Morning broke gently, pale golden sunlight slipping softly through cracks in the cottage walls. Lili stirred awake slowly, blinking sleepily at the sound of chickens softly clucking and rustling among the straw. A faint urgency in her tiny bladder coaxed her awake, pulling her gently back to the waking world.
Yawning softly, she stretched her small arms, tiny fingers rubbing sleep from her eyes. Quietly, carefully, she crawled toward the cottage door, pushing it open with a soft creak and stepping out into the crisp morning air.
Outside, the garden greeted her like an old friend, sunlight gently warming her skin. She relieved herself behind a small bush, shivering slightly as a morning breeze ruffled her wispy blonde hair. A faint thought drifted briefly across her mind—she hadn't checked on her mother that morning—but the fresh, bright morning quickly pushed that thought away.
Instead, a smile softened her small face as she turned eagerly toward her favorite task—hunting bugs alongside Terminator.
The rooster stood tall and vigilant beside the garden, waiting patiently as she crawled close. She grinned up at him, eyes sparkling, then pointed confidently at the ground.
"Bah, bah!" she commanded cheerfully.
Terminator immediately sprang into action, swiftly snatching every crawling insect Lili uncovered. She giggled joyfully, pride swelling in her chest as she watched him dispatch the bugs with swift precision.
Afterward, Lili turned her attention to the hens, directing them authoritatively toward the forest's edge with eager gestures and nonsensical babbling. They clucked obediently, contentedly scratching the soft earth for fresh insects.
With satisfied happiness, Lili turned toward the berry bushes, carefully plucking a handful of ripe, juicy berries. She stuffed a few into her own mouth, savoring their sweet burst of flavor. She carefully held some aside, determined to share them with her mother, feeling an innocent pride at her own small act of kindness.
Gathering fresh herbs and collecting fallen sticks for firewood, she paused suddenly, determination surging within her. She pressed her small palms firmly against the cold earth, carefully pushing herself upright, trembling legs supporting her uncertainly.
Come on. You can do this. Just one step.
She took a hesitant, shaky step forward, then another—legs trembling, yet holding her weight. Joy surged through her tiny frame, bubbling forth in bright laughter. She'd done it—she'd walked, even just a few precious steps!
Exhausted but elated, she sank back to the ground, breathing heavily, heart pounding happily in her chest. Today felt like a very good day indeed.
Returning to the cottage, Lili carried her precious berries carefully, gently placing them onto the bed beside her mother. She dimly noticed her mother seemed very still, but she didn't pause to look closely—Mama must be resting, after all, and she didn't wish to disturb her. Lili quietly whispered, "Bah," proudly presenting the berries as if expecting some acknowledgment, but none came.
Unconcerned, assuming her mother needed rest, Lili crawled determinedly toward the hearth, carefully arranging sticks and dried leaves within. She blew softly onto faint embers, struggling to coax a flame to life.
Minutes dragged painfully into frustrating hours, her small fingers soon smeared with soot, her tiny body trembling with fatigue. Despite stubborn determination, the fire refused to ignite, each attempt weaker than the last.
Finally, utterly exhausted, she stopped, too tired to cry. Instead, she filled their small wooden cup with cold water, dropping a few medicinal leaves into it, hoping it might help her mother somehow.
Carefully, painstakingly, she lifted the cup, crawling slowly back to her mother's bedside.
"Mama…" she whispered softly, holding the cup upward with trembling hands. But still, her mother did not move—utterly still, her chest silent, unmoving.
Confusion and unease filled Lili's small heart. She reached up, desperately trying to climb onto the bed beside her mother, seeking comfort or reassurance. But with no help, she slipped, falling softly back onto the floor.
Exhausted, hungry, and cold, she curled silently on the rough floor, murmuring softly into the emptiness.
"Mama… mama…"
Sleep overtook her swiftly, deep and heavy, wrapping her gently in darkness.
She awoke sometime later to a gentle warmth surrounding her. Confused, Lili blinked sleepily, her small eyes opening slowly. Around her clustered the hens, feathers soft and comforting against her chilled skin, their gentle presence offering silent warmth. Even Terminator stood watchfully near her feet, feathers puffed protectively, eyes vigilant and concerned.
Gratitude filled her tiny heart, and she reached gently toward the hens, softly stroking their feathers. "Thank you…" she murmured sleepily, heart swelling with quiet warmth.
Then, her eyes drifted slowly upward, settling on her mother's bed. Suddenly, a sharp stab of worry pierced her small chest.
The berries remained exactly as she'd left them. The cup of water hadn't moved.
And her mother lay utterly still—not a whisper, not a breath.
A sudden jolt of panic shot through Lili, heart pounding painfully as she scrambled upright, forcing herself onto shaking legs. She stumbled hurriedly toward the bed, dread pooling in her stomach.
"Mama! Mama!" she called urgently, voice rising sharply with anxiety.
No answer.
Reaching out with trembling hands, she grasped her mother's cold, still hand. It felt stiff, unnatural. Realization crashed into her painfully, cruelly final.
"No… Mama, please!" Her tiny voice broke into desperate sobs, shaking her mother frantically, begging silently for her to wake. "Mama, wake up! Wake up!"
No response. No movement. Just endless, cruel silence.
She stumbled back, crying uncontrollably, her small body trembling with grief and confusion. Her world seemed suddenly empty, utterly broken.
Yet deep beneath overwhelming sorrow, something fierce stirred quietly—a stubborn determination, an instinctive refusal to simply give up.
I must find help. I must survive.
Resolutely, she turned toward the cottage door, roughly wiping tears from her cheeks, her small fists clenching tightly. Beyond the door, the world suddenly felt immense, terrifying—but perhaps it held hope. Perhaps there was still a chance.
She stepped determinedly forward, forcing herself toward the doorway despite trembling limbs, forcing the heavy door open. Morning sunlight blinded her briefly, filling her vision with brilliant, painful light. Squinting through tears, she stared desperately into the unknown.
"Help!" she cried out, voice small yet fiercely determined, echoing softly into the quiet. "Please… somebody help!"
Terminator quietly approached, feathers ruffled protectively, his sharp eyes scanning the forest carefully ahead. He moved calmly to Lili's side, stance firm and watchful.
Together, the small, trembling child and her vigilant guardian stood bravely at the threshold, calling urgently into the silence, prepared to face whatever lay beyond—united by grief, courage, and quiet determination.
Behind them, the cottage lay painfully silent, empty save for memories and fading warmth. Ahead, uncertainty stretched endlessly, terrifying yet filled with possibility.
Lili's small heart beat steadily, determinedly. She was helpless no longer. She would survive—for Mama, for herself, and for the small, loyal guardian who now stood steadfastly at her side.
Lili stood trembling in the cottage doorway, tears still wet upon her flushed cheeks, her small chest heaving from grief and rising panic. Behind her stretched only silence—an unbearable emptiness she couldn't yet face again. Instead, her gaze turned outward, desperate and searching, toward the vast forest stretching endlessly beyond their tiny, isolated home.
Though her body was tiny, fragile, and vulnerable, her mind held stubborn memories of another lifetime—a life filled with bustling cities, speeding cars, flashing ambulances, hospitals humming with miracle-working doctors who could rescue people even from death's doorstep.
A faint spark of hope ignited within her, momentarily pushing back the overwhelming fear and sorrow:
A doctor. I need to find a doctor. A hospital. They can save Mama—they have to.
She stepped forward shakily, her small legs trembling beneath her, wide eyes anxiously scanning the vast expanse of sky. She searched desperately for planes, helicopters—any sign of movement in the vast, indifferent blue. But the sky remained empty, impassive, and cruel—holding only a few drifting clouds, lazily moving without urgency or care.
Her ears strained fiercely for familiar sounds—engines humming, distant sirens, voices—anything human. But the forest offered only the gentle rustle of wind through leaves, the quiet murmur of birdsong, the distant splash of lake water against cold stones.
Nothing. No cars, no planes, no voices… nothing.
Panic crept steadily into her tiny chest, a cold dread wrapping itself tightly around her heart. But with fierce stubbornness, she pushed it down. She had to think clearly, logically—like a cop, like someone trained to survive crises. Civilization meant life. Life meant help. Doctors could perform miracles. She had to find them, no matter what.
Lili stumbled forward another trembling step, refusing to surrender to despair. A memory from her past life flashed sharply through her mind—streams and rivers often led to towns, cities, help. Water guided people back to safety.
With painstaking care, she crawled slowly toward the nearby lake, hoping desperately a small stream might lead her from isolation toward civilization.
At the lake's rocky shore, however, the terrain quickly turned harsh. Sharp stones scraped painfully against her tiny knees, cold mud sticking stubbornly to her palms. Tiny black ants streamed angrily from their disturbed mounds, biting sharply into her delicate skin as she unintentionally wrecked their careful homes.
She whimpered softly in pain, brushing away the angry insects, tears blurring her vision. The ants' stinging bites felt like cruel betrayal, deepening her helplessness—but still, she refused to retreat.
Determinedly, stubbornly, she pressed onward, crawling slowly along the lake's edge, eyes scanning desperately for a stream—any running water to guide her toward people. Toward hope.
Yet, as she painstakingly circled the lake's perimeter, despair crept steadily into her heart. No streams led outward from the lake—no signs of running water, no paths toward civilization. Just the silent, still lake surrounded by ancient trees stretching endlessly, silently, into the distance.
Lili halted for a moment, heart pounding painfully, throat tight with exhaustion and fear. Frustration burned fiercely behind her eyes. She shook her small head stubbornly, fiercely pushing away the sinking despair.
No, I have to keep looking. Just a little further. Help must be somewhere…
Yet each painful movement drained more strength, each step harder than the last. Hunger gnawed cruelly at her empty stomach, fatigue weakening her limbs, slowing her movements to painful, sluggish crawls. Every fallen leaf felt like a mountain, every tiny twig an insurmountable obstacle.
She pressed stubbornly onward, eyes constantly scanning distant horizons for smoke, fires, signs of life—yet finding only emptiness. No human presence, no distant lights, just endless, silent trees, stretching indifferently in every direction.
Please… someone, help me…
Her silent plea echoed desperately in her mind, unanswered by the vast, indifferent forest.
Hours dragged painfully onward. Her small body trembled with each laborious movement, muscles weakening rapidly. She fell repeatedly, small hands bruised and scraped, sobbing quietly in frustration. Each desperate attempt to rise drained more strength, weakened her further.
Eventually, after what felt like eternity, exhaustion overwhelmed her tiny frame completely. Her limbs refused to carry her any further, muscles trembling weakly before collapsing onto the soft, cold forest floor. Her breathing grew shallow, eyelids heavy with overwhelming fatigue.
No… please… just a bit further…
She fought fiercely against the relentless pull of sleep, desperate to continue searching, but exhaustion was merciless, swiftly claiming her consciousness, drawing her gently yet irrevocably into deep slumber.
The forest settled quietly around her, indifferent to her small, motionless form, sunlight fading softly into the gentle quiet of twilight. Birds called softly in the distance, unaware of the small tragedy quietly unfolding beneath ancient trees.
She lay peacefully upon soft forest ground, breathing shallowly, unconscious to the world, tiny face relaxed despite dirt and tear-stains smudging her gentle features.
Hours passed silently, twilight deepening into darkness. Slowly, carefully, gentle rustlings broke through the silence—the familiar, comforting sound of feathers brushing quietly against the underbrush.
From deep shadows, Terminator emerged first, feathers ruffled yet dignified, stepping quietly toward the small, sleeping child. Behind him came the hens, clucking softly, clustering around Lili's small, unconscious form with gentle curiosity and quiet concern.
Terminator moved carefully, his head tilted curiously as he regarded the tiny girl who had so quickly become his charge. Gently, he pecked the ground beside her, softly urging her to wake. When she remained still, he simply stood vigilant, feathers fluffed protectively, watching carefully for dangers.
Slowly, tenderly, the hens moved closer, carefully surrounding Lili, their feathers offering gentle warmth against the growing chill of the night. Together, they formed a fragile, protective cocoon around the small, helpless child, shielding her from cold and darkness alike.
Terminator stood firmly at the center, feathers bristling with proud determination, eyes scanning the darkened forest carefully, silently promising to guard this small, helpless life entrusted to him.
Somewhere deep within dreams, Lili still searched—desperate, stubborn, and fiercely hopeful—clinging tightly to the belief that help, miracles, and salvation lay waiting somewhere just beyond reach.
Night settled gently around them, silent and indifferent—but within the small circle of warmth created by loyal, feathered companions, something powerful and fragile persisted: hope.
In that moment, Lili was not entirely alone.
Lili's eyes slowly fluttered open, her vision blurred, thoughts muddled. She lay motionless for a moment, confusion clouding her mind. Fragments of yesterday's desperate search drifted aimlessly through her exhausted thoughts, distant and fragmented like echoes from a fading dream.
Soft warmth pressed gently against her small body—feathers rustled gently, surrounding her in comforting quietness. Blinking slowly, she realized the chickens had formed a protective circle around her overnight, their gentle presence offering solace amidst uncertainty. Sunlight filtered softly through gaps in the forest canopy, casting golden flecks across the quiet ground.
Gradually, memory seeped painfully back into her consciousness—Mama… the doctor… desperately searching through endless woods, desperately hoping for help that never arrived.
Suddenly alert, Lili's heart jolted sharply.
"Mama!" she gasped softly, quickly pushing herself upright, panic surging in her chest. Eyes wide, she searched frantically for bearings, for direction, for any sign she'd reached civilization. But as her gaze settled, despair filled her heart.
The cottage lay mere yards away, clearly visible through familiar trees. She'd crawled in a hopeless circle, wasting precious energy and time, ending precisely where she'd started.
"No…" she whispered weakly, voice shaking. "No, no, no…"
Fresh tears welled sharply, spilling down flushed cheeks, tiny body trembling violently. Overwhelmed by crushing guilt and helpless frustration, she sobbed softly, small fists clenched tightly.
"I'm so stupid…" her tiny voice cracked with grief and guilt. "I failed her… couldn't even find help…"
Sorrow burned fiercely in her chest, suffocating her. Yet amid despair, a fragile hope flickered painfully—perhaps Mama had somehow recovered. Maybe, by some miracle, she'd wake to find her mother smiling gently, waiting patiently for her return.
Determinedly, Lili wiped tears roughly from her cheeks, small frame trembling as she crawled hurriedly back toward the cottage, desperate for even a slim chance of hope.
As Lili entered the doorway, her tiny heart immediately sank.
Her mother lay exactly as before—untouched berries placed gently beside her, the wooden cup of medicinal water unmoved. Her mother's face was unnaturally pale, peaceful yet terribly still, bathed softly in the stark morning light filtering through cracks in the wall.
"Mama…" Lili whispered brokenly, grief rising sharply again.
She crawled slowly toward the bedside, heart clinging desperately to fragile hope, refusing to accept what she saw. But as she reached out, touching her mother's stiff, cold hand, the truth crashed mercilessly through her.
Her tiny body collapsed against the bed, sobbing uncontrollably, grief shaking her small frame violently. Utter despair and loneliness overwhelmed her completely. Gentle hens gathered worriedly around her, feathers softly brushing her trembling form, yet even their quiet comfort barely reached her through agonizing sorrow.
Memories flooded her painfully—her past life, another mother, distant, uncaring, indifferent. But this mother, despite hardship and struggle, had given her warmth, love, and gentle kindness unlike anything she'd ever known before.
"I'm sorry, Mama…" she cried softly through painful sobs. "I tried… I really tried…"
Slowly, Lili lifted her tear-streaked face, gazing again at her mother's serene, unmoving features. Softly, she remembered her mother's gentle promise: someday, her hair would grow long, soft, beautiful as silk.
Her tiny fingers reached upward instinctively, gently touching her short, wispy hair. A quiet resolve rose stubbornly within her heart, grief slowly hardening into fierce determination.
She clenched small fists, eyes steady, voice quiet yet firm:
"For you, Mama, I promise. I'll grow strong—I'll survive. I'll live for both of us."
She paused, shaky breath drawn deeply, courage trembling quietly in her small voice.
"And my hair… it'll be long and pretty, just like you said. I'll make you proud, Mama—I promise."
Her voice was small but filled with gentle strength and unwavering resolve.
A quiet hesitation crossed her mind momentarily—the name Bruce drifting through memories, distant, foreign, no longer belonging to her. It felt strange, disconnected—a name from another life, another person entirely.
Determinedly, she shook her small head gently, banishing that distant shadow.
"No more Bruce," she whispered softly, firmly, nodding slightly to herself. "I'm Lili now—your Lili, forever."
She still didn't understand precisely why she was considered a girl—didn't grasp fully the difference between boys and girls, men and women. Perhaps her body was just temporarily smaller, softer. Perhaps her tiny parts would change again someday, like her hair would grow longer. She dimly recalled words like "pussy" from her old life—always confusing, always making adults act strangely. To her, pussy was simply a cat—nothing more. Adults made no sense sometimes.
She dismissed the confusion quietly—it didn't matter now. Her mother's love mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping promises mattered.
Reaching out again tenderly, she gently grasped her mother's stiff, cold hand, pressing it softly against her cheek. Warm tears dripped silently onto pale, unmoving fingers.
"I promise, Mama," she whispered gently, solemnly. "I'll be your Lili—always. I'll never forget you."
Sunlight gently slipped through cracks in the walls, softly illuminating the silent bond between mother and child—one now lost, one fiercely determined to survive and honor the brief but profound love they'd shared.
Outside, the forest murmured quietly, gently, as if whispering quiet encouragement. Around her, the chickens stood silently, feathers ruffled protectively, their small guardian Terminator vigilantly standing watch nearby.
Grief still filled her heart, deep and painful. Yet within her sorrow, something stronger now blossomed—determination, courage, quiet hope. She'd lost the one person who'd shown her warmth, kindness, love—but she'd never lose what that love had given her.
She would survive. For Mama's memory. For herself. For the gentle bond forged in hardship, kindness, and quiet determination.
Quietly, softly, she whispered again, her small voice gentle yet fiercely resolute:
"I promise, Mama… always."
In that quiet, painful moment, Lili ceased being a helpless infant, ceased being Bruce. She became Lili, fully and completely—determined, brave, quietly hopeful.
She'd honor her mother's memory, fulfill her promises, and carry forward the love she'd been shown, however briefly.
Even alone, she was never truly powerless—not anymore.