All these little things. They mean too much. All these little things that should be two ships passing in the night. Either kind to one another and left forgotton, or a battle waged where the victors in turn give merit to the story: remebering that the dead men can tell no tales and the living will believe most lies. All these little things shouldn't be more than a blink of an eye. These little things are more than just a fleeting moment. A chess game in a park as he thinks back to the games when his daughter was young and his pride had been as good as locked away as she had. The distant whisper of "checkmate" from a man he doesn't know and has no wish to ask about stabs him in his already poisoned heart. A starfish or two or three washed ashore reminding him of all he lost to his pride. His soul longs to know she's okay, his heart refuses to allow her to draw near enough that he has his answer. They're just little things, and yet they're not.
All these little things. The chess set that's missing a piece or two. A doll or twenty he'd gotten for her. A stuffed rabbit, a hat, the trees, the stars, and still much more. They were her friends now. All these big and little things that couldn't tell her what to do. She wanted them to tell her. She needed them. They'd make her feel better or at least less alone. A tree line and a starry night sky she could only get close to with a spy glass or inside a painitng. All these little things. Her sleeping becomes harder after every sunrise and every sunset without papa to sing a lullabye or say a single word. All these little things hurt. And all these little things bring tears to her eyes and also a smile through the pain. A birthday or a constelation floating in the sky reminding her of all she lost to the only home she'd ever known. They're just little things, and yet they're bigger than the tower or the world outside her window that she longs for.
All these little things. A letter delievered by a young girl his daughter had taken to fancy. A "she misses you" here and there. An "I'm sorry." A "she'll find a cure." Pleasantries and reassurances that he wanted to believe but couldn't help blame himself for their need. Another plan or dead end in a book he had read a dozen times over. These little things remind him that she's safe and she's happy. But she isn't perfectly happy. He just wants her to be so. One little thing and she is. One more thing and it's almost destroyed. All these little things remind him what his pride cost his daughter. Her freedom wasn't such a little thing and his pride had taken it from her. And so many other things. Little and not. Her prison should be a series of faded memories by now but he knows the little things must remind her of it. Had he been at fault for that too?
All these little things, a chess match she sees during her adventure. She watches the game from a distance. It's a little thing. She can't bring herself to ask to join in anyone's chess games. Not yet. She pitties the king, protected by the white knight both trapped and betrayed by the rook on it's own side. She leaves before checkmate is called out. Maybe their game ends but hers won't. She can't bear to see how their game is left until she finds the end of her own. She needs a cure for papa's heart, and watching as the white knight is captured doesn't help her at all. She heads to the next realm. Alone. Nowhere near as scared as she should be. She meets people but none of them are the one she wants to be with. Some have answers, some don't. Some think her mad. She's not entirely mad and even if she were all the best people are. It's a little thing but everything feels off. The voices around her are different than what she's used to, they all feel wrong, none of them are papa's. The little things hurt more than they should. She keeps going, she's not going to give up. This curse has left her feeling just as trapped and alone as before. More, really. It should be a little thing but it feels like the weight of all of the kingdoms in all the realms or worlds.
All these little things: a chess match or two or three, a boat, a starfish, a constellation, and so so many more. They should be a grain of sand long trodden by hundreds of footsteps, blown from winds and taken by the tide thrown far out to sea. Instead they sit like the rocks, slowly eroding through the little bits of peace they have, sometimes being the only respite they can gain away from the memories that ache and heal them at the same time. All these little things. All these little things. One day they will just be little things but for now, they are all they have to not forget.