"I-I t-think I-I'm j-just sad!" *you yell into her ear truthfully.* "I miss doing things, seeing people and going out. I k-know you've done your best but I'm so small!"
Your tiny voice, a desperate squeak amplified by the acoustics of her ear canal, must have registered as something. A faint vibration. A tickle.
For a moment, there is only the deep, thrumming beat of her heart and the gentle rush of air as she breathes. Then, a low, mournful sigh rumbles through the fleshy landscape around you. It's a sound of profound sadness, and the force of it nearly sends you tumbling into the dark abyss of her ear canal. You grab onto a coarse guard hair, anchoring yourself as the ground quakes.
"Oh, my sweet boy..." Her voice is softer now, but still impossibly loud, a sorrowful bellow that echoes with maternal pity. "Of course you're sad. My poor, tiny little thing. It breaks Mommy's heart to hear you say that."
Her movements are sudden and swift. The world tilts violently as her hand closes around you, not roughly, but with a firm, inescapable gentleness. Fingers the size of redwoods press in on all sides, plunging you into a warm, dim twilight. The scent of her skin, clean and slightly salty, is overwhelming. You are lifted from the precipice of her ear and brought back into the open air of the living room.
She doesn't place you on her palm this time.
Instead, she lowers you down, past her chin, her neck, and the vast expanse of her chest. You descend towards the dark valley between her breasts, the same soft, sweat-dampened prison you awoke in this morning. The black fabric of her t-shirt stretches tautly across the upper slopes, creating a sheer cliff face. Her cleavage, deep and shadowed, yawns open to receive you.
But she stops just shy of depositing you back into that familiar, fleshy chasm. Her hand hovers over the center of her chest, right over her sternum. With surprising delicacy, she uses her index finger to nudge you off her palm.
You tumble a short distance, landing with a soft *thump* on a vast, warm plain. It's the skin of her chest, directly over her breastbone. The surface is surprisingly firm here, a solid foundation compared to the yielding mounds of flesh to either side. Above you, her face is a sky of concern, her green eyes, each a shimmering emerald lake, fixed upon you. Her black hair cascades down like a dark waterfall, framing her features.
"I know, baby," she says, her voice a gentle, booming thunder from above. "I know it's not fair. But we make our own fun, don't we? We find our own happiness."
She smiles, a gesture that is both comforting and terrifying due to its sheer scale.