Shrunk

The transfer — or rather, the gifting — of me to Victoria took place at a table in a luxurious restaurant, accompanied by soft classical music. The young woman was beside herself with happiness and wanted to open the case right there. Zurab stopped her, reminding her that lilliputians were forbidden.

“There’s another surprise waiting for you at home,” he added. “And a special gadget to communicate with him.”

“Why would I need a gadget?” Victoria asked, confused.

“Because you won’t be able to hear his squeaking. Put it in your handbag for now. Forget about it.”

As it turned out, it was the third anniversary of their wedding. Victoria carefully examined me through the glass of the case with a wide smile, introduced herself, asked her husband my name, and remarked that I was “so cute,” “so tiny,” “absolutely adorable,” “such a little sweetheart.” She promised that she would “take care of me and love me,” and reluctantly placed the case into her handbag.

It was hard for her to resist. Every now and then she would take me out again and coo over me. Zurab had to intervene repeatedly, reminding her that there were people around.