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Story Notes:

I'm not very good at dialog. Sorry.

 

This story does not in all cases reflect my interests. However, I shall likely bend over backwards to make certain it does not go too far outside of them. As such, I can guarantee zero large males other than the protagonist, and zero fat woman action. This is not a judgement against those who do enjoy that, it’s just not what I like. Additionally, all women involved are both female in sex and gender. Again, I intend no offence. Similarly, I’ve selected Teenager (13-19) as one of the age categories, but there will be absolutely nothing involving those under the age of eighteen.

 

The size of the shrinkee is fairly fluid. I’ve picked the Minikin (3 in. to 1 in.) category because I think it’ll be the size he’s usually at, but that’s subject to change.

Author's Chapter Notes:

No giantess content yet, but it’s a short chapter. Read it anyway!

“...and in so doing, I bind myself and bid myself bound thricely: in life, body, and beyond. I bind myself and bid myself bound to these before me, and to those they and I would bid myself bound, such that this continues.”

 

The words lingered in the air, an open parenthesis, waiting to be closed. There was tension in that, but the young man’s eyes betrayed none of it. He was collected if not calm, in stark contrast to the agitation displayed by the young women surrounding him. They shifted about as the shadows around them grew more defined--penumbras congealed to became as inky as the night between stars. True, at the beginning it could have been brushed off as some trick of the light, but by then even the light wasn’t pretending. It bent in, leaned in, drank in the words. It became full, bloated, lethargic, a mockery of true light. It painted the room like a skilled impressionist attempting photorealism. Try as it might to appear impartial, it betrayed a feeling, an opinion. The light was amused.

 

But the amusement wouldn’t hold forever. For a time, the man held the universe’s gaze, but it was time for other players to take the stage. There was power in the theater of it, and the rules of theatrics dictated every action without once taking away from the art. A choir of voices, twenty-seven in all, broke in. They wavered at first, but quickly strengthened.

 

“We accept your binding unto us and unto those who follow us, who are us, and in return offer you this: a share of our life, our power, and all of our warm desire, save a share we give to each other, as long as we make this our home. In doing so, we give you quarter, we shield you from death and age and bodily flaw, and we take from you all of your freedom, save your right to decide who may be us, and who may enter your demesne, which is this and us. That we sacrifice to you.”

 

The air was cut crystal, all edges and defined brilliance.

 

“I accept your sacrifice, and in saying, let it be done.” The final four words were spoken by all present, and the air was air once more.

 

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