Tharon gnced over his shoulder, his breathing heavy and ragged from the exertion of running. His knuckles were white around the grip of his cleaver, and his sweat-soaked hair g to his forehead.

  “Damned creature and its damned automaton,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with frustration and fear.

  A sound echoed in the narrow corridor behind him—a faint, rhythmic clig, like wooden limbs tapping against the stone. His heart skipped a beat. Muttering a curse, he darted into an offshoot passage. The walls here loomed closer, the air feeling heavier. He khis pce like the back of his hand—a byrinth of twisting halls and dead ends. If he could just stay ahead, just lose her in the maze…

  The clig grew louder, steady and deliberate, like the tig of a clock ting down to his doom. His boots scraped against the stone as he made sharp turns, twisting through the corridors in a desperate attempt to throw her off his trail.

  But no matter how many twists and turook, the sound followed, relentless and unging. His chest burned, his legs screamed in protest, but fear pushed him forward.

  He ran until his body could take no more. With a gasp, he colpsed against the cold stone wall, his cleaver slipping slightly in his damp grip. He tried to catch his breath, but it came in shallow gulps, his pulse pounding in his ears.

  A shadow flickered at the edge of his visiourned his head just in time to see her round the er.

  She stepped into view, her movements bid and fluid, as if she were a doll pulled along by invisible strings. Her ruined gothic dress fluttered with each step, the fabriging in tatters, yet the intricate desigh the decay suggested something once elegant, somethi for service or ceremony.

  In each hand, she held a massive sewing needle, their sharp points gleaming faintly in the dim light. Her stitched face tilted toward him, the motion unnervingly deliberate.

  “Don’t suppose you’ll leave if I ask you to?” Tharon managed, his voice thin and shaky, though he tried to mask his terror with a sneer.

  The mannequin paused mid-step, her head tilting further, as if his question puzzled her. The sileretched, broken only by the faint creaking of her wooden frame as she straightened. Without a word, she flicked her wrists, sending both needles plunging into the stone floor beside her with a resounding g that echoed through the chamber.

  Tharon flinched, his grip tightening on his cleaver.

  She reached into the folds of her dress and produced a writing ste and a stub of pencil. Carefully, she scribbled, the scratg sound absurdly mundane iemosphere. When she finished, she held the ste up for him to see.

  Mistress told me to take care of you, so I will be doing that.

  Tharon’s stomach twisted, his eyes dartiween the mannequin and the message. He barked out a ugh, high-pitched and nervous. “You write? You’re kidding me. What the hell are you even supposed to be?”

  The mannequin stored her ste within herself, the motion oddly smooth for something so meical. Her hands returo her massive needles, and she gripped each with a measured calm. One by one, she pulled them free, the metallic screeg sound g at Tharon’s nerves. It was methodical—too methodical—as though she was sav the tension she was building, making him stew in his fear.

  Tharon cursed again under his breath, f himself upright. His legs felt like lead, and his arms trembled as he raised his cleaver. “I wasn’t paid enough for this,” he muttered, his voice crag.

  Then she moved.

  The mannequin surged forward, her wooden frame creaking as her body blurred into motion. The sound of her feet spping against the stone floor was sharp and unnerving, and her needles gleamed menagly in the dim light. Tharon stumbled backward, instinctively raising the ft of his cleaver to block.

  But just as she closed the distance, her foot caught on a raised tile. The forward momentum sent her sprawling face-first onto the ground, her body cttering with an almost edic ck of grace. One of her colossal needles slipped from her grasp, spinning away with a metallig before skidding to a stop several feet away.

  For a split sed, there was sileharon blinked in disbelief, staring at the motionless mannequin sprawled before him. His lips twitched as a ugh bubbled up, wild and almost hysterical. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he managed between gasps.

  She didn’t stay down for long.

  Renzia’s arms pressed against the floor, her frame snapping upright with a speed that didn’t match her earlier clumsiness. She tilted her head sharply toward the dislodged needle, then rolled into a crouch with a fluidity that made Tharon’s skin crawl.

  “Stay back!” he barked, waving his cleaver wildly.

  The mannequin didn’t obey. Instead, she moved toward the fallen needle with a peculiar mix of precision and awkwardness—her legs moved toht, her joints bending in exaggerated motions. Reag the needle, she snatched it up in a quick flick of her wrist, spinning it experimentally before fixing her headless gaze ba him.

  This time, there was no pause.

  She lunged again, this time with calcuted i. The needle in her right hand whistled through the air, f Tharon to twist his body to avoid the strike. He swung the cleaver in a wide arc, hoping to catch her mid-movement, but she bent backward at an impossible angle, her joints creaking loudly as her torso torted to dodge.

  Tharon staggered as she sprung upright and lunged again, one needle striking his cleaver. The sheer force of the blow rattled his arms, and the on was almost knocked from his grip. Her other needle darted toward his ribs, f him to pivot areat further into the corridor.

  But even as she pressed the attack, her movements retained an unnatural insistency. She bounded forward with an acrobat’s graoment, only to narrowly avoid tripping over her owhe . The erratic rhythm was maddening, giving Tharon no opportunity to predict her move.

  “What are you?!” Tharon shouted, desperation crag through his voice as he swung wildly with his cleaver. The bde whistled through empty air, the mannequin twisting unnaturally to avoid the strike. Her needle darted frazing his shirt just enough to send a shiver of dread crawling up his spine.

  She froze mid-motion, her head tilting to the side with a slow, meical creak, as though his question required deep ption. There was no response—no sound, no motion save for the faint twitg of her fingers on her remaining needle. Then, almost carelessly, she raised her arm and hurled the needle past him.

  The on struck the stone wall behind him with a deafening g, embedding itself deep in the rock. Tharon flinched as the sound reverberated through the corridor, his heart hammering in his chest. He turned, his gaze lingering orembling needle for a fra of a sed too long.

  When he looked back at her, dread pooled in his stomach. She was still standing there, perfectly still, her stitched face pointed directly at him, as if she could see the fear spilling from his wide eyes. It wasn’t an attack. It wasn’t even a miss.

  It was a message.

  The realization hit him like a sledgehammer: he was being toyed with. She ying a game, and he was the unwitting partit.

  Tharon's chest heaved as his breathing quied. “Enough of this!” he bellowed, charging forward with his cleaver raised high. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t go down c like some animal.

  Renzia moved then, but not in the way he expected. Instead of brag for his attack, she stumbled backward, her footing catg on a loose piece of rubble. Her body pitched sideways, arms filing like a clumsy puppet, and she toppled to the ground with a resounding crash. The remaining needle she g to skittered out of her grasp, spinning wildly across the floor.

  Tharon blinked, his cleaver faltering mid-swing. His lip curled into a sneer, half disbelieving and half eted. “You’re not so perfect, are you?” he jeered, taking a step closer.

  But just as he raised his bde again, she moved with startling speed, pushing herself upright in one fluid motion that seemed to erase the clumsiness of her fall. Her hand darted out, seizing the dropped needle mid-spin, and she twisted her body around in a single seamless movement to face him.

  The mannequin’s head tilted again, this time almost mogly, as though she were daring him tain.

  “Damn you!” he roared, swinging the cleaver in a wide arc aimed for her midse.

  She ducked, the movement unnervingly smooth, and slid past him with a dancer’s grace. He stumbled, overpensating, and nearly lost his bance as her needle struck the ground just beside his foot, digging deep into the stone.

  The air around them felt heavy, charged, like the ruin itself was holding its breath. Tharon pivoted, sweat dripping down his face, and fouanding a few feet away. She twirled the retrieved needles with almost pyful elegance before pnting it on the ground with a deliberate tap.

  Her motions were maddening, shiftiween childlike clumsiness and cold, calcuted precision. It wasn’t a fight anymore—it was a dispy, and Tharon was the audience.

  “You’re nothing but a damn doll!” he spat, his voice crag uhe weight of his fear. “A broken thing!”

  The mannequin froze, her frame unnaturally still, as though his words had struething deep within her. For a fleetibeat, it was almost as if she were sidering his accusation. But theillness shattered. Her entire body began to shudder violently, each motion sharp and unnatural, like a marioe caught in a storm. The grating sound of creaking joints and taut fabric filled the air, her stitched seam rippling grotesquely, as if somethih it stirred to life.

  With a sudden, predatrace, her arms coiled back like a serpent ready to strike. Her needles gleamed, eae perfectly aligned and aimed with unerring precision. In an instant, they shot forward—a blur of silver slig through the air.

  The needles pierced his chest and neck with siing precision, the force pinning him against the wall. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to scream, but no sound came. Only a gurgling rasp escaped as blood welled at the ers of his mouth, his head slumping forward in final, futile defiance.

  The mannequin remaihere for a moment, her frame eerily still once more, as if admiring her handiwork. Then, with a deliberate motion, she withdrew her needles, eae sliding free with a wet, uling sound.

  As Vivienne licked the st streak of crimson from her lips, the faint echo of soft, deliberate footsteps reached her ears. She turned, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity as Renzia emerged from the shadows of a crumbling corridor. The mannequin moved with her usual eerie mix of grad clumsiness, dragging a corpse behihe body scraped along the uone floor, its limbs bent at unnatural angles, a testament to her work.

  Vivienne’s grin widened, sharp and predatory, the blood oeeth glinting in the dim light. She straightened and stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, sav the moment.

  “Oh, you took care of him,” Vivienne purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Good girl.”

  She reached out aly pced a hand on Renzia’s head, her cws lightly grazing the mannequin’s dark red hair. Renzia froze, her featureless face tilted upward toward Vivienne, and for a moment, she seemed to preen uhe praise. Her shuddering body stilled, and her hands released their grip on the corpse as if the task were now sedary to this rare aowledgment.

  Vivienne chuckled softly, her bloody tongue flig zily over her teeth. “It seems I have a very effit friend. What more could a woman ask for?” She tousled the mannequin’s hair with deliberate fondness, her cws snagging lightly on stray threads.

  Renzia, still voiceless, tilted her head sharply to the side as though to ask Is there more to do? Her fingers flexed slightly, metallic tools glinting faintly as if eager for the ask.

  Vivienne ughed, stepping bad gesturing zily toward the corpse. “For now, my dear, we must find this Rathik. I am eager to meet him as I have heard much about it.” She cast a g the crumpled body and her grin turned wry. “Though maybe I could take another snack break. Just a treat. For me.”

  After some bloody a ches and a half eaten body ter, Vivienne wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking as she turned away from the remains of her “snack.” Her bck eyes glinted in the dim light, and she gave Renzia a pyful pat on the shoulder. “That was delightful,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfa. “Now, let’s find this Rathik. I’d hate to keep him waiting.”

  Renzia tilted her head in aowledgment, her stitched face betraying ion but her movements veying quiet obedience. She adjusted her grip on her needles and followed Vivienne as they delved deeper into the twisting corridors of the uy.

  The uy stretched endlessly before them, its maze of tuwisting like the guts of some fotte. The air grew colder, and the faint sounds of dripping water echoed through the stone halls. Vivienhe way, her sharp cws clig softly against the floor, her forked tongue flig out now and then to taste the aether lingering iale air.

  “Rathik is down here somewhere,” she muttered, her voice low. “And I’m dying to see what all the fuss is about.”

  Renzia followed silently, her movements unnervingly smooth, save for the occasional clumsy scrape of a needle against the stone wall. Her head turned sharply at intervals, as if catg faint whispers that eluded Vivienne. She carried herself with a strange blend of innod mehe ruined maid’s dress swaying as she moved.

  As they delved deeper, the air thied with the telltale tang of trated aether. Vivieopped, croug low to press her fio the cold ground. The energy thrummed faintly beh her touch, like a living pulse.

  “This way,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She turo Renzia, her bck eyes gleaming. “Stay sharp. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rathik’s pets were lurking nearby.”

  Renzia nodded once, adjusting her grip on her needles as the two pressed onward. The tunnel narrowed, f them into single file. The shadows grew longer, and the distant sound of grinding stone rumbled faintly through the air.

  The massive chamber loomed before them, carved deep into the a rock. Its walls, once majestic, were now lined with skeletal remnants of statues, their forms mangled by time. Faces that might have onspired awe had been worn down to grotesque smears, the details stripped away by turies of . In the ter of the chamber stood a massive iron gate, t and ominous. Fnking it were crumbling stone pilrs, their surfaces etched with faded carvings that hi a fotten nguage. s coiled at the gate's base, gleaming faintly in the dim light like sleeping serpents, their weight a testament to the gate’s long-sealed nature.

  Vivieepped forward, her lips curling into a grin that exposed bloodstaieeth. “Well, well. What have we here?” Her ced rhythmically against her thigh, the sound sharp and deliberate. She gestured toward the gate, her bck eyes glinting with i. “It looks like someone has been through here retly. Don’t you think, darling?”

  Renzia approached the gate with a cautious grace, her footsteps barely disturbing the dust underfoot. She tilted her head, examining the iron barrier with an almost childlike curiosity. Her fingers brushed lightly against the cold, rusted metal, trag the jagged edges of the carvings on its surface. The stitched seam of her face seemed to ripple faintly, as though she were p something unspoken. She turo Vivieilting her head in a silent question.

  Vivienne shrugged, stepping closer. “Only one way to find out.” She pressed her hands against the gate, pushing with a firm strength. The rusted metal groaned in protest, resisting at first befiving way with a shriek that echoed through the chamber. Dust and fragments of rust rained down as the gate creaked open, revealing a dark corridor beyond.

  Without hesitation, Vivieepped through, her movements fluid and fident. “e along, Renzia. Our mystery awaits.”

  The corridor led to a spiral staircase carved directly into the stos steps slick with densation and worn smooth by untold years of use. The air grew heavier as they desded, the faint taste of aether thiing with every step. It was almost intoxig, a sharp tang that coiled on Vivieongue like smoke.

  Renzia followed in silence, her needles glinting faintly as she gripped them tightly. Her stitched face betrayed nothing, but the tension in her posture spoke volumes.

  The dest seemed endless, the staircase spiraling deeper and deeper into the earth. Time lost meaning as the oppressive air grew thicker, the taste of aether now almost suffog. Finally, after what felt like hours, they reached the bottom.

  The space that unfolded before them was nothing short of colossal. The chamber stretched hundreds of meters in every dire, its ceiling lost in shadow. Dominating the ter was a rge castle, certainly rger than the Serkoth hall, and a few hundred metres above it was an orb of light, massive and radiant, its glow filling the chamber with the hues of a perpetual day. It pulsed with raw energy, the kind that made Vivienne’s skin prickle unfortably.

  Vivienne hissed, instinctively recoiling from the light as though it were a living thing. Her sharp bck eyes narrowed, and she quickly darted bato the shadows of the staircase, her movements swift and fluid. She cast o, resentful g the orb. "This is going to be a problem," she muttered, her voice thick with irritation and a hint of apprehension.

  Renzia, ever the stoic presence beside her, stepped forward cautiously, her wooden frame creaking softly as she moved. She raised her needles, poised and alert, ready for any potential threat. She tilted her head slightly, studying the orb with an unnerving ck of fear, as though its blinding light held no sway over her. Her featureless face betrayed nothing, but the tension in her posture was unmistakable. She turoward Vivienne, her silent question hanging in the air, clear even without words.

  Vivienne leaned back against the cold stone wall of the staircase, her cws digging into the surface as she pted their move. She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply through her teeth. "It’s pure dawher," she muttered under her breath, her voice strained. "Ouch." She winced as the words left her lips, as though the very idea of it pained her.

  She stared at the orb, her bck eyes narrowing as the raw, pulsing light filled the chamber. It was like the sun itself had been distilled into this one brilliant sphere, and the aether it radiated burned against her skin. There was no way she could walk through that. No direct approach would work. Not without more preparation, at least.

  Vivieuro Renzia, the faint pulsing of the dawher overhead making her skin prickle. Her bck eyes glimmered with an almost childlike amusement as her lips curled into a wry smile. “Renzia,” she murmured, her tone soft but edged with a sly darkness. “Would you mind carrying Mama?”

  Renzia paused, her wooden frame unnaturally still, then tilted her head slightly. A quiet nod followed, her movements precise and deliberate. Without hesitation, she stuck the needles into the ground beside her, w to unbutton her ruihreadbare dress, revealing a smooth, off-white cloth skih. Buttons, oark and pristi now dulled with age, ran in a straight line doworso.

  With a defthat bordered on eerie, Renzia unfastehe buttons along her chest. The hollow interior of her frame was revealed: an ulingly pristine space lined with more of the same cloth, slightly frayed at the edges but surprisingly despite her a appearahe space seemed unnaturally inviting, an absence designed for something—or someone.

  Vivienne’s grin widehe sharp points of her teeth catg the dim light. “Such a good girl,” she cooed, her voice dripping with genuine warmth. She stepped closer and gave Renzia’s cloth-ed shoulder a ge. “Thank you, my dear.”

  Taking a steadying breath, Vivienne began to release her form, her body melting and shifting as though dissolving into shadow. Her humanoid outline blurred, colpsing into a writhing, shapeless mass of flesh aher. It was a disturbing sight: a bck, semi-liquid essehat pulsed faintly as though alive. She pressed herself as much as she could, the process akin t herself into a spaall, the sensation custrophobic despite her ck of need for breath.

  The transition was slow and deliberate, her essence flowing like ink into the mannequin’s frame. The hollow interior of Renzia’s chest seemed to accept her without resistahough Vivienne could feel the unnatural tightness as she densed herself further. It was like holding her breath indefinitely, every ounce of her being pacted arained. Her thoughts remained sharp, though, her focus heightened by the disfort.

  Once Vivienne’s form was fully densed aled inside, Renzia rebuttoned her torso with swift, deliberate fingers, the faint click of each button sealing Vivienne safely within. With a final adjustment of her dipidated dress, Renzia straightened her posture, a subtle shift in her bearing that hi newfound purpose.

  Ihe hollow mannequin, Vivienne’s voice resonated, muffled yet clear, dripping with wry humor. “Cozy, in its own macabre way,” she remarked, her tone half-amused. “But don’t get used to this. I prefer being the one in trol.”

  Renzia tilted her head briefly, as if aowledging the ent, though she remained silent. Her movements, however, spoke volumes. Fluid and deliberate, she retrieved her massive needles from where they rested ahem at the ready. At Vivienne’s urging, she stepped forward into the oppressive light of the chamber, her wooden frame abs the radiahout hesitation.

  The moment Renzia crossed the threshold into the bzing aura of the dawher, Vivienne hissed softly, the iy of the energy seeping through the mannequin’s frame. “It’s still getting in,” she growled, her voice low and edged with disfort. “But I manage for now, sweetheart. Just get us into that castle.”

  Renzia quied her pace, her footsteps unnaturally quiet against the uone floor. The oppressive light from the radiant orb above cast sharp, angur shadows across the chamber, yet she moved like a phantom, her presence a dark trast to the blinding glow. Navigating the scattered debris of the a fortress with a dancer’s precision, she finally darted behind a massive boulder, its shadow a brief reprieve from the open chamber.

  Peering from her cover, her head tilted slightly as she studied the ruined walls of the castle. Figures moved along the battlements—guards, their silhouettes etched against the glow of the orb. They were mismatched armor, their movements weary but watchful. Some bore torches, their fmes flickering futilely iificial daylight, while others carried ons that gleamed faintly in the light.

  Inside her hollow form, Vivienne’s voice hummed, low and calg. “Ah, they’ve mao survive down here all this time, haven’t they? Poor fools. They’ll wish they hadn’t once we’re through.”

  Renzia shifted slightly, her joints creaking softly as she tightened her grip on her massive needles. Vivienne’s voice returned, sharper this time. “No direct assault. We don’t know their numbers or what’s inside. We need subtlety, Renzia. Think like a hunter.”

  The mannequin nodded faintly, her stitched head tilting once more before she moved. She hugged the base of the boulder, her wooden frame blending eerily with the jagged rocks around her, and began slipping from shadow to shadow. Every movement recise, each pause calcuted to avoid the gaze of the sentries above.

  One guard turned, sing the chamber below. Renzia froze instantly, her fid, as if she were just another lifeless relic scattered among the ruins. The guard’s eyes swept over her and moved on. Only then did Renzia tinue, ing closer to the fortress walls with uing patience.

  Reag the base of the wall, she pressed herself ft against the crumbling stone. Above her, the guards’ footsteps thudded faintly as they patrolled, their ons king softly with each step. Vivienne’s voice echoed agaione almost teasing. “You’ve done well so far, sweetheart. But we o get higher.”

  Renzia’s head turned upward, her faceless visage tilting as she examihe wall. Its surface was rough with age, cracks spider-webbing through the stone, potential handholds. With deliberate care, she stowed her needles into the hollow of her torso and began to climb.

  Her movements were almost unnatural—smooth and effit, her hands a finding purchase with precisioe her wooden frame, she asded with the ease of a spider sg its web. The sound of her joints was barely audible over the ambient noise of the chamber.

  As she he battlements, Renzia paused, her head swiveling toward a nearby window. It artially shattered, its edges jagged but wide enough to slip through. The light from the orb cast fractured beams through the broken gss, highlighting dust motes dang zily in the air.

  Vivienne’s voice came again, this time a hushed murmur. “Perfect. Quiet now, sweetheart. Let’s not ruin the surprise.”

  Renzia shifted her position, her fingers gripping the edge of the window frame. With a single fluid motion, she pulled herself inside, her form vanishing into the dimly lit interior of the castle.

  The room she entered was silent, a fotten space cloaked in shadow. Dust coated every surface, and old furniture y strewn about, rotting where it had fallen. Renzia’s movements were careful as she stood, her head turning slightly to take in her surroundings.

  Vivienne’s voice echoed faintly, a mix of satisfa and anticipation. “Now, let’s see what secrets this old keep is hiding, shall we?”

  SupernovaSymphony