face.
“Before I answer why, I should say a little more about myself. I began as a different sort of teacher, as Madam might suggest, though my home might not have been decorated with that idea in mind.” The tiny stifled the urge to nod in agreement.
“However, I taught women who interacted with clients that are….well….tiny. Granted this was done with strict guidelines to ensure the safety of clients…..for the most part. Accidents do happen, did happen. You can only monitor your charges so far and trust them so much when they report an accident, but….after you learn to tell the difference between real and fake tears. Needless to say I shut down my old business, leaving my former employees to take their pursuits elsewhere. We live in a world where what they did is….normal and it is a normal that I will never understand.”
She sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a free hand, gathering her thoughts before continuing. “That is why I started training tinies to survive and whether it is to atone or to maybe understand what my former students felt I don’t know. Even if all my self-taught knowledge and training is useless to everyone I’ve trained, at least they have left with a better chance of survival, no matter how slim.”
Unbidden tears fell silently as she finished her tale. Their question was answered, the information to do with as they will. Yet, they felt it was incomplete, as if things were not quite concluded. Stepping forward, the tiny wrapped their arms around the Madam’s nose in an awkward embrace.
“I may not be able to fully understand your feelings or empathize with what happened in the past, but what I can offer, simply, is the experience of what you taught me. As a tiny, I can help you teach from a different perspective, a different size and maybe, together, we can give them a lot more than a fighting chance.”
They were not one for comforting words, especially when it came down to crying. It is fair to say however that they were surprised the Madam began laughing, a sly smirk dotting her tear-stained face.
“Alright then, show me what you got.”