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Let Me Be Your Wings

Once upon a time, there was a little girl.

She was four inches tall.

Her father was a lonely man who had wished and prayed for companionship, seeking something a little different than what he got: fatherhood. The gods had laughed awhile at that, that was for sure. He floundered in his first few years, even more so than most new parents due to the fact his child could fit in his hand. Luckily, the girl was fairly self sufficient, the equivalent to a fifteen year old human. All poor Fredrick had to do was teach her what a garbage disposal was, how you should avoid falling into it, and name her.

Annabeth, meaning grace and faithfulness, filled out her name exceedingly well. Once the shock wore away, Fredrick was able to appreciate the miracle that was the little girl. She was a quick learner, piercing eyes soaking in every bit of information. With time, she developed a sense of agility that allowed her to effectively clamber across counter tops and navigate her house. She also proved quick with the wit; the more she learned about the world, the easier a sting slipped off her tongue in conversation. It made for exciting dinner talk. Maybe once did Fredrick think of exploiting the tiny wonder, but pride kept her hidden. If his name was stapled on a circus act to be, all of his work as a professional would be swept completely under the rug.

Eventually, Little Annabeth was put on the back burner in favor for a lovely woman and prospects of a real family. As you'd expect, the meeting of soon to be wife and current daughter was a tad more awkward than the typical situation. Nonetheless, Annabeth watched the next few years go by in her own sort of purgatory. She didn't fault Fredrick in wanting a family of a normal caliber and she wasn't flat out ostracized or ignored, but the fact she was living in a world that wasn't made for her was becoming extremely prominent. Not just in matters of practicality, though activities such as dressing and going to the bathroom were interesting to figure out. Relations just weren't formed when you were the size of a PollyPocket.

She was socially wasting away.

Her father would rarely speak to her once the first of his sons were born, forget trying to talk to the wife forcing denial of Annabeth's existence, and life wasn't a Disney movie. There were no birds to converse with; Annabeth had no animal affinity and was more likely hunted to eat than to befriend. Her source of interaction and social expression lay online in chatrooms.

And her weekly dose of the Bachelorette, of course.

But no matter how much she dished out fan theory crushing evidence, rooted for her favorite guy on the show, or immersed herself in the worlds beyond her own...she was still keenly aware of the fact she was completely on her own. No other mentions of four inch people could be found on or off line, aside from the Thumbelina knock offs, of course. She was a cosmic joke.

This is where she was that fateful night. Wallowing in self pity, wrapped in a Barbie Dream House accessory blanket on a window sil. It was mid August and the heat was silky, the summer stars hazy so far above as night blended with the dusk. Virginia chittered softly and whispered in the gentle breezes and she was beginning to cramp in her hunched state.

"You're being ridiculous," she told herself, scowling deeply at a waving flower in the window box. "No use whining about something you can't fix."

As you'd expect, such a statement could only do so much. She pouted for a few more minutes before forcing herself into a pace. Independence sure was lonely.

"Frankly," she waggled her finger at the brooding boy on the cover of the book propped on the sill. "I think I'm fantastic company. It's a shame no one is around to appreciate it. Besides you, of course."

The cover art didn't respond.

"Oh, you think so too?" She gestured grandly. "At least someone agrees."