Chapter Text
In a cozy, yet slightly cluttered, suburban home, lived Clara Harper, a 26-year-old woman, with long brown hair, a tall, slim figure, dark coloured eyes, and what she would describe herself as having a ‘plain’ face. After graduating from college four years ago, and moving into her own place three years ago, she has kept herself in a pretty consistent routine for a while now, that of which she is very happy about.
She is an extremely hard worker, maintaining many hours of her current online job performing data management and graphic design, remaining persistent and punctual. Working from home means she spends a lot of time inside, and thus has amassed a large quantity of, what she would admit as ‘junk’, being too lazy and prideful to actually get rid of any of it. Whether that be any jewellery, accessories, or general knick-knacks she can nab for a good deal.
Her house consisted of a main floor featuring the main living room, a kitchen, and a hallway containing your typical bedroom, bathroom, and closets, plus a dusty, mostly unused basement where the laundry room laid. It was simple, but cheap and effective, just as Clara needed; the front lawn was maintained pretty consistently, while the expansive backyard grew more unreadily however.
She’s dabbled in her free time experimenting in many different hobbies, with a particular slight interest in clothes crafting, though never actively going anywhere for her. She is a tough and hard worker, so keeps to herself most of the time, and yet she still ensures that she remains fairly social with others, keeping in constant contact with her family, and frequently hanging out with her friends from college. The latter in which she gets to embark on her true favourite indulgence, being her love of drinks, hot, cold, energy, alcoholic, you name it.
In her mind, Clara’s life was what she would describe as ‘the correct level of perfect’ that she so desired, relatively stress-free, with enough freedom to keep herself going, with no real intent to look backward, or forward.
What she had absolutely no idea about was that deep in the walls of her house, resided a tiny mischievous woman about to make herself known, and turn Clara’s life into a hell she couldn’t ever dream of.
She was Lyra, a Borrower just about 4 inches tall, who has lived there undetected for several years. Her people, small and resourceful, thrived by borrowing what humans overlooked—paperclips, buttons, crumbs of bread, you name it. And Clara’s solo living space, filled with a large amount of constantly erupting collectables, created a fun and appealing spot for someone like her to sneak right under a human’s nose, to reside and make use of the items she’s forgotten about.
She had made herself a pretty comfortable and safe environment from within the walls, but unlike Clara, after so long of the same routine, Lyra wasn’t content with just scavenging; she had a deep fascination with the woman who lived in the house who she constantly observed day in and day out. Clara’s towering figure, her eclectic personality, and her soft hums while she worked, captivated Lyra.
Over time, an idea took root in Lyra's mind: What if she could “borrow” Clara herself? She envisioned a companion, someone to share her tiny world, someone who could understand her. The thought consumed her, would it even be possible to shrink a human down to her size? And so, Lyra began to experiment if such an idea could work.
Despite initially coming up dry for so long, her infiltration of many Borrower spaces eventually led her to learn about a certain recipe, made up of many different resources (parts from plants, various liquids, some human chemicals, even some blood in there) that if put together correctly, could create a shrinking formula. Lyra was curious and thought if such a creation existed, why was it not better known, but to her, that just made her even more willing to scheme.
After many, many attempts and tests, Lyra finally succeeded after her final, last ditch idea; braving the deadly rainstorm as a ‘bolt of lightning’ (albeit a shock of electricity combined with the rain water) proved to be the final key to creating a concoction that performed exactly, and safely, as she wanted. Dumping it all into a vial, she elicited a massive grin, and prepared her plan of attack.
Late one night, while Clara slept peacefully, Lyra crept into her room, sliding under the slit in the door, and gliding along the carpeted floor. Using her strength to effortlessly leap up onto her bed, she enthusiastically strutted across the massive woman’s face, feeling the ripples of her breathing, and the air blasting out her nostrils.
Lyra gave an intense stare of adoration at the innocent looking woman before dumping several drops of the formula into her mouth. As she leapt off the face, Lyra became even more ecstatic as she witnessed Clara’s body slowly decompressing into itself, disappearing underneath her shirt, and into the blankets.
Deep inside, Clara blinked, her vision blurry and her body cold against the air. She was stirred awake by the strange, warm buzzing that flowed within her body, only to look up and see herself surrounded by darkness. Even worse, she realized that she was now completely naked.
“What the hell…” she remarked confusingly, still in a daze, as her vision through the darkness around her started to come into a clearer view, that being a sky of fibers. Her mind raced as she attempted to register her surroundings, only to be caught off guard by a human-shaped figure that suddenly stood right in front of the one spot where light was shining in.
Before she could truly comprehend anything, the figure, with barely any effort, swept Clara off her feet and into her arms, her cool fingers instantly sending an embarrassing chill all throughout her exposed body.
“HEY?!” Clara barked, her voice high-pitched and sharp in her panic. She squirmed, trying to cover herself, but the figure’s secure grip made that impossible. “Put me down, you little—whatever you are—!”
The figure soon emerged out of the shirt sleeve, revealing herself in the light to be a well-endowed woman, with long flowing blonde hair, a distinctly sharp face with slight freckles, bright violet eyes, and clothes that appeared to be home-made; a dark green jacket and lighter coloured pants made from different pieces of scraps, with some kind of masking tape wrapped around her feet and her partially exposed chest. All Clara could do is stare while continuing to make a dumbfounded face.
Lyra tilted her head at her newest possession, her expression unreadable for a moment, before she let out a soft, delighted laugh. “You’re even cuter up close than I imagined,” she said, brushing her cheek against Clara’s flailing form as though she were cuddling a favourite doll. “I didn’t realize just how much of a feisty personality you had. You’ll fit in perfectly here.”
“What are you even going on about!?” Clara snapped, kicking her legs uselessly against the air. “I swear I must’ve taken some weed Emma gave me, that’s the only explanation for this fever dream!”
“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Lyra interrupted with a mischievous smile. “I’m taking care of you now! You’ll never have to worry about the big, scary world again.”
Clara’s face turned crimson, equal parts fury and embarrassment, as Lyra then slid down the now massive bed, causing Clara to squeal in fear. “Calm down kitten, nothing to worry about.” Lyra remarked as Clara squeezed tightly to her body, temporarily no longer caring about her current immodesty.
Once she reached the bottom, as if she was showing off, Lyra proceeded to leap off the end of the blanket and onto a stray sock, using it to slide her way across the bedroom and underneath a desk, about to collide right into the wall. But instead, she lunged them both forward, stepping right through a hidden doorway into the walls of the house.
With the ride over, Clara regained her breath for the briefest of pauses, before resuming her thrashing and complaining, demanding an explanation as Lyra calmly made her way through several passageways, until she arrived in a small but impressively furnished living space. Clara was deposited on a makeshift cushion, Lyra’s nimble fingers fussing over her hair as though she were a prized doll.
“Stop that! I’m not some plaything!” Clara slapped at Lyra’s hands, glaring. “Okay, so five things: Who are you? What are you? What did you do to me? Why did you do this? And get me some damn thing to wear!” The last thing she said with a fury while attempting to cover herself up, tired of seeing this woman eyeing her breasts after just extensively fondling her body.
“Oh, don’t pout,” Lyra teased, moving to a tiny wardrobe crafted from a jewellery box. She pulled out a dress fashioned from scraps of fabric—a little rough around the edges, but undeniably charming—and held it up. “This’ll do for now.”
Clara snatched the garment, her eyes narrowing as she struggled to pull it over her head. It hung loosely on her shrunken frame, the hem brushing her ankles. “The worst kind of oversized pyjamas… and not like I needed underwear…” she muttered, scratching herself and glaring at Lyra.
Lyra just giggled, unbothered by Clara’s comments. She sat down with her legs crossed and said, “Well, to answer some of your questions, yes I did shrink you, and yes, I did it so that you would become mine, simple of that.” Lyra clapped after giving her answer, as if it was so simple to understand, leaving Clara more dumbfounded than ever.
As she grunted and adjusted the ill-fitting dress, Clara glanced around Lyra’s cozy but cluttered hideaway. Everything in the den was made from repurposed human items, and her irritation grew with every passing second as she noticed object after object that she began to recognize as her own—seats made from old teacups, a familiar paintbrush now serving as a flagpole, a bottle cap repurposed as a bowl, even one of her earrings displayed as if it were a prized decoration.
“Wait…you’ve got to be kidding me,” Clara muttered, stepping closer to examine a spool of thread she recognized as hers.
“You like my collection?” Lyra said with a teasing grin. “Took a lot of time and a lot of crafting, but managed to construct the perfect home out of loose parts.”
“This is my stuff!” Clara spun around, pointing an accusatory finger at Lyra. “Did you seriously think shrinking me would make it okay for you to steal my—whoa!”
Her indignant tirade came to a graceless halt as the oversized hem of her dress snagged under her feet. With a startled yelp, Clara toppled forward, landing in an unceremonious heap on the floor. The fabric tangled around her limbs like a web, leaving her flailing in frustration.
Lyra, who had been still sitting there on the couch, covered her mouth and let out a childish laugh as her shoulder shook her amusement. “Oh, Clara, you’re even clumsier than I thought! Are you sure you don’t need me to carry you everywhere?”
“Shut up!” Clara barked, struggling to free herself from the dress. Her face burned as she sat up, glaring at Lyra. “Everything is your fault anyway!”
Lyra continued to stare with a far too amused expression. “I just think you’re adorable,” she said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that only made Clara’s temper flare. “You’re like a little kitten learning how to walk.”
Clara managed to untangle herself, her hair a mess and her glare sharper than ever. “And you’re like a raccoon—stealing whatever isn’t nailed down!” She jabbed a finger toward the mismatched collection of her belongings. “What gives you the right to just take my stuff?”
Lyra shrugged, unfazed by the accusation. “It’s not stealing if you weren’t using it,” she replied matter-of-factly. “You have so much—you wouldn’t even notice a few missing things. And look,” she gestured to the room with pride, “everything here has a purpose now. Isn’t that better than letting it go to waste?”
“No, it’s not better!” Clara snapped. “That earring? Sentimental. The paintbrush? Expensive. The thread? The cups? Mine!”
Lyra chuckled, “It’s not like you were using them. You didn’t even realize they were missing until just now, didn’t ya?”
Clara wanted to angrily deny, but in the back of her head, she knew that was the truth. They may have been ‘lost items’, but she never knew they were ‘lost’ to begin with. Still, she shook her head and resolved that they were still her possessions that she purchased and/or acquired, thus she could have final authority on them.
Lyra got up and bent over to pat Clara’s head lightly as though she were a pet. “Oh, you’re so fiery. It’s adorable when you try to act all big and scary while looking like a doll.”
Clara swatted Lyra’s hand away, her teeth gritted. “I swear, if you don’t stop treating me like a toy—”
“What will you do?” Lyra interrupted, smirking as she leaned in close. “Throw another adorable tantrum?”
Clara’s fists clenched, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She knew her protests were falling on deaf ears, but she wasn’t going to let the woman win.
Lyra pushed Clara over to sit at the nearby makeshift table, made from a mix of metallic and wood resources, to have themselves a midnight snack. Clara sat stiffly at it, her arms crossed as she stared down at the assortment of crumbs and honey drops Lyra had presented. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but her pride made her hesitate. She finally relented with an exasperated sigh, picking up a crumb of bread the size of her palm and nibbling at it while shooting occasional glares at her captor.
Lyra, meanwhile, hummed happily as she watched Clara eat. “See? Isn’t this nice? A cozy little meal just for the two of us.”
“‘Cozy’ isn’t the word I’d use,” Clara muttered, tearing off another piece of bread. “I’d call it ‘imprisonment with a side of stolen goods.’”
Lyra only laughed, brushing off Clara’s grumbling. “Oh, you’re so dramatic. It’s kind of endearing.”
Clara rolled her eyes, shoving the last bit of bread into her mouth. “What’s next? You gonna try to sell me on the joys of being your ‘companion’ again?”
“Well, I was thinking,” Lyra began with a playful grin, “that we could take a bath together before bed. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Clara choked on the crumb she was swallowing, coughing as she shot Lyra a look of pure incredulity. “Excuse me?! No way. Absolutely not. That is not happening.”
Lyra giggled, clearly unfazed. “You’re so shy. It’s cute.”
“It’s called having boundaries,” Clara snapped, her cheeks reddening. “Try respecting them.”
“Suit yourself,” Lyra said with a shrug, standing up and brushing crumbs off her hands. “But you’re still staying here with me, so I guess I’ll just get you settled in for the night.”
Reluctantly, Clara followed Lyra to a smaller room tucked into the corner of the Borrower’s home. It was clearly Lyra’s treasure trove—a space packed with bits and baubles Clara recognized from her own home, arranged in a chaotic but oddly charming way. In the center was a makeshift bed, lined with scraps of soft fabric and cotton.
“Here you go,” Lyra said cheerfully, gesturing to the bed. “All comfy and cozy for my favourite new roommate.”
Clara crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Roommate implies I had a choice in this arrangement.”
“Semantics,” Lyra teased, leaning down unexpectedly. Before Clara could react, Lyra planted a quick peck on her cheek, pulling back with a mischievous grin.
Clara froze, her face instantly flushing. “Did you just—”
“Goodnight,” Lyra said, cutting her off with a sing-song tone as she turned to leave the room. “Sweet dreams!”
Clara stood there for a moment, too stunned to form a response. Finally, she stomped over to the bed and flopped down with a frustrated groan, pulling a scrap of fabric over herself like a blanket.
“I swear,” she muttered, glaring at the ceiling. “If I don’t find a way out of here soon, she’s going to drive me insane.” It was also at this moment that Clara realized that she didn’t even answer the “who she is” or “what she is” of her questions, causing her to groan even more erratically. This woman was having her dancing in the palm of her hand (almost literally) and there was nothing she could do about it.
From the other room, Lyra’s soft humming drifted through the walls, thinking about what other kind of fun she can’t wait to have with her new companion.