Hannah stared at the screen, her breath coming in shallow pants as Naomi and Oliver’s cheery voices filled the living room. Their animated figures danced and played against a backdrop of bright colors and soft music, the kind of idyllic world Amazons seemed to think Littles should adore. But to Hannah, it was a battlefield where her mind was under siege.

“Are you being a good baby, Hannah?” Naomi cooed, her oversized eyes twinkling with saccharine glee. “Good babies love their diapers! They don’t even think about big girl things.”

Hannah clenched her fists, her body taut with resistance as she fought the pull of the cartoon’s hypnotic undertones. She wasn’t sure how they did it—whether it was the tone of their voices, the rhythmic cadence of their words, or the faint shimmering effect on the screen—but she could feel it. That warm, syrupy sensation crawled into her mind, whispering that it would be easier to let go, relax, and comply.

No.

Hannah forced her gaze to the corner of the screen, trying to avoid Naomi and Oliver's direct stare. But their presence seemed to surround her, their voices curling around her thoughts like vines.

“Look at me, Hannah!” Oliver chirped, leaning closer to the screen. “I bet you’re the best baby ever! Are you wet yet? Messy? You’ll feel so much better when you are!”

Her cheeks burned as she shifted uncomfortably in her bouncer. She could feel the impossibly thick padding of her diaper pressing against her, a constant reminder of how much control had already been stripped from her. She sucked harder on the pacifier in her mouth, not out of comfort, but as a way to ground herself—to keep from slipping any further into the pull of the cartoon.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Daddy. His face was a mask of worry, his hand twitching at his side as if he wanted to turn the television off but knew he couldn’t. Miranda was watching. Miranda was always watching.

“Hannah,” Naomi’s voice lilted, impossibly sweet, “it’s okay to let go. Good babies know that Mommies and Daddies will take care of everything. You don’t have to fight.”

The worst part was Hannah could feel the edges of her resistance fraying. Her body wanted to relax and surrender to their voices' lullaby. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? To just let go, stop fighting, and sink into the cocoon they were weaving for her.

No!

She gritted her teeth around the pacifier, a faint whimper escaping her. Her muscles ached from the tension of holding on, and her thoughts were a swirling storm of defiance and doubt. Was it enough? Was she strong enough to resist?

Naomi and Oliver leaned closer to the screen, their faces filling her vision. “Come on, Hannah,” they said in unison, their voices harmonizing like a siren’s song. “Be a good baby for us. You’ll feel so much better when you do.”

Hannah’s vision blurred with tears. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold out. The pull was too strong, the pressure too overwhelming. But deep inside her, a flicker of defiance remained a tiny ember that refused to be snuffed out. She clung to it with everything she had, even as the cartoon threatened to smother her in its sugary embrace.

Hannah’s breath hitched, her body trembling as she felt the tiniest lapse in her ironclad control. It was a fraction of a second—a momentary slip—but it was enough. Her bladder released first, warmth flooding into the thick padding between her legs. The sensation spread quickly, and the diaper swelling accommodated the accident. Her face burned with humiliation as she squirmed in the bouncer, but there was no escape from the mortifying reality of what was happening.

Before she could even process the wetness, her bowels followed suit. Her stomach clenched involuntarily, and she whimpered behind her pacifier as the mess pushed into her diaper. The snug padding pressed it against her, spreading the shame further as her body betrayed her completely. Tears pricked her eyes, but they couldn’t fall—not when Naomi and Oliver were there, their animated faces glowing with excitement.

“Good girl, Hannah!” Naomi cheered, clapping her hands. Her voice was saccharine, dripping with praise. “Look at you, being the perfect little baby!”

Oliver chimed in, bouncing with exaggerated glee. “That’s right! That’s exactly what a good newborn does! You’re making us so proud, Hannah!”

Hannah’s humiliation deepened, her face hot as tears slid down her cheeks. She wanted to crawl into a hole, to disappear, but the bouncer’s straps held her snugly in place, forcing her to endure every second of their praise.

“Don’t you feel so much better now?” Naomi cooed, leaning closer to the screen. “Babies don’t hold it in—they let their diapers do all the work! That’s what makes you such a good little girl.”

Hannah shook her head weakly, trying to block out their voices, but their words seeped into her mind like syrup, sticking and clinging no matter how much she tried to resist. She whimpered again, her pacifier bobbing in her mouth as the shame and helplessness overwhelmed her.

“And guess what, Hannah?” Oliver’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “We have something extra special for you! A show just for newborns like you, to help you be the best baby for your Daddy.”

Hannah’s heart sank as a new banner appeared on the screen: "Welcome to Newborn Basics! Let’s learn how to be a perfect little infant!"

Naomi’s voice returned, soft and sing-song. “Good newborns don’t try to talk—they coo and babble. They don’t try to crawl—they snuggle and let their Mommies and Daddies carry them. And they don’t worry about silly things like control—they let go and trust completely.”

Hannah’s trembling worsened as the cartoon transitioned seamlessly into its new programming. The imagery shifted to pastel colors and soft shapes, the tone gentler but no less insidious. Naomi and Oliver appeared again, dressed in oversized onesies, their exaggerated smiles lighting up the screen.

“Now, let’s practice!” Naomi declared, holding up a stuffed animal. “Can you make sweet baby sounds like a newborn, Hannah? Coo for us! Babble for us!”

Hannah shook her head, the tears streaming down her face, but the pacifier muffled her voice. She felt trapped and powerless as the show continued to hammer away at her defenses. She could feel its message creeping deeper into her mind, trying to reshape her into the infant they wanted her to be.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Daddy, his jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists. He looked ready to intervene, but Miranda’s sharp gaze pinned him in place. He couldn’t stop it without putting all of them at risk.

Hannah’s sobs became softer, her exhaustion making it harder to fight. Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions: shame, anger, and a creeping sense of despair. The only thing she could cling to was the faint hope that this would end soon and that, somehow, she could hold on to the pieces of herself that the Amazons seemed so determined to erase.

Hannah’s resolve cracked further as an involuntary sound escaped her lips—a soft, indistinct babble that caught her completely off guard. Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she clamped her mouth shut behind the pacifier, but it was too late. Naomi and Oliver were already reacting with exuberant joy.

“There it is!” Naomi squealed, clapping her hands together. “What a precious little babble! That’s exactly how a newborn should sound, Hannah!”

Oliver leaned toward the screen, his grin stretching impossibly wide. “You’re such a fast learner! Listen to yourself—you’re already sounding like the sweetest baby.”

Hannah whimpered, the pacifier bobbing helplessly as she tried to suppress any further sounds. Her face was a fiery red, her humiliation reaching new depths. She felt utterly helpless, trapped in the bouncer and unable to escape their relentless praise.

Naomi’s tone turned gentle but insistent as if coaxing a shy child. “Now, let’s try something else, Hannah. Good newborns love to play peek-a-boo with their Mommies and Daddies. It’s such a fun game for little babies like you!”

The screen shifted to show Naomi and Oliver sitting cross-legged with large, colorful blankets in their hands. They demonstrated the game, lifting the blankets to cover their faces and pulling them away with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Peek-a-boo!” they chimed in unison, their voices dripping with saccharine delight.

Hannah shook her head, desperate not to participate, but her body betrayed her again. Unbidden, a soft coo escaped her lips, and her hands twitched as though they wanted to mimic the motions. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensory overload, but their voices continued to penetrate her defenses.

“Come on, sweetie!” Oliver urged. “You can do it! Lift your little hands and play peek-a-boo. It’s so much fun!”

Naomi added in a singsong tone, “Good babies love peek-a-boo. It makes them feel so happy and safe!”

The bouncer shifted slightly as Hannah squirmed, the straps keeping her firmly in place. She felt a fresh wave of despair as her mind betrayed her, the soothing yet insidious messages from the show tugging at her subconscious. Her lips trembled, and she let out another involuntary coo, much to Naomi and Oliver’s delight.

“That’s it, Hannah!” Naomi praised. “You’re doing so well. Keep practicing, and you’ll be the best little newborn for your Daddy in no time!”

Hannah’s cheeks burned with shame as the lesson continued. She could feel the programming wrapping around her thoughts like a vine, rooting deeper with every passing second. All she could do was hope that this nightmare would end soon and that she could hold on to the fragments of herself that were slipping through her grasp.

The credits rolled; their colorful animation and cheerful jingle felt like nails on a chalkboard to Hannah. Her mind was awash with numbness, as if it had been yanked out, battered, and shoved back into place without care. She sat in the bouncer, strapped in and unable to move, her limbs heavy and her thoughts foggy. She could still feel the remnants of the show’s influence crawling through her, tugging at her mind and teasing her willpower.

Miranda stepped forward, her heels clicking against the floor as she crouched beside the bouncer. Her piercing gaze locked onto Hannah, and a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Well, now, aren’t you just precious?” Miranda cooed, her tone saccharine but laced with mockery. “Come on, little one. Let’s hear you speak. Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Hannah’s stomach twisted, the urge to babble bubbling in her throat like an uncontrollable reflex. The programming was strong, urging her to comply, but she clenched her jaw around her pacifier. She could fight this—she had to. Miranda tilted her head, her smile sharpening.

“Don’t be shy,” Miranda prodded, her voice growing firmer. “Let’s see if you’ve truly embraced your place.”

The pressure built as Hannah’s grip on her defiance wavered. The weight of the programming was suffocating, clawing at her willpower. Before she could stop herself, a string of babbles slipped past her lips. It was involuntary, a betrayal of her resolve. The pacifier muffled the sounds, but they were unmistakable.

Miranda’s smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “See? You’re not as tough as they made you out to be,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “In the end, you crumble just like any other Little. It was only a matter of time.”

Hannah felt her cheeks burn, tears welled as Miranda rose to full height. She glanced toward Daddy, who stood stiffly by the doorway, his jaw tight. Miranda turned and strode toward him without a word, her heels clicking with purpose. “Let’s see how well her nursery reflects her progress,” she said, gesturing toward the hallway.

Daddy hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes flickering toward Hannah and Emily, before nodding and following Miranda out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, Emily rushed to Hannah’s side. Her steps were hurried, and her expression was etched with worry. She crouched beside the bouncer and gently squeezed Hannah’s arm. “Hannah?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Are you okay?”

Hannah blinked up at her sister, her eyes glossy and unfocused. She felt the weight of Emily’s hug as the younger girl wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. The warmth of the hug was a stark contrast to the cold emptiness she felt inside.

“I...” Hannah’s voice faltered, muffled by the pacifier still in her mouth. She leaned into Emily’s embrace, her body trembling. “I don’t know.”

Emily held her tighter, her fears bubbling to the surface. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured. “I promise. Whatever it takes, we’ll find a way.”

Hannah’s mind gradually cleared the oppressive fog that had weighed on her thoughts, lifting like a dissipating storm. She focused on her breathing, her pacifier bobbing slightly as she worked through the residual effects. When she finally went to speak, she felt the programming claw at her throat, urging her to babble. She clenched her fists, summoning every ounce of her willpower to force coherent words out instead.

“It’s... fading,” she managed to whisper, her voice shaky but comprehensible. The effort left her trembling, but the relief was palpable. “Emily... I think it’s wearing off.”

Emily’s worried gaze softened, and she gave Hannah’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s good,” she said softly. “You’re stronger than they think. I knew you’d fight it.”

Hannah nodded faintly, leaning into Emily’s comforting presence. “It was so strong, though,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Emily’s grip on Hannah’s hand tightened a flicker of determination in her eyes. “You’re not alone in this,” she said firmly. “We’ll face it together, okay?”

Hannah curled her lips into a small, grateful smile, her sister’s unwavering support grounding her amidst the chaos. But before she could say more, Emily’s gaze darted toward the hallway, her expression shifting to one of urgency.

“She’s coming back,” Emily whispered, quickly hushing Hannah. The two girls fell silent, their shared moment of vulnerability hidden as Miranda’s heels clicked against the floor.

Miranda’s expression was one of smug satisfaction as she reentered the room, her gaze sweeping over the girls. “Excellent progress,” she remarked, her voice dripping with condescension. Her attention turned to Daddy, who stood near the doorway, his arms crossed. “I expect these new episodes to be shown to them daily—newborn programming for Hannah, baby programming for Emily. Consistency is key to ensuring compliance.”

Daddy opened his mouth, his expression a mix of frustration and forced politeness. But before he could voice his thoughts, Miranda spun on her heel, already approaching the door.

“I trust you’ll adhere to the guidelines,” she called over her shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response. The front door opened and closed with a definitive click, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

Daddy exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned back to the girls. His gaze softened, and he knelt beside the bouncer to unstrap Hannah, lifting her into his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing gently to her temple. “We’ll figure this out.”

Emily joined them, placing a comforting hand on Hannah’s back as they huddled together. Despite the lingering tension, there was a shared determination among them—a silent promise to face whatever came next together.

Daddy gently patted Hannah's bottom, his touch soft yet deliberate, feeling the weight of her soiled diaper. He sighed deeply, his face etched with exhaustion and guilt. Without a word, he carefully laid her out on the changing pad spread across the couch. The familiar diaper rustling echoed in the quiet room as he cleaned her up.

“I’m so sorry, girls,” Daddy murmured, his voice trembling as he reached for a fresh diaper. “I promised to protect you, to give you both a safe place. And now...” His voice broke, and he paused, his hands trembling slightly. He wiped at his eyes, his tears glistening in the soft glow of the room. “I feel like I’m failing you.”

Hannah’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she reached for his hand, her fingers brushing against his. Sitting cross-legged nearby, Emily leaned closer, her expression filled with warmth and understanding.

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Emily said softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions. “None of us could have known how far the government would go. They twisted everything, broke every promise, and made it impossible to fight back.”

Daddy nodded slowly, carefully fastening Hannah’s new diaper before scooping her back into his arms. He sat on the couch, cradling her close as Emily moved to sit beside him. He looked at both girls, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“They said a few more changes are coming,” he admitted, his voice heavy with reluctance. “Nothing major, they said, but... I don’t trust them. I don’t trust any of this.”

Hannah's pacifier, still in her mouth, snuggled closer against his chest. She released a soft hum of agreement, her small body radiating warmth and comfort. Emily rested her head on his shoulder, her presence a silent support.

“We’ll get through this,” Emily said firmly, her voice a quiet promise. “We’re together, and we’ll face whatever comes together.”

Daddy exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he hugged them closer. The three of them sat there, a small island of unity amidst the turbulent sea of their reality, finding strength in each other to face the challenges ahead.

After a few quiet minutes of holding his girls close, Daddy dried his eyes with his shirt sleeve and smiled softly. He straightened up, his voice lighter as he tried to shift the mood. “You know, tomorrow’s Christmas,” he began, his tone gently teasing. “And it just hit me—we don’t have any cookies for Santa! What do you say, girls? Want to help me bake some?”

Hannah’s eyes lit up despite herself, her excitement bubbling over as she nodded eagerly, though she had to fight back the urge to babble or coo. Her cheeks flushed slightly, but the warmth of the idea pushed her embarrassment aside. Beside her, Emily grinned, her enthusiasm palpable as she said, “Of course we do!”

Daddy stood, scooping Hannah into his arms as Emily hopped to her feet. Emily trailed behind them into the kitchen, where the soft glow of the kitchen lights illuminated the cozy space, which was filled with the scent of cinnamon and sugar lingering from earlier holiday preparations. Daddy set Hannah into an infant high chair, carefully adjusting the tray in front of her.

“Alright, let’s get to work,” Daddy said, pulling out a large mixing bowl and a bag of flour. Emily dragged a step stool to the counter and placed herself next to him as he measured the ingredients. Her small hands gripped a big wooden spoon, and her eyes focused with determination as she helped stir the mixture.

Hannah watched, the soft crinkle of her diaper barely audible over the clink of measuring cups and the rhythmic scraping of the spoon against the bowl. Daddy rolled out the dough, his movements quick and precise, before pulling off a small piece and placing it on Hannah’s tray.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he said warmly. “You can try a little taste, and then we’ll use these cookie cutters to make some fun shapes.”

Hannah hesitated momentarily, her cheeks reddening as she glanced at the colorful cutters Daddy had set before her. But the sweet aroma of the dough was too tempting, and she popped the small piece into her mouth, her eyes widening at the sugary delight. Emily giggled, reaching for a cookie cutter in the shape of a star.

“I think this one’s my favorite,” she declared, pressing it firmly into the rolled-out dough.

Hannah giggled, mimicking Emily’s actions as best she could with her mittened hands. Daddy watched them both with a smile that reached his eyes, his heart swelling at seeing his girls enjoying a moment of holiday magic.

“Good job, girls,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “These will be the best cookies Santa’s ever had.”

The kitchen buzzed with activity as the three seamlessly collaborated. Emily pressed her star cutter into the dough with practiced ease, handing it off to Daddy, who carefully transferred the cookies onto a baking sheet. Meanwhile, despite the awkward bulk of her mittens, Hannah created a few wobbly heart and teddy bear shapes that made Emily giggle, and Daddy beamed with pride.

“Perfect job, sweetheart,” Daddy praised, adjusting Hannah’s pacifier as it bobbed in her mouth. “These are going to look amazing.”

When the final batch of cookies was cut and placed in the oven, the first batch was golden brown and ready to be removed. Daddy pulled them from the oven, and freshly baked cookies' rich, sweet aroma filled the air. Hannah’s nose twitched as she inhaled deeply, and a soft hum of approval escaped her lips.

“Alright, let’s get these cooled and ready for decorating,” Daddy said, placing the hot tray on a cooling rack. As the cookies rested, he began mixing bowls of frosting, expertly blending vibrant colors—red, green, blue, and white—adding just the right touch of sweetness.

Emily, ever eager, leaned over the counter, watching intently. “Can I stir?” she asked, reaching for the spatula in Daddy’s hand.

“Of course,” Daddy said with a chuckle, handing it to her. He retrieved a set of smaller bowls and began dividing the frosting, setting out sprinkles, candy, and other decorations beside them. “Hannah, what color should your teddy bear be?” he asked, glancing over at her.

Hannah paused thoughtfully, her pacifier stilling in her mouth before she pointed a mittened hand toward the bowl of red frosting. “Good choice,” Daddy said with a grin, spreading some onto a cookie as an example. “A festive teddy bear.”

Emily clapped her hands excitedly. “This is going to be so much fun!”

The trio dove into their task with the cookies cooled and the decorations ready. Emily meticulously applied frosting and sprinkles to each cookie she decorated, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Daddy alternated between helping both girls and crafting his designs—though he ended up far simpler, letting the girls' creativity shine.

Even Hannah, with her mittens, managed to add a few splashes of color to her cookies. She gigged as she accidentally smeared frosting across her hand. Daddy quickly cleaned her up, his gentle chuckle filling the room.

“These are turning out beautifully,” he said, admiring their handiwork. “Santa’s going to be one lucky guy.”

The girls exchanged grins, their earlier worries momentarily forgotten as the festive atmosphere wrapped around them like a warm hug. The girls looked proudly at their colorful creations as the last sprinkle was placed, and the final cookie was adorned with frosting. The counter was a cheerful mess of frosting smears, scattered candies, and a few stray sprinkles glinting in the soft kitchen light. Daddy stepped back, hands on his hips, and surveyed the display with a warm smile.

“You both did an amazing job,” he praised, picking up a particularly vibrant star-shaped cookie and admiring its artistry. “Santa is going to be thrilled. And I think you two deserve a big round of applause.”

Emily clapped her hands with glee, her face lighting up at the praise. Hannah, her mittens sticky with frosting, let out an involuntary stream of playful babble as her excitement improved. The moment the sounds left her mouth, her cheeks flushed a deep red, the humiliation washing over her like a wave. She tried to hide her face, embarrassed by her slip.

But Daddy crouched down and kissed her forehead, his expression brimming with affection. “You are adorable and perfect just the way you are, sweetheart,” he said softly, his hand patting her back reassuringly.

Hannah blinked up at him, her embarrassment melting into a shy smile. His unconditional love made the sting of her humiliation fade, and she nestled against him as he scooped her into his arms.

“Now,” Daddy said, addressing both girls, “we’ve got a big day tomorrow, and you two look pretty messy after all that hard work. Time for a nice warm bath.”

Emily followed behind as Daddy carried Hannah toward the bathroom. The comforting weight of the day’s activities settled over them like a cozy blanket. The air was filled with the anticipation of Christmas morning, the promise of surprises, and the warmth of being together. Daddy’s voice hummed softly as he carried Hannah, her pacifier bobbing slightly as she relaxed into his embrace. Though walking alone, Emily felt the same sense of security, her heart full of appreciation for the home they had built together. Whatever tomorrow held, they were ready to face it as a family.