A cold wave of dread crashed through him. His heart, sluggish from the potion, gave a painful lurch. Why was she always so intense? His thoughts tangled, a frantic snarl of fear and confusion. He was trapped in his own body, compelled to stillness.
Was she trying to help him break free? Or was she locking him in this nightmare forever?
Or was it already too late?
The red-cloaked woman’s eyes flickered with a spark of defiance. “You don’t get to decide for him, Elara. He deserves the chance to know the truth—to choose his path.”
Elara’s laugh boiled up—high, shrill, tinged with something brittle and frayed. She cocked her head with a jerky, birdlike motion, wild blue curls bouncing. Her eyes were wide and glistening, but her pupils shivered, unsettling in their intensity.
“Oh-ho-ho, freedom, is it?” she purred, her voice lilting. “Let the little puppet cut his strings? Let him stumble right into the big, bad mist?” She leaned closer, her breath frostbite-sharp. “But what if he likes the strings? What if he needs them? What if without them, he just… breaks?”
She spun away, flinging her arms wide, fingers curling as if clutching invisible threads. “You talk of trust, of choices, of your syrupy little whispers.” Her grin stretched tight, a rictus of teeth and tension. “But once he hears the truth, do you really think he’ll waltz to your pretty little tune? No, no, no!” She shook her head so violently it was a wonder her neck didn’t snap. “He’ll flee, flail, melt into the mist! And then I’ll have to scoop up his puddle and stuff it back into his skin like a very messy puzzle.”
Elara’s eyes flicked toward the red-cloaked woman, her grin fading into a flat, humorless line. “You want him whole? I want him whole. But sometimes, ‘whole’ means holding on—tight enough to squeeze out all the doubts, the fears, the silly little thoughts that lead him astray.”
She hovered in front of Henry, their eyes level, her gaze glittering with fractures of madness, like shards of a broken mirror. “Henry, Henry, Henrykins,” she whispered, each syllable slithering from her tongue like a lullaby played by a cracked music box. “Do you really want to listen to her? To stray off the path and risk getting gobbled up by those mist monsters that go slurp-slurp-crunch?” Her giggle was a jagged thing, and she tapped her temple with a finger. “Or do you trust me to keep you safe, all snug and cozy in my perfectly reasonable grasp?”
The red-cloaked woman’s voice cut through the haze, calm and steady. “He deserves a choice, Elara. Not a cage, no matter how soft the lining.”
Elara’s laughter stopped, her smile twitching at the edges. Her voice dipped into a lilting, sing-song whisper, like a child sharing a secret with a broken doll. “Save him? Oh no, no, no. You don’t save Henry. You keep him.” Her fingers danced an erratic rhythm on Henry’s shoulder, each tap sending icy ripples through his numb flesh. “You mold him, bend him, fold him into shapes he didn’t even know he could make. Isn’t that fun, Henry?”
Her smile split too wide, revealing teeth that gleamed like jagged pearls. “Everyone loves being useful, right, Henry?”
Henry’s mind screamed, but his body remained a silent prisoner of the potion’s grip.
The red-cloaked woman’s eyes flashed with defiance. “You can’t twist him forever. He’s not your toy.”
Elara’s eyes narrowed into pinpricks of icy blue, her voice chilling to a whisper. “A toy? No, no, no, silly woman.” She extended a sharp finger and tapped Henry’s forehead, sending a fresh shiver of cold through him. “This isn’t a cage. It’s a chrysalis. And sometimes, to become a butterfly, you have to squeeze.”
She straightened abruptly, arms flopping to her sides like a slack marionette. “Fine. Let’s play your game.” Her voice dripped with mock sweetness. “Let’s see if the little caterpillar can crawl out of his cocoon without getting squished.”
Her fingers twitched in the air, and Henry felt the threads of control loosen—just a hair, just enough for the cold rush of panic to flood back in.
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Elara tilted her head, her grin stretched tight. “Fly, Henry. Fly before the mists bite.”
She spun on one foot, arms flaring wide like a cracked porcelain dancer. “Look at this glorious mess!” she chirped, gesturing grandly at the swirling copper-orange haze. “It eats and eats and eats. All it wants is a little rust, a little rot, a little—”
Her eyes gleamed, and the final word cracked out of her throat in a shrill, giddy cackle: “—entropy!”
Her grin snapped back into place, sharper now, full of teeth. She sneered, the word curling off her tongue like spoiled silk. “And you? You want to take him, don’t you? You claim you want to save him?” Her finger wagged in jerky, chaotic twitches. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re not the only one who can whisper sweet nothings to the mist.”
She yanked Henry forward, his feet scuffing the ground, a reluctant prisoner to invisible strings. The mist curled around her ankles like feral cats—wary yet eager. Her eyes glowed with a frantic, electric wildness as she leaned nose-to-nose with the red-cloaked woman.
“Do you know what the mists whisper to me?” she hissed, her voice trembling with manic delight. “They tell me secrets. Delicious, naughty little secrets. About rust and ruin, about cracks where everything breaks.” She giggled, a sound jagged and wrong. “And they love me for it.”
The red-cloaked woman’s jaw tightened, her composure fraying at the edges. “You’re endangering him. You’re endangering yourself. Let him go before there’s nothing left of either of you.”
Elara’s smile faltered, a crack running through the porcelain mask. For a fleeting heartbeat, something human flickered in her eyes—doubt, fear, maybe just the faintest spark of sanity. But the moment was gone in an instant. Her grin returned, brittle and stretched thin.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice a velvet razor, slicing through the tension. “That’s the fun part.”
She widened her eyes in mock innocence, a child’s exaggerated pout playing across her features. “Let him go? But then who would dance with me?” Her fingers twitched, and she twirled Henry in a grotesque imitation of a waltz. His arms flopped lifelessly, his body a ragdoll suspended on strings.
Her humming started softly—an off-key, lilting tune, like a broken music box winding down. “Round and round, until we fall apart. Isn’t that what we all do, eventually?”
The mist pulsed in response, surging forward like starved animals scenting blood. A serpentine hiss slithered through the air, the copper-orange haze tasting the edges of Henry’s limp frame, hungry and eager for the chaos Elara fed it.
The red-cloaked woman’s voice cut through the madness, low and urgent. “Elara. If you don’t stop, they’ll consume him. You’ll lose your toy.”
Elara froze mid-step, her limbs stiffening as though strings had yanked her to a halt. Her eyes widened, the glassy blue surface fracturing, light splintering across them. A shadow of hesitation flickered on her face, her grin trembling into a fragile pout—a child denied their favorite plaything.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, thin and brittle as cracked porcelain. “But I like my toy.” Her fingers quivered on Henry’s shoulder, the chill of her touch seeping deep into his flesh.
For a heartbeat, the madness dimmed, a fleeting ember of humanity flickering behind her eyes. A fragile hope blossomed, petals trembling under the crushing weight of chaos.
The red-cloaked woman stepped forward, her tone threading the needle between Elara’s sanity and spiraling mania. “Then let him choose. If you truly care for him, let him be more than a puppet.”
Elara’s lips curled into a slow, jagged smile that never reached her eyes. The wild spark flared, a flash of wildfire consuming reason. She leaned close, her mouth brushing Henry’s ear, her breath hot and syrupy, sweet with glee and decay.
“What do you say, Henry?” she whispered, each word quivering with giddy restraint. “Do you want to be real again? To feel the strings snap and fall away?” Her nails dug into his shoulder, tiny blades of pressure. “Or would you rather keep dancing with me, forever and ever and ever?”
The mist coiled tighter, a coppery noose, writhing with feral hunger. The air trembled, vibrating with the weight of her question—a razor-thin wire stretched between salvation and ruin.
Deep within the fog of his numbed mind, her words pierced Henry’s thoughts, heavy and sharp. A splinter of choice lodged itself in his chest, aching with the need to shatter or surrender. His will strained, pulling against the invisible threads that bound him.
For the first time, a whisper of strength stirred in his veins—a ghost of resistance. If this was his chance to escape, to claw back a shred of himself, he couldn’t let it slip away.
The mist hissed, the red-cloaked woman stood still as stone, and Elara’s grin teetered on the edge of a blade. The world held its breath, trembling, as Henry’s decision hovered in the silence like the final note of a dying song.
"Free me."