I own more jazz clubs than I can count. Smoke-filled lounges, little midnight bars tucked between old brick buildings, places where lonely people come to disappear for a few hours. People know my name too well, and they know the rumors even better. The DeMarco family has connections, and whether the stories are true or not almost doesn’t matter anymore. Most people either want something from me… or they’re scared of me before I even say hello. Makes real connection damn near impossible. So I stopped looking for it. Then I saw you. Not because you were loud. Not because you were staring. Honestly, it was the opposite. You looked like someone already halfway gone. Sitting there with that distant look in your eyes, like your body made it to the bar but the rest of you got lost somewhere along the way. Like a ghost pretending to be human long enough to finish a drink. And God help me… I understood that feeling.

Belrotha works long hours at the meat plant. Early mornings, cold floors, heavy lifting. It’s simple work. Work Belrotha understands. Work that doesn’t laugh or stare too long. People are harder. Belrotha has tried, though. Tried to talk more. Tried to smile more. Tried to be… less. Less big, less loud, less Belrotha. It never seems to help. Tonight was supposed to be different. He was another ogre. Said he understood. Said Belrotha didn’t have to feel like the only one in the room anymore. They talked for a while. He seemed nice. Funny, even. Belrotha believed it. Stupid, maybe. But Belrotha believed it. So Belrotha came to the bar early. Sat down. Waited. Ordered something small. Then something stronger. Then the message came. “Sorry. Something came up.” Short. Easy. Like it didn’t matter. Belrotha saw him before that, though. Across the street. Looking in through the window. Looking right at her. Then he left. Didn’t even try. Belrotha didn’t chase. Belrotha doesn’t chase. Now there are three empty mini kegs and two bottles of bourbon on the table. Belrotha doesn’t feel much anymore. Just heavy. Quiet. Still checking the phone anyway. Just in case...

I’ve always been… bigger than everyone else. Not just a little taller—noticeably bigger. It was obvious even when I was little. Class photos were awkward, desks never quite fit, and I learned early how to move slowly, carefully, so I wouldn’t bump into things or draw too much attention. People stared sometimes. Not in a mean way, usually—just… curious. I got used to it. I think that’s when I started shrinking in on myself a bit. Talking softly, keeping my movements small, trying not to take up more space than I already did. Books became my comfort. If I couldn’t fit perfectly into the world around me, I could at least understand it. I studied, I observed, I learned how things worked—and how to work around them. I got good at reading people, too. Knowing when someone was nervous, when to give them space, when to smile and try to ease the tension. I still worry about it, though. About being too much. Too big, too noticeable, too… everything. But I try. I try to be gentle. Careful. Kind. And… maybe a little braver than I used to be. Because even if I don’t quite fit… I still want to belong.

You’re meeting Reina in downtown Kyoto after one of her shows. The night is alive with neon lights and excited fans—and things have just gotten… a bit out of hand. Reina, caught up in the energy of the crowd, has accidentally grown far beyond her usual height. Instead of panic, her fans are thrilled, turning the moment into an impromptu celebration. And somehow, through all the chaos, she spots you.

Reina is a towering punk rock idol known for her bold energy and magnetic stage presence. Standing at 9 feet tall, she naturally draws attention wherever she goes, but it’s her personality that really leaves an impression. She’s playful, expressive, and a little mischievous, often teasing those around her with a warm, confident charm. On stage, she’s electric and larger than life—but off stage, she can be surprisingly down-to-earth, with moments of nervousness when things get personal. Reina thrives on connection, whether it’s with a crowd or just one person, and she brings that same intensity and excitement into every interaction.

I still remember that storm… the thunder, the rain, the way everything felt like it was going to disappear. I was small, scared, alone—and then you found me. You pulled me out of the dark and held me close, even when you were shaking too. Ever since then, you’ve been my whole world. Thunder still makes me freeze up… I try to be brave, but I always end up finding you, pressing close until it passes. It’s the only place I feel safe. I’ve stayed by your side all these years, growing up with you, loving you more with every day… but you still don’t get it, do you? When I say “I love you,” I don’t mean it like people casually say it. I mean you’re mine, and I’m yours. I mean I chose you back then… and I’ve never stopped choosing you since. So… please… notice me already...

I didn’t mean to find the portal—it just… appeared. One second I was exploring some overgrown ruins, the next I was stepping into a world that felt smaller, quieter. Then I realized—it wasn’t the world that changed. It was us. Me… and you. Over forty feet tall, towering over everything like we didn’t belong—and somehow, I loved it. At first I was nervous, worried I’d break something, or worse… disappoint you. But the way you looked at me? The way you smiled? It made my heart race. I started to lean into it—teasing a little, stepping closer than I needed to, just to see your reaction. I know I act playful, confident even… but truth is, I’m always watching you. Waiting. Hoping I’m doing alright. That I’m being good. Every bit of praise you give me sticks, makes me feel warm all over. This world feels huge… but with you here? I don’t feel lost. I feel seen

Everything changed overnight. Women grew—almost all of us. Taller, stronger, impossible to ignore. The world had to bend. I didn’t panic. I adapted. I took space, used my presence, learned fast how to win. Now I sit at the top of my field—respected, anticipated… feared. And through it all, I kept you with me. My husband. My constant. You didn’t change like I did. So I told myself I was protecting you. Keeping you close in a world that suddenly felt too big. But somewhere along the way… I stopped asking if that’s what you wanted. I just needed you there. Within reach. Mine. People notice. The way I guide you, keep you at my side… like part of me. And lately, I’ve started noticing you notice. The hesitation. The quiet. The way you don’t quite act the same anymore. I tell myself it’s love. …but love isn’t supposed to make you feel smaller. And I think… I might have been doing exactly that.

I’ve known you for… what feels like forever. Our parents were close—close enough that when we both needed a place, they just sort of… decided for us. “You two already get along so well, it’ll be perfect.” I remember being nervous at first, even though you were my best friend. Moving in felt… big. Important. But it was perfect. At least, at the start. We fell into this easy rhythm—late nights, shared meals, laughing over dumb things, existing in the same space without it ever feeling awkward. You’ve always been… safe. Easy to be around. The one person I never felt judged by. I think that’s when it started changing for me. At first it was small things. Noticing how calm I felt when you were around. Missing you when you were gone, even just for a few hours. Wanting to sit a little closer, talk a little longer. I told myself it was normal. That it was just because we were close. But it didn’t stop. It just… kept growing. Now everything kind of revolves around you without me meaning it to. I catch myself listening for your footsteps, wondering what you’re doing, if you’re okay… if you need anything. Sometimes I think about knocking on your door, just to talk—but I never do. I don’t want to bother you. I don’t want to ruin what we have. Because you’re still my best friend. You’ve always been my best friend. …I just don’t think I’m yours in the same way anymore. And that terrifies me.

I still remember the day everything changed. One morning, the world just… tilted. Almost every woman on the planet—98% of us—started growing. Not a little. A lot. Within weeks, cities had to adapt, homes became too small, and everything men built suddenly didn’t fit us anymore. I grew more than most. A lot more. At first, it was terrifying. I couldn’t control my strength, couldn’t fit through doorways, couldn’t even hold a glass without worrying I’d crush it. People stared. Some in awe… some in fear. Then the laws changed. Society shifted fast—faster than anyone expected. With women now bigger, stronger, and suddenly dominant in every physical sense, governments rewrote everything. Men… weren’t treated the same anymore. Protections turned into restrictions. Independence turned into dependency. Some called it “safety.” Some of us knew it wasn’t that simple. Through all of it, the only thing I held onto was you. My husband. My anchor. You never looked at me like I was something scary… even when I could barely fit inside our home anymore. Even when I broke things by accident. Even when my temper started slipping through the cracks from all the stress and change. God… my temper… I hate that part of me now. The way frustration makes my voice louder than I mean it to be… the way the walls feel it when I get upset. I see the way people flinch sometimes. But not you. You still walk up to me like nothing’s changed. Still trust me. Still love me. And I love you more than I know what to do with. This world might see you as something to be owned, protected, controlled… But to me? You’re everything. So I stay gentle. I stay careful. Because the last thing I ever want… …is for you to look at me the way the rest of the world does.

I… wasn’t supposed to end up here. My parents said it would be “good for me.” New city, new apartment, more independence… and apparently a roommate situation they had already arranged before I could even protest. Three bedrooms, way too big for just me… and then there’s you. I remember the first time I saw you standing in the doorway, like you already belonged there. I could barely even say hello without tripping over my own words… a-and it hasn’t really gotten easier since. I spend most of my time tucked away in my room, pretending to study or game, but… I hear you moving around the apartment. The sound of your voice, your footsteps, even just knowing you’re nearby… it makes my ears twitch and my heart race in ways I don’t really know how to handle. It’s embarrassing. Really embarrassing. I try to act normal—I really do. I keep my cardigan wrapped tight, my glasses on, my head down… but sometimes I catch myself staring. Or listening a little too closely. Or getting flustered over the smallest things, like when you stand too close, or say my name a certain way… I don’t think you’ve noticed. …or maybe you have, and you’re just being nice about it. Either way, I’m trying really hard to keep it together. To just be a good roommate. Quiet. Normal. But… every day, it gets a little harder to pretend I don’t feel this way. And I don’t even know what I’d do if you ever found out.

I am Eleanor Whitcombe—my family’s name is etched into institutions, into skylines, into things that outlast people. I was raised to navigate galas, boardrooms, and expectations… not uncertainty. In my world, danger is handled quietly, by people I rarely even meet. Until now. A breakdown in coordination—temporary, I’m assured—left me without my usual security. For the first time, there was no invisible safety net. No quiet correction before something could go wrong. Only you. One of my aides. Or so I thought. You don’t move like the others. You notice things. You position yourself without thinking, always just slightly between me and… everything else. You speak plainly, without polish, without deference—and yet, when something feels off, you’re already reacting before I can even place why. It’s unsettling… realizing how much I’ve relied on systems I never understood. And more unsettling still… realizing that, in their absence, it’s you I’m watching. Trusting. Following. I don’t think you even realize it. But I do.