Episode 7 ~ A Dance with the Puppeteer
The words "Help me" echoed in the air, resonating like a thread of magic had been plucked.
As if in response, the world around her stilled. Time seemed to freeze. The air, once heavy with unease, now hung in absolute silence. Behind her, the door shimmered to life—a radiant gold, glowing faintly as glittering motes of light danced along its edges, warm and inviting. Across the wizard’s chamber, the opposing door glowed blue, its surface sparkling with a faint, crystalline luminescence.
Sumit, still perched precariously in his teapot, was frozen mid-motion, his tiny tuxedo an almost comical contrast to the seriousness of the moment. Even the grotesque creature crouched in the corner had stilled entirely, its wrinkled gray form locked in place.
Yet, amidst the stillness, the ticking of Calliope’s heart grew louder, echoing through her like the steady chime of a clock marking the passage of something unseen.
Heat bloomed across her skin, a sensation she hadn’t felt in years—not like this. It wasn’t the kind of warmth that came from the room itself, but something deeper, more intimate. It prickled along her arms, curled in her chest, and spread with a growing intensity. Her senses sharpened, every detail of the room coming into startling focus—the texture of the velvet canopy, the faint glint of gears in the dress she now wore, and the oppressive silence that pressed against her ears.
The fear was real, tangible, but so was something else. It crept over her, soft yet unyielding, answering the desperate plea she had whispered moments before.
Something—or someone—had heard her.
She turned around, her breath catching as she realized something was missing—the icy chill of the protection amulets was gone. They weren’t working. The faint comfort they once offered had vanished, leaving her exposed.
The flood of emotions hit her like a wave, sharp and unrelenting. Fear gripped her so tightly she could taste its metallic tang on her tongue. Desperately, she pressed her trembling hand against the golden door. It was warm, almost soothing, radiating an inviting glow that pulsed faintly beneath her palm.
Then she heard it—a laugh. A familiar, lilting laugh, coiling deep in her mind like a memory that refused to fade.
Her hand recoiled slightly as her heart drummed faster. She turned slowly, her movements hesitant but deliberate. Calliope moved across the room with measured steps, the velvet blue of her dress brushing the floor like rippling water. The soft carpet muffled her footfalls, until she reached the edge of the chamber, where polished stone tiles peeked out. The sharp sound of her heels clicking on the stone broke the eerie stillness.
Now she stood before the second door. Its blue surface sparkled faintly, alive with its own enchantment. The air felt heavier here, and she hesitated, her fingers hovering just shy of the cool, glittering surface.
When she finally touched it, the voices began.
A cacophony of whispers and echoes erupted, rushing toward her all at once. It was overwhelming, their tones clashing and weaving into an unintelligible din. Panic threatened to rise again, but she closed her eyes and steadied her breath. Slowly, she focused, attuning herself to the rhythm of her heartbeat—the steady ticking that had become her anchor.
Amid the chaos, one voice began to rise above the rest. Clear, deliberate, and chillingly familiar.
“It’s not much fun if you choose that door,” the voice said, with a teasing lilt.
It was hers—but not quite. The tone was familiar, but the accent was alien, like her own thoughts distorted through another time, another version of herself.
“Why?” she asked simply, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“The price is too high,” the voice answered, still carrying that unnerving, playful edge.
“What’s the price?” Calliope glanced over her shoulder at the golden door, its surface still glistening with a soft, golden glow. The pulse of magic thrummed faintly, steady and enticing.
“Why, the Puppeteer will want your heart,” the voice replied smoothly, its words wrapping around her like silk and shadows.
Calliope blinked, her breath hitching for just a moment. But then, with surprising steadiness, she said, “I don’t have a heart. I have a clock.”
Her words carried a resolve that even she hadn’t expected, firm and unyielding.
The voice didn’t respond this time. Silence fell over the room, save for the faint hum of magic radiating from the doors.
Calliope stepped back, her decision already taking shape in her mind. Her hands brushed the folds of her dress as she turned away from the blue door. Slowly, but with growing confidence, she began to make her way back across the room toward the golden door.
Calliope paused on the plush carpet, her gaze drifting to the grey, wretched form sprawled nearby. Its lone eyeball, dislodged and twitching on the table, sent a shiver through her. This time, her stomach truly churned. But something on the table stopped her—an object that seemed to glow with significance amidst the clutter of baubles and trinkets.
A glass box.
Unlike the other disorganized trappings of the chamber, the box stood starkly apart, pristine and deliberate. Calliope’s breath caught as she found herself drawn to it. Her delicately manicured fingers traced the edge of the glass lid, cool and smooth beneath her touch.
Inside, nestled on a bed of soft velvet, lay an intricately carved stick, gilded with gold filigree that shimmered faintly even in the stillness. The frozen creature beside her remained immobile, time still ensnaring it in its icy grip.
Her fingers hesitated before attempting to lift the lid. As she did, the voice returned, her own voice, distant yet urgent:
“Time’s running out.”
Ignoring the warning, she opened the box fully. Threads of shimmering blue light spiraled around the stick, weaving a faint glow as if it were alive. Calliope reached in, her heart racing, and pulled it free. Wand or something else entirely, she couldn’t be sure—only that it felt right in her grasp.
As she held it, the threads of light receded into the stick, leaving it dull but no less compelling. Instinct took over, and she backed away from the table. Her movements were deliberate as she hitched up the heavy velvet folds of her dress, exposing her thigh.
Carefully, she unzipped her boot, the supple dark leather giving way, and slid the gilded wand into place against her leg. The metal was cool against her skin, its weight surprisingly reassuring. Once secured, she tugged her dress back into place, smoothing the fabric as she steadied herself.
The golden door pulsed faintly, beckoning her forward. Calliope approached, her breath steadying as she reached for the warm, gilded knob. It twisted easily beneath her fingertips, yielding to her touch.
As the door gave way, golden light spilled into the chamber, bathing her in a radiant glow. She stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the brilliance, and there he was—a figure she had seen only once before.
He was seated in an elegant armchair, his posture relaxed yet commanding. His white hair shimmered under the golden hue of the room, catching the light as if it were spun from silver threads. The faint, crackling melody of a gramophone played in the corner, the tune hauntingly unfamiliar but deeply resonant.
The air was thick with the scent of warm spices—cinnamon, clove, and something richer, darker. The fragrance wrapped around her like an invitation, both intriguing and comforting.
His piercing gaze lifted to meet hers, and though he said nothing at first, his presence filled the space entirely.
The encounter was brief but charged with an intensity that left her breathless. He moved closer, his steps unhurried but deliberate. The air between them seemed to hum with tension, and as he approached, she caught his scent—warm and intoxicating. Petrichor mingled with patchouli, earthy and rich, but beneath it lay something darker, unnameable, and deeply unsettling.
“You’re going to be so much fun to play with,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through her, lingering in her chest like a drumbeat. A flush climbed her skin, her body betraying her resolve even as her mind screamed for clarity.
Before she could respond, the room shifted. She was suddenly back in the wizard’s chamber, the golden door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality. Time resumed, and the stillness shattered.
The twisted grey creature was no longer frozen. It resumed its grotesque fussing over the table, its disjointed limbs darting with frantic purpose. Calliope’s pulse quickened as she glanced around, his words still echoing in her head, sharp and mocking.
Without hesitation, she reached for the teapot containing Sumit. The cool metal was a grounding comfort in her hand as she held it close. She backed away from the table, careful not to draw the creature’s attention.
The golden door was locked again, its glow fading. Whatever she had just encountered, she had no time to dwell on it. With swift but measured steps, she exited the chamber, the door sealing behind her with an audible click. The creature in the room thrashed at the door the wood looked as if it would splinter before it would reform as solid wood as it was before,
In the darkness, her eyes adjusted slowly, the faint light creeping in from somewhere unseen. She found herself deep within the mountain, lost in what appeared to be a vast, ancient library. The towering shelves stretched endlessly, filled with dusty tomes and scrolls, their spines worn with age.
Her heart ticked steadily, the sound echoing softly in the stillness of the room. Each beat was a reminder that time, for her, was not like others—her pulse was measured, constant, a clockwork rhythm beneath her skin. The air around her stood still, as if the world outside had ceased to exist, leaving only her and the ticking of her heart in the darkness.
Sumit was there they waited still standing still in the darkness where were her friends, Gideon, Elizabeth, Arlo, and Arnos and were they okay,
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Author's Notes
Image made with Ai