Chapter Text
The corridor stretched ahead like a throat. Exusiai paused at the intersection, her Vector held loose in both hands, muzzle pointed at the floor. The rest of the team had been right behind her thirty seconds ago. Now there was only silence and the smell of old velvet.
“Texas? Croissant?” Her voice bounced off walls that seemed too close and too far away at once. The castle didn't follow normal rules. She'd turned left at the portrait of the weeping woman, just like they'd planned, but somehow the hallway had folded around her like a closing fist.
No response crackled through her earpiece. Just static, soft and persistent as rain.
She checked her six. Empty. The doorway she'd come through was gone, replaced by more corridor, more portraits with eyes that seemed to track her movement. Her halo cast a gentle amber glow across the threadbare carpet, barely enough to push back the shadows gathering in the corners.
“Okay.” She rolled her shoulders, forcing her usual grin. “Not ideal, but I've been in tighter spots. That time in Lungmen with the—”
The sound cut through her thoughts.
Accordion music. Faint, wavering, coming from deeper in the castle. The melody was simple, almost childlike, the kind of tune you'd hear at a street fair or a small-town festival. It reminded her of Laterano summers, of her mother humming while she rolled out pastry dough for—
Exusiai blinked. She'd started walking toward the music without deciding to. Her boots moved across the carpet with barely a sound, her Vector lowered to her side. When had she done that?
She stopped, raised the weapon again. “Focus, El. Castle's full of tricks.”
But the melody continued, a little clearer now. The accordion wheezed and sang, notes bending around each other in a pattern that was almost familiar. Had she heard this before? Maybe in Laterano, or during one of PL's jobs in Victoria. The memory slipped away before she could pin it down, like trying to grab smoke.
Her feet carried her forward. This time she noticed. Stopped. Frowned at her own legs.
“What the hell?”
The music swelled, just slightly. Welcoming. A door ahead stood ajar, warm light spilling through the gap. Not the sickly yellow of the castle's other rooms, but something softer. Golden. Like sunset through windows, like the glow of her favorite café back in Lungmen when she and the team would pile in after a long delivery run, laughing and talking over each other while the owner pretended to be annoyed.
She should call out. Should try the radio again. Should turn around and find another route.
The accordion played on, patient as a heartbeat.
Exusiai took a step toward the door. Then another. Her Vector dangled from one hand, forgotten. The melody wrapped around her thoughts like silk thread, gentle but insistent. There was something she was supposed to be doing. Something important. But the music suggested maybe it could wait. Maybe she could just take a quick look. Just to see what was making that sound.
Her halo flickered. Once. Twice. The amber light pulsed in time with the accordion's rhythm.
That should have alarmed her. Some distant part of her mind recognized the wrongness of it, the way her Sankta heritage was reacting to something in the music, something in the Arts woven through each note. But the thought was slow, sluggish, like swimming through honey. By the time it reached her conscious mind, the melody had already smoothed it away.
She reached the door. Pushed it open with her free hand.
The room beyond was long and narrow, lined with mirrors that reflected her image into infinity. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their candles burning with that same golden light. And at the far end, maybe thirty meters away, a figure rode a unicycle in slow, lazy circles.
A puppet.
That's what her tactical mind supplied, the part still trying to do its job. Marionette. Approximately one-point-eight meters tall. Wearing a jester's costume in faded crimson and gold. Face painted white with red diamonds over the eyes and a smile too wide, too fixed. In its articulated hands it held an accordion, working the bellows with mechanical precision.
The melody filled the room like water filling a basin.
Exusiai stepped inside. The door swung shut behind her with a soft click, but she didn't turn. Couldn't turn. Her eyes fixed on the puppet as it cycled past the mirrors, its reflection multiplying into a parade of jesters, all playing the same instrument, all watching her with painted eyes.
“Hey.” Her voice came out softer than she intended. Almost dreamy. “That's... actually pretty good. The song. Where'd... where'd you learn it?”
The puppet didn't answer. Just kept cycling, kept playing. The accordion's wheeze rose and fell like breathing.
She should shoot it. Should raise the Vector and put a burst through center mass, then another through the accordion for good measure. Mission brief said the castle was full of Troupe constructs, animated by Arts and malice. Nothing here was friendly. Nothing here was safe.
But the music was so nice.
Exusiai took another step into the room. Then another. Her Vector slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor. She stared at it for a moment, confused. When had she dropped that? She should... should pick it up. Operators didn't abandon their weapons. Texas would give her that look, the one that was...
What was it again? The thought dissolved like sugar in water.
The puppet cycled closer. The accordion's melody shifted, adding a new layer, a harmony that resonated in her chest. Her halo flickered faster now, light pulsing with each measure. Orange light strobed across the mirrors, creating the illusion of dozens of Exusiais, all standing transfixed, all swaying slightly to music only they could hear.
Was she swaying? She couldn't quite tell. Her body felt distant, like she was piloting it from very far away. The sensation wasn't unpleasant. Actually, it was kind of nice. Relaxing. How long had it been since she'd really relaxed?
The puppet completed another circuit. Closer now. She could see the details: the way its joints moved with fluid grace despite being wood and metal, the tiny gears visible through gaps in its costume, the way its painted smile never wavered. The accordion was old, well-maintained, the mother-of-pearl buttons catching the candlelight as wooden fingers danced across them.
Beautiful, really. In a strange way.
“You're... you're here for the party?” The words left her mouth slowly, each syllable stretched like taffy. Her voice sounded light, distant, like she was hearing someone else speak through thick glass. “Sorry I'm... late. Got a little... lost.”
The puppet cycled past her. Close enough to touch. The music intensified, the accordion's voice filling her ears, her mind, pressing against the inside of her skull like gentle hands. She felt it in her teeth, in her bones, in the light pulsing from her halo.
Without thinking, Exusiai turned to follow the puppet's movement. Her feet began to move in time with the music, a simple step-touch rhythm. Dancing. She was dancing. The mirrors showed her reflection doing the same, a hundred Exusiais all caught in the same dreamy sway.
Her tactical vest suddenly felt too heavy. She fumbled with the clasps, fingers clumsy but determined. It hit the floor next to her Vector with a muffled thump. Her gloves followed, peeled off one finger at a time with exaggerated care. Then her jacket, sliding off her shoulders like water.
Better. Lighter. Easier to move.
But still too much. Still too confined.
Her hands moved to her belt, to her boots, to every piece of equipment she wore. Each item fell away as the accordion sang its sweet, hypnotic song. Her holsters. Her pouches. Her combat boots, kicked off carelessly. Her radio earpiece, plucked out and dropped without a second thought. Her socks. Even her hair ties, letting her red hair fall loose around her face.
But the music insisted. Still too much. Still not free enough.
Her fingers found the hem of her undershirt, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. It joined the pile. Her shorts followed, unbuttoned and slid down her legs. She stepped out of them without hesitation, without shame, her glassy eyes never leaving the cycling puppet.
But the music insisted. Still more. Still not free enough.
Her bra came next, unclasped with fumbling fingers and dropped carelessly onto the growing pile. Then her panties, slid down her thighs and kicked away to join the rest.
The last pieces came away. Everything. Until she stood completely bare in the candlelit room, utterly naked, skin glowing amber in her halo's pulsing light.
The pile of clothing and gear grew at her feet, a small monument to everything she was supposed to be. Professional. Combat-ready. Alert. Modest.
None of that mattered now.
Her halo burned brighter, the amber light now a steady pulse that matched the accordion's tempo exactly. The Sankta gift of light, responding to something in the music, in the Arts woven through each note. The melody reached through her biology, through the Originium that powered her halo and wings, and found purchase in the deepest parts of her mind.
“This song,” she murmured, still swaying in complete nakedness, her bare skin catching the candlelight. “I... I know this... song.”
A line of drool escaped the corner of her mouth. She didn't notice. Didn't wipe it away. Her orange eyes had gone glassy, pupils dilated wide, reflecting the candlelight like mirrors themselves. The smile on her face was genuine but empty, a puppet's expression worn by someone who'd forgotten how to be anything else.
The puppet completed another circuit. Its shadow stretched across the floor, long and distorted in the candlelight. Exusiai's shadow moved with it, the two shapes dancing together on the polished wood.
Yes. She knew this song. From childhood. From Laterano. From summer evenings when the festivals would spill through the streets and her parents would take her to hear the musicians play in the central square. She'd been so small then, had to crane her neck to see the performers, and the music had seemed to come from everywhere at once, filling the world with joy.
This was that feeling. That perfect, crystalline moment of childhood happiness, before complications, before responsibilities, before she'd learned that the world had teeth.
The puppet gestured with one articulated hand. An invitation. Follow me.
“Okay,” Exusiai breathed. More drool gathered at her lips, trailing down her chin in a thin silver line. Her voice was barely above a whisper, each word slow and slurred. “Yeah... I'll... I'll come. Where... where are we... going? Somewhere with... with apple pie?”
Her glassy eyes tracked the puppet with the fixed focus of a dreaming child. She took a step forward, then another, her movements loose and uncoordinated. The smile never left her face, even as her expression remained slack, vacant, completely absorbed by the melody singing through her mind.
The puppet began to cycle toward a door she hadn't noticed before. It had been hidden behind one of the mirrors, but now it stood open, revealing another corridor beyond. Darker than this room. Deeper into the castle.
Exusiai followed, leaving everything behind.
Her bare feet made soft sounds against the floor, her naked form moving through the castle corridors with complete unselfconsciousness. Her steps were light but stumbling, like a sleepwalker following a dream. She left her Vector behind. Left her tactical vest. Left every piece of equipment and clothing that marked her as an operator, as a professional, as someone who made her own choices.
The accordion played on, and she hummed along now, the melody flowing through her as naturally as breath. Her halo's light filled the corridor ahead, pulsing like a beacon, guiding her deeper. The Sankta girl from Laterano, the optimistic sniper, the party-loving friend, reduced to a dreaming puppet following another puppet's tune.
Her radio crackled somewhere behind her, tiny and distant on the mirrored room's floor.
“Exusiai? Exusiai, respond. Your tracker's moving but you're not answering. What's your status?”
But Exusiai didn't hear it. The accordion was too loud now, too all-encompassing. It was the only sound in her world.
She followed the puppet around a corner. Then another. The corridors twisted and folded, but she paid no attention to the route, no attention to where she'd been or where she was going. Just the music. Just the promise of something wonderful waiting at the end of this path.
“Almost... there,” she whispered to herself, or to the puppet, or to no one. Drool continued to trail from her slack mouth, her glassy eyes unfocused and distant. “Almost... time for the... for the party.”
Her smile never wavered. Her eyes never cleared.
The puppet cycled on, and the Wandering Puppet's latest victim wandered after it, deep into the heart of the Crimson Troupe's castle, where all who heard the bewitching melody turned as one toward darkness, and were never seen again.
Three Days Later…
The stage lights were hot against her skin.
Exusiai stood in the wings, waiting for her cue. The costume they'd given her was nothing like her usual gear—a performer's outfit in crimson and white that exposed far more than it covered. A corset-style top decorated with card suit symbols left her midriff bare. The shorts were more like decorative fabric than actual clothing, cut high on her thighs. Long gloves that matched the top reached past her elbows. Stockings and heeled boots completed the ensemble, making her feel unsteady on her feet.
She wore more now than she had during those blank hours of wandering naked through the castle corridors. The handlers had found her like that—bare and smiling, following the puppet's endless melody—and dressed her for her purpose.
But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the performance.
Her halo pulsed in time with the music drifting from the stage—accordion music, always accordion music. The melody had never left her mind since that first meeting. It sang through her thoughts, through her dreams, through every waking moment. The Wandering Puppet's song had become her heartbeat.
“Such a lovely angel,” the Troupe Mouthpiece had said when they'd dressed her. His voice dripped with theatrical pleasure. “The audience will adore you. So cheerful. So bright. So perfectly willing.”
Willing. Yes. That was the word. She was willing to perform. Eager, even. The thought of stepping onto that stage, of dancing for the Troupe Master and his guests, filled her with a warm, floating sensation that pushed out everything else.
She couldn't remember exactly how she'd gotten here. The details were fuzzy, dreamlike. Walking through corridors, naked and entranced. Following music. Arriving at a dressing room where handlers had covered her bare body with this revealing costume, preparing their prize. She'd stood placid and smiling while they worked, a doll being prepared for display.
Where was Texas? The thought surfaced briefly, then sank back into the haze. Someone named Texas. A friend? Maybe. The name felt important but the feeling attached to it was distant, muted, like trying to remember a story someone else had told her years ago.
“Exusiai.” The stage manager—another puppet, she thought, or maybe a person, it was hard to tell—gestured toward the stage. “You're on.”
“Okay,” she breathed. Her voice maintained that dreamy, slurred quality. Drool had gathered at the corner of her mouth again. She wiped it away with the back of her gloved hand, the gesture automatic but sluggish.
She stepped onto the stage.
The lights blazed brighter, illuminating her from every angle. Beyond the lights sat the audience—shadows in seats, hundreds of them, their faces hidden but their attention palpable. The Crimson Troupe's patrons, real or imagined, watching their newest acquisition perform.
The accordion music swelled. The Wandering Puppet cycled onto the stage from the opposite wing, taking its position at center stage. Its painted smile seemed wider now, triumphant.
Exusiai's body began to move.
She danced without thinking, her movements choreographed by the music itself. Spins and poses, steps and flourishes, all perfectly timed to the accordion's melody. The revealing costume sparkled under the lights, drawing the eye to exposed skin, to the vulnerable softness of someone who'd once been a warrior but was now just a performer. Just a puppet who breathed.
Her smile never wavered. Wide and vacant, it stretched across her face like the puppet's painted grin. Her glassy eyes stared out at the audience without really seeing them, unfocused and distant. She was somewhere else, deep in the dream the music had woven around her consciousness.
“Having fun?” the Troupe Mouthpiece's voice echoed across the stage, amplified by Arts. “Our angel from Laterano, everyone! Isn't she delightful?”
Applause rolled through the theater like thunder. Real or illusory, it didn't matter.
“Yes,” Exusiai whispered to herself, the word barely audible beneath the accordion's song. Drool trailed from her slack mouth again as she spun, arms extended, halo blazing. “So much... fun. The best... the best party.”
The music played on.
She danced on.
The Crimson Troupe's newest star performer, shining bright and empty under the stage lights, lost in a melody that would never end.
Somewhere far away, a team searched the castle corridors. They were calling her name, desperate and afraid. But Exusiai couldn't hear them. She was listening to different music now.
The kind that never let you leave.