Page 62 of Saving Little Lina: Part One

The animation in her face grew as she started to speak about her love for roleplaying as a princess. "It's more than just a pastime. It's like an obsession," she confessed.

"I've lost count of how many times you've told me that," I said, my tone playful.

She shot me a quick, cheeky look. "Hey, that's not fair. I've only ever told you once."

Playing along, I leaned in closer, my tone conspiratorial. "Well, let's put that to a test then. Let's see how well you can roleplay as a princess. It's an art, you know. Not every Little can master it."

Her cheeks flamed at my suggestion. "Promise you won't make fun of me," she stipulated, her voice a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

“I swear," I assured her. "Now, let's see how well this princess can hold her own.”

With a bashful smile, Lina threw herself into her role. She carried herself differently, with an air of royal grace, mimicking gestures and speech patterns that she imagined a princess would have.

"I demand you fetch me a glass of the finest milk," she ordered, imperiously waving a hand.

"Yes, Your Highness. Would you prefer it chilled or at room temperature?" I played along, adding a mock bow.

"Chilled, of course! What kind of question is that?" she replied, with an exaggerated scoff.

Our conversation continued, a merry back-and-forth where she played the high and mighty princess, while I, her unruly servant, pushed the boundaries of her patience with my absurd questions and whimsical reluctance.

"Servant! My gown is not nearly sparkly enough. Fetch me the stardust from the stars!" she commanded, pointing dramatically at the starry night sky.

"But, princess, the stars are too far. Maybe some glitter from your art supplies would suffice?" I offered, feigning exhaustion.

The look of exasperation she shot me was absolutely priceless. "An excuse? From my servant? Inconceivable! I should have you whipped at once." She folded her arms across her chest, maintaining the royal air of a princess scorned.

"Alas, Your Highness, I am but a mortal man," I returned, mirroring her dramatic tone. "The stars are far beyond my reach. But for you, Princess, I shall try."

I pretended to climb an invisible ladder to the stars, reaching up and making a show of grasping and tugging at the night sky. All the while, Lina watched, her laughter twinkling as beautifully as the stars I pretended to pluck.

"Look, Princess, a star!" I declared, my hand closing over an imaginary object. "A little dim, maybe. Probably got tired on the journey down."

Lina's giggles filled the air as she held out her hand for the 'star'. "My servant, you've done well. I shall overlook your earlier impudence."

"Your generosity knows no bounds, Your Highness," I responded, affecting a tone of deep gratitude. "Your humble servant is forever indebted."

"Oh, stop your nonsensical babble and help me with my shoes!" She stuck out a foot, pointing at an invisible high-heeled shoe.

"Of course," I said with a dramatic sigh. I reached out, pretending to unclasp an imaginary shoe buckle. "These royal shoes do seem too tight. I wonder if we should speak to the royal cobbler."

As the roleplay continued, I couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly she embraced her Little side. Every gesture, every word, every adorable pout painted a vivid image of her as a princess, an image that was becoming increasingly endearing.

When our roleplay ended, I turned to her once more. "Is there anything else you love as a Little, princess?"

She squinted at me, a playful smirk playing on her lips. "Why, Hank, are you interviewing me? Trying to decide whether I'm worthy of being your Little?"

"Oh, I decided that long ago," I replied. "I'm just trying to compile a manual on 'How to Handle Princess Lina'."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was proof enough that she was enjoying this. Her bashful smile warmed me more than my jacket could. She fiddled with the ends of her dress before finally confessing, "About your question... I do love binkies and sippy cups. They just make me feel safe, I guess."

"That’s really endearing. What about your Little age? Do you have a specific one?"

She shook her head, her fingers idly playing with a loose thread on her dress. "Not really. I mean, I don’t like to label myself with a certain Little age because I feel different at different times. Like when I’m having a tough day at work, dealing with the pressures of adulthood, I feel much smaller and need to retreat to my Little space the moment I reach home. But when I’m feeling confident or excited, I can feel much bigger. It’s fluid for me."

"That makes sense," I reassured her. "And when did you first realize that you were a Little?"

"I think I was always a Little," she admitted. "Only, it took me a long time to understand what that truly meant. Age play, for me, is a refuge, a place I retreat to when the world becomes too overwhelming."

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