I emerged from the stupor with aching temples. Images were blurry, and muffled sounds echoed. I could hear voices and make out silhouettes.

“Mir, I’m almost ready.”

“Good, Arere. He seems to be recovering as well.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth. I tasted blood, and I was cold. Drafts were coming from the right, but something was blocking my head in front of a table. I could turn it, but not completely.

Was I under a spell again?

With my vision back in focus, I looked at a green tablecloth with finely crafted plates and dishes. The painted porcelain and services were rich and worked with bas-reliefs and engravings.

A mirrored silver tray contained numerous sweets, while several glasses contained cream with biscuits. Maybe it was mascarpone. I couldn’t tell at the time.

“Here we go, here we go! He’s awake, Mir. He’s awake!”

“Oh, I can see. Turn it on, turn it on so we can start the live broadcast.”

At those words, a very high-resolution screen lit up at the other end of the long table. It framed me and the room. It was a wide shot, and it took me a few moments to process all the information.

I was sitting at the head of the table, but this time, it was restrained by various bonds and not by magic. I was without clothes, and I suffered from the cold pushed in from outside. The windows were open, and a frosty wind blew along with the sunset lights, moving the heavy curtains decorated with golden floral motifs.

The room itself had some characteristics that I knew in the building. At first sight, a checkerboard floor, wall lamps, braziers in worked metal, and shelves were present. In addition, there were various kitchen tools and cooking surfaces.

I recognized ovens and goblets and bottles of closed liquor.

But none of this disturbed me. There were presences in the frame. Little ghosts were flying in and out of the frame. They were dolls and puppets, in other cases handkerchiefs, with booties instead of mouths and eyes.

Cerpolpol was also wandering around peacefully. From the ground, it stretched out its tentacles. It unsuccessfully tried to capture the little ghosts.

On either side of the throne, however, two puppets were chatting. It took me a while to associate them with Meerarere, but it was clear that they were related to her.

Mir and Arere.

The first was identical to the other doll. She was only shorter. She was like a scaled-down version of the original and was fiddling with kitchen tools.

The second, Arere, was very white, with multicolored yellow, orange, pink, and red hair. She had a lace eye patch and a plaster on her nose. Otherwise, they were the same. From the chocker of both came a soft gold chain connected to the ring finger that then continued, disappearing behind the throne.

When one doll pulled, the other moved.

So, they must have been tied together.

“So, Malcavissa, how are you?”

I turned my head to Mir, who was fiddling with a pan of cream puffs. They were still uncooked, and she bent down. She opened the oven to put them in.

I didn’t answer, another sign that they weren’t mentally controlling me.

“Come on, my friend asked you a question. Answer her!”

“Arere, don’t scare our guest! Malcavissa, don’t listen to her. If you don’t feel like answering, don’t.”

The two dolls spoke like nothing was happening and moved with incredible fluidity. However, you could see the strings moving their limbs. Only their faces were indistinguishable from human faces. And I doubted they were puppets. Their expressions were natural and spontaneous.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Well, if you don’t say anything, we can start. Arere, are you filming?”

A few moments passed, and then Mir applauded, taking the cream puffs out of the oven and placing them on the table next to the other sweets.

The projection of her shadow reminded me that I also had one. I tried to make contact, but the only thing that came out was the laughter of the two tormentors.

“Ha-ha, if you look for your shadow, you will be disappointed. I ate it.”

“Arere is telling the truth. When you fell from the stairway, you looked in terrible condition, so we decided to separate you from something dear to you. You know how it is. To get something, you must sacrifice something else.”

A question came to me spontaneously. “So, I was dying?”

“No, no. You were just seriously injured.”

“Yeah, without treatment, it would have taken ages to heal. But we are not patient, are we? Mir?”

“Arere is telling the truth. Do you know how boring it would be to wait until you recovered? Sure, we could have played with you injured, but how boring. We’ll do that later.”

“You’re not funny.”

The two laughed even louder; annoying laughter was high-pitched and childish.

“We’re funny! Only you can’t understand us. You’re just a toy. Be thankful we don’t just turn you off. Do you think we don’t know what you did in heaven?”

“Heaven? That was hell in disguise!”

Mir shrugs. “Do you hear that, my friend? Heaven, where it’s forbidden to hurt him, would be hell!”

“Maybe Malcavissa likes to suffer.”

“Right, Arere, you’re a genius!”

“Modestly, I’m the camerawoman, right? I’m the great director!”

“Yes, yes, as you wish. Shall we play?”

“Whenever you want, Mir.”

“Wait a minute. What do you think you’re doing? Do you think the shadow was my only trick?”

“Shut up, wizard.”

“Arere, there’s no need to be aggressive.” Mir began to stroke my head. The gesture became increasingly violent, ruffling my hair and tearing out strands.

The magic did nothing to dull the pain, and I screamed.

“Oh, look, he realized he has no magic left! Hahaha, how sad!”

“Mir, you could have left some spark of magic. Now. How can this little wizard delude himself into thinking he has a chance? Hahaha!”

The more they talked, the more I hated them. Angrily, I grabbed the arms of the chair and tried to free myself from those bonds. But it was useless. The knots were too strong and the ropes too tight.

“Good. Game number one. Malcavissa, would you rather eat a ton of pastry shop sweets or drink a hundred liters of cream with soaked biscuits?”

I was incredulous as Mir uncovered trays full of sweets. Suddenly, I couldn’t turn my head anymore. I felt a cable starting from the cup and pulling me back, forcing me to keep my head straight in front of me. I could see the screen, the table, me, and what the two were doing behind me.

“Then, hurry up! Look at him, Mir, he can’t make up his mind. Why don’t we stuff him with everything? If it blows up, we'll fix it as little as possible for the next round.”

“Oh, Arere, come on, don’t be cruel. We need to start soft. Next round, I’ve prepared fish bones against glass shards.”

“Mir, look, they’re not edible!”

“I know, I know, but we decided. This time I’d decide! The last one you injected went completely crazy after only a hundred rounds. I want to show you this way. We can play much longer.”

I listened to them, paralyzed and terrified.

“I.”

The dolls looked at me.

“You?”

“Shh, maybe he’s decided! Tell us, tell us! Sweets or cream?”

“I. I’d like to know if this is the afterlife.”

“Sure.”

“What will happen to me? Please tell me what will happen to me!”

“None. You are finished already. There will be no other endings. Only games of eternal suffering. Besides, I am sorry to point it out, but you decided to escape from heaven.”

It is not possible; I could not find the words. Tears filled my eyes. In centuries and centuries, I had not been afraid. I had forgotten the terror of failure, of suffering. I had reached the point where I was indifferent, even in the face of the death brought to me by those heroes.

But now?

Now, how could I continue to live in that state of non-life?

I could not even feel justified and gloried in my past misdeeds. Everything was vain in the face of that absurd truth.

Toys preceded humans and presided over the world after death.

Caught in those worries, I didn’t realize until it was too late that my lips were moving, and the air was coming out.

“Sweets.”

I said it, and I knew I hadn’t said it.

“Arere, you cheated!”

“Mir, what difference does it make? Do we stuff him or not?”

“Yes, you’re right. You know that we almost, almost, could…”

The discussion went on and on, but only one thing was sure: I began to suffer and suffer and suffer to the point that even remembering causes me infinite torment.

You can’t understand. Sorceress and journalist, you can't. You cannot understand my suffering in being deceased, nor can you know the pain it causes me to tell you this story.