Episode 9 ~ Hollow Clockwork
The air in her room was chilled that night after returning from Mt. Diablo. She set the teapot and wand on her dresser, placing them beside another imported and very rare translated copy of Vampire Hunter D. Tabs lined the novel’s pages, marking Amano’s artwork.
Calliope moved through her room, the weight of the night pressing heavily on her mind. One of her protective amulets was visibly cracked—a reminder of what had transpired in the dungeon. She stripped off the heavy blue velvet dress, the fabric tainted against her skin. It pooled at her feet before she stuffed it into a bag. It was going right back to Magus Inquisitorials.
Standing there, Calliope caught her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t changed much, yet she looked different from how she remembered. Her frame was slightly fuller, her skin clearer, and the ticking in her chest steady—healthy. At her neck rested two necklaces: one cracked, the other still icy cold, keeping everything out. She tugged an oversized shirt over her head and sank into bed.
The window was open, letting in the cool night breeze. Her thoughts swirled, tangled in the choices she had made. Coming back—after everything—felt like a blur. The curtains stirred with air and she wondered as she sat there listening to the rhythmic tick of her heart, if even now the Puppeteer was watching her.
What exactly were the two of them playing at? He had said that toying with her would be interesting. He had helped her escape Mt. Diablo, but what did he truly want? And why did he keep sending her those phantom touches?
In the background, MonsterVision on TNT flickered on the TV, playing Mothra. She wasn’t paying attention to the late-night movie, too focused on brushing her hair. Jessica had mentioned they would see Kariz tomorrow, and Tundrin had hinted at another mission for them.
But what she really wanted was to figure out what was happening to her. Her heart still ticked. Magic pulsed at her fingertips, yet she didn’t quite know how to use it all. She flicked her eyes to the TV, watching as the two small twins sang, calling for Mothra’s aid.
She tossed in her own bed as she held the cold amulet of protection she still had in her fingertips, the pink manicure tips tapped it. The bedroom light flickered in time with the movie playing on the TV. Those blue threads she had seen more than once were they attached to her like puppet strings or pieces of magic. Again more questions without answers. They shimmered with a magic yet she couldn't always see them.
In the depths of her dreams, she still saw him there, sitting in that chair. She wasn’t sure where this was leading or how he could help her any further. It was chilling, still, that Orthen had said he was dead. But he most certainly was not.Even now, she felt his presence—a whisper at the edge of her thoughts, a phantom pull at her wrists, as though unseen strings still bound her.
She didn’t know how to tell her friends about the deal she had made—or if she should bring it up at all. Would they understand, or would they look at her with suspicion, even betrayal? The weight of secrecy coiled tight in her chest, suffocating her. She needed the help, but she didn’t understand why another version of herself had appeared to her, or when she had asked for help. It told her the Golden door wasn;t that much fun, but she couldn;t trust herself it was one voice out of many. She had really asked him for help, not whatever the Blue door was promising.
She twisted in the bedsheets before turning off the movie. Slipping her key into the door, she stepped back into the Magus Inquisitorials. The familiar room of clocks welcomed her once more.
As she cradled a few clock parts in her hand, she let their presence ground her. The rhythmic chiming of the clocks, each keeping time for different reasons, brought an unexpected solace. Here, in the stillness of the moment, the questions that had weighed on her felt further away—just out of reach
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