CHAPTER 18: The Puppet with a Heart

  —Agh! —a groan echoed through a dark room.

  Xerox’s mind kept spinning, replaying images: a family, a house, a giant man.

  —What are these memories? —Xerox reproached himself, clutching his temples so tightly that his nails dug into his skin.

  In the dimness of the room, the images passed like an old, damaged videotape: the smell of freshly baked bread, the laughter of a woman whose face dissolved into static every time he tried to focus on it, and the heavy hand of a man.

  Then everything was fire, and the man in a lab coat had taken him away, covering his head.

  —What’s happening to me? —Xerox hissed.

  A gentle voice was heard from the doorway. A tall person, with bluish hair completely long down to the waist, had their eyes covered with a blindfold and wore loose clothing.

  —What troubles you, Xerox? —the voice was so soft it felt like a caress, yet it made Xerox tense as if a blade had been placed against his neck.

  Xerox lifted his gaze, panting. There he was. Despite the blindfold, the blue-haired person seemed to observe every corner of the villain’s tormented soul. His presence did not emit the crushing pressure of the “deep voice,” but an unnatural, warm calm.

  —Nothing… nothing’s wrong —Xerox lied, getting to his feet clumsily, trying to hide the trembling of his hands—. It’s just a headache. That boy… the one from the temple… landed a lucky hit.

  —Oh? Did Xeri have a nightmare? Haha —a girl beside the blue-haired one appeared.

  Her appearance was very thin and small. She had a kind of dark halo, a tight black jacket, a cross necklace, red eyes, and straight gray hair down to her waist. Dark circles under her eyes made them look larger.

  —What’s wrong, Xeri? Do you want Father to come? —the girl asked.

  Those words sent Xerox into panic, and his eyes opened wide.

  —N… no, that’s not necessary, big sister —Xerox replied, trying to speak in his playful tone.

  —N… no, that’s not necessary, big sister —Xerox repeated, forcing a crooked smile and trying to regain his playful tone, though cold sweat ran down the back of his neck—. I was just… rehearsing my next performance. You know I like drama.

  The red-eyed girl tilted her head, causing her dark halo to vibrate slightly. She did not move like a normal person; her gestures were fluid, almost as if she floated in the room’s dimness.

  —You lie as badly as you fight, Xeri —she said, stepping closer until she was only inches away from him. The cold emanating from her was different from Xerox’s; it wasn’t static, it was an absolute void—. I can smell the fear in your threads.

  —Sister, leave Xerox and come with me, please. —a tall, voluptuous woman wearing a nun’s outfit appeared, with short red hair and ash-colored eyes.

  The small girl turned, and before leaving, she looked back at Xerox.

  —Father wants to see you, Xeri. Bye! —she said enthusiastically before walking away.

  Xerox stood petrified in the middle of the room, the word “bye” from the little one echoing like a death sentence. The blue-haired person sighed, adjusting the folds of his loose clothing before following the red-haired nun, leaving Xerox once again submerged in the shadows.

  —Father… —Xerox whispered.

  In that place, where time seemed not to pass, Xerox knew he could not run. The threads he controlled in the dream world were nothing compared to the invisible threads that “Father” held over his very existence. With heavy steps and his heart pounding painfully against his ribs, he walked toward the door at the back—the one that always remained closed.

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  At the door, he encountered a very tall woman dressed elegantly. She wore round pink glasses; her mushroom-cut hair was split in two—one half black and the other purple. Her black eyes could be seen through the lenses.

  —Wait, Father is busy right now —she said, her voice sweet, yet mature.

  Xerox was taken aback, but unlike the little girl, this woman seemed serene.

  —Big sister? Father said he wanted to see me —he replied in his playful tone.

  The screams that seeped through the heavy wooden door were harrowing. They did not sound like the cries of a battle, but of someone being dismantled piece by piece. Xerox felt his own invisible threads tighten, forcing him to keep his posture even as his knees threatened to give out.

  The elegant woman with the pink glasses did not even blink. She adjusted the bridge of her glasses with a gloved hand and glanced at a pocket watch hanging from her waist.

  —He’s finishing adjustments on one of the “new ones” —she explained in that sweet, mature voice, as if she were talking about the weather—. You know how Father is, Xeri. He cannot stand pieces that have a will of their own. He says free will is the rust of the world.

  Xerox swallowed, his playful tone faltering for a second. —I suppose the “new one” isn’t responding well to the treatment…

  —No one responds well at first —she replied, fixing her black eyes on his through the pink lenses—. But you should know that better than anyone. You were his favorite creation for a long time. That’s why it pains him so much that you allowed a mere human from the Temple to dirty your frequency.

  —How do you know that? —Xerox asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

  Suddenly, the screams stopped. The silence that followed was far more terrifying than the noise before. The sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor echoed, and then a metallic bell rang once.

  The door opened, accompanied by a thick fog. A woman of average height stepped out. Her hair was cut at jaw level, her strands falling in sharp locks, with a thick, severe fringe slicing across her forehead in a perfect line. The outer layer of her hair was black, but inside, gray showed through. Black liner framed her eyes, and her spiral pupils, cream-colored, seemed capable of hypnotizing anyone.

  Tears streamed from her eyes as she walked without a soul.

  The two-toned-haired woman smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. She stepped aside, giving way.

  —Now then. Go in, Xeri. Father is ready to… examine your heart.

  Xerox walked past the spiral-eyed woman. As their gazes crossed, he remembered that what had been inside that room with Father was a man; it seemed Father had given him a new appearance.

  The cold in Xerox’s stomach intensified. At the sight of the woman’s tearful eyes, a fleeting image crossed his mind: a burly man, a warrior who once fought with pride, now reduced to a porcelain doll with a shattered soul. Father has given him a new appearance, Xerox thought, and fear tasted like iron in his mouth.

  Xerox entered the hall. The fog was so thick he could barely see his own boots against the black marble floor. At the far end, the silhouette of a man seated on a throne of cables and wood stood outlined against a cold white light that seemed to illuminate nothing.

  —Xerox, come with me —the mere sound of that deep voice was enough to make Xerox tense.

  The man rose, and beside him lay a sleeping woman. The man lifted a hand, and a medium-sized door began to appear.

  —Come —the man said, stepping through the portal.

  Xerox swallowed, glancing sideways at the sleeping woman before following the heavy footsteps of that man. As he crossed the portal, the air changed drastically. It felt warm. It was a cabin; the woman’s dream was an inn.

  —What do you need from me, Father? —Xerox asked, feeling his threads tremble.

  The man had two needles floating behind his back, which began to weave a monster whose physical appearance was that of a lightbulb with legs—the bulb itself was an eye.

  —I see that you are damaged, Xerox —the man commented.

  In the next second, he was standing right in front of Xerox, seizing him by the throat.

  The lightbulb began to crawl along the man’s arm and entered through Xerox’s mouth.

  Xerox writhed in pain until he simply stopped.

  Xerox’s memories were gradually erased once more, until he remembered nothing of his past.

  —Oh, Father! —Xerox spoke happily again.

  Xerox smiled. His gaze, which only seconds ago had been filled with anguish and fragments of a lost family, was now an empty window lit by an artificial pink glow. The “lightbulb” had settled inside him, devouring every trace of the man Xerox had been before the white coat and the fire.

  —Oh, Father! —Xerox exclaimed, recovering his playful tone and making an exaggerated bow—. I feel much more… light. What’s the next performance? Whose strings are we cutting now?

  The man with the deep voice released Xerox’s throat and observed his creation with cold satisfaction. The two needles on his back stopped weaving, remaining suspended like sentinels.

  —The boy from the temple has attempted to sabotage my work —Father said, turning to observe the warmth of the dream cabin surrounding them—. Go and remind him that, in this world, only my threads hold reality together. Bring him before me, or destroy him if his will is too “rusted.”

  Xerox let out a shrill laugh that shattered the inn’s peace.

  —Understood, Father! I’ll make his ending worthy of applause!