Chapter 137 - Doll House

The inside of the manor was just as gothic and lifeless as the outside. The front door opened into a grand room overlooked by a second-floor balcony. Faded banners hung in tatters from the railing, and twin staircases flanked either side. Below, broken furniture lay scattered across the marble floor—an overturned table, a cracked chair, and other splinters of a forgotten past.

“So… are you the butler, or…” Hilda asked, trailing a few paces behind Terri.

“No butler,” Terri replied flatly.

“Ah. Well, maybe ‘Mistress’ should think about getting one?” Hilda offered.

Terri stopped and turned. Hilda instinctively took a step back, her fingers twitched toward the familiar motion of calling forth her mother’s staff.

“Humans talk too much. Always this way.” Her golden eyes flicked toward Alice.

Hilda wondered if that was meant for the reaper as well. As far as she could tell, “talkative” wasn’t exactly Alice’s defining trait. Though, come to think of it, the reaper did seem to know how to land a dry barb when she wanted to. Maybe that was enough to get her on the wolf-lady’s bad side.

“Sorry, just uh… trying to lighten the mood here,” Hilda said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. She chuckled awkwardly. “I mean, I suddenly got dragged into the middle of nowhere and now I’m standing in a creepy mansion straight out of a horror movie.”

Terri’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Be quiet. Show respect.”

She turned on her heel without waiting for a response.

Hilda glanced at Alice, who only shrugged in response. The gesture was minimal, and maybe it was just the contrast, but Hilda found herself warming to the reaper. Probably because she was the only one here who might let a joke slide.

They continued through several dimly lit hallways. The air was cold, thick with dust and the faint scent of mildew. Every so often, Hilda peeked into open doors and saw more signs of abandonment—rooms that only contained scattered debris to evidence that something alive may have once lived her.

She wondered what this manor was even doing out here in the mountains of Oregon. If it were in Europe, she could understand. But here? Maybe it had been built by some eccentric oil tycoon ages ago. Someone who thought they could vanish into seclusion and be left alone forever. Or maybe, it was built by the so-called “Mistress” whose company had been hyped up way too much for Hilda’s comfort at this point.

She sighed through her nose, trying not to look too jittery. Wondering why she had agreed to come along again.

Arrietta probably has some of my hair, she thought. She’ll be able to track me down if if worst comes to worst and I never make it back. Hilda then wondered if the tracking spell would work on someone who is dead. She didn’t see why not, but it never occurred to her to try before.

Finally, Terri led her to a heavy door and stopped. The wolf-woman turned and fixed her with a look that could slice stone.

“Mistress awaits. I recommend holding your tongue, human.”

Hilda raised an eyebrow. “That’s gonna be tricky.”

She glanced at Alice, who gave a slight nod.

“Terri is a bit of a stick in the mud,” the reaper said. “But she’s not wrong. Whatever you do, do not upset Lorelei.”

“Otherwise it’s off with my head?” Hilda asked, cracking a grin.

Alice didn’t smile back.

“Off with your skin, if she’s feeling lenient,” she said.

Hilda blinked. “…Oh. Joy.”

She caught the faintest curl of a smug grin on Terri’s lips before the wolf-woman turned, pushing open the towering double doors. Without a word, Terri stepped inside and held the door open behind her, bowing to the far end of the room.

Hilda stepped in after her—and stopped.

The room was massive. Echoing. Cold. At first, it seemed empty, swallowed by its own darkness. But then her eyes adjusted, and she spotted something slumped in the far corner—a pitch black mass against the back wall. No, it was a bundle of something sitting in a chair and—

No, not a shape.

A person.

It was a woman—or at least something shaped like a woman—seated in an enormous throne. She sat like a corpse, limbs slack, wrists dangling over the armrests, fingers limp and lifeless.

“Is that…” Hilda began quietly, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“Mistress,” Terri said, flashing her wolfy teeth in a grin that looked a little too eager.

“Her name is Lorelai,” Alice added in a low voice. “Refer to her as Goddess.”

“Goddess?” Hilda repeated under her breath.

Alice nodded and then led the way. Hilda took a deep breath and followed.

As they approached, Alice dropped to one knee, lowered her hood, and bowed until her gaze met the floor. Hilda didn’t like the idea of bowing into a position she couldn’t easily stand and run from, so she stayed standing.

All was silent. The giant corpse was just sitting there on the chair. Was it even alive? Maybe it wasn’t. Actually, now that she was

closer, it didn’t look like a living, breathing being at all. More like a doll. Or rather, a puppet that had been set off to the side and forgotten.

Suddenly, two glowing red orbs appeared in the dark, illuminating its face. Bone cracked and snapped as her shoulders jolted, and her head shot up right.

“Mistress,” Alice said slowly, without looking up. “I have brought the daughter of Claire Eastebourne, as requested.”

“You kept me waiting,” the giant marionette said, her voice hollow and eerie.

“My apologies,” Alice said. “We had to travel by car.”

Hilda felt a chill run down her spine as those glowing eyes drifted toward her.

“I see…” the goddess murmured. “A typical witch. Already so disrespectful.”

“Uh…” Hilda raised a finger hesitantly. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Yet you stand as if you believe yourself my equal.”

Hilda’s eyes flicked to the door. Terri stood by it, still and silent, but watching. Making a run for it had seemed like less and less of an option the closer she traveled towards this destination, but now that she was here, she wished she had tried sooner.

“Well…” Hilda said, her voice careful. “You knew I was a witch before I came, right? Bowing in servitude’s not really our thing. I don’t think I would even know how to do it properly.”

A crooked smile curled across the goddess’s lips. “It has been quite some time since anyone dared speak to me like that. Truly, witches are such fools, especially those with strong attunement. So used to bending nature to their whims, they don’t realize when they are powerless.” Her hand rose slowly as she pressed her thumb to her forefinger. “They test their boundaries… push further and further… until they push too far and—”

Snap.

Hilda didn’t even have time to curse before an invisible weight bore down on her. Her knees buckled instantly. Had she not already been playing her fingertips towards summoning her staff, she wouldn’t have gotten it out in time.

Her right knee struck the cold stone with a crack of pain. Her staff materialized in a flash of blue, and she slammed the end down for support. The gem at the top pulsed as it tried to push back against the crushing weight.

Her tattoos flared to life, the runes glowing like molten veins crawling up her toned arms. Her muscles tensed. All of her magic, her mother's catalyst, and whatever additional aid her protection runes could provide wasn’t enough.

“Grrrhhhh—!”

A strangled cry escaped her as her back bowed. Her fingers slipped lower on the staff. Her other knee hit the ground with a thud, and all she could do was brace herself, shaking beneath the strain.

Shit. I can’t hold on. If I give out—will it kill me? Not like she needs me alive, she can probably still interrogate my spirit if that’s all this is about!

Hilda tried to lift her gaze, her head trembling from the effort

Lorelai sat perched upon her throne, one hand forward purposely with a hint of something in her eyes. Not with hatred or annoyance. Not even boredom. It was more like…

Amusement.

Like she was burning an insect with a magnifying glass, or like she ripped wings off a fly just to watch it squirm—that was the difference in their power. Forget a counter attack—it took everything Hilda had just to hold on.

“M-Mistress,” Alice interrupted urgently. “We need to ask her about the changelings.”

Lorelai’s gaze shifted, narrowing slightly at the interruption.

Then, with a flick of her fingers, the pressure vanished.

Hilda collapsed with a gasp, pitching forward onto her hands. Her staff clattered to the floor beside her. Her breath came in ragged heaves. Her arms trembled under her own weight, barely able to hold her up.

“W-What the hell was that?” Hilda gasped.

“You said you didn’t think you’d know how to bow,” Lorelai said calmly. “I thought I would help you learn.”

Shakily, Hilda lifted her head, strands of hair clinging to her sweat-slicked face. Across the room, Lorelai was already sinking back into the shadow of her throne, her long fingers curling languidly around the armrests.

“Pity,” she murmured. “I expected a little more. That was far too easy. And that staff… surely it isn’t yours. It’s attuned far beyond what someone like you could achieve on your own.”

Hilda didn’t respond. She just reached for her staff as if it were an anchor. That brief demonstration had shattered any illusion she’d had about walking out of this place on her own terms.

“So,” the goddess said coolly. “Let’s not waste any more time. I will ask questions. You will answer. Do we understand each other?”

Hilda swallowed.

“Y-yes,” she managed, though the word sat bitterly on her tongue.

Witches didn’t bow to authority. Not to society, not to kings, and certainly to no gods.

And yet—here she was.

“That staff belonged to Claire Eastebourne, correct?”

“Yes…” Hilda muttered, though she figured the question had been rhetorical.

“And is that the secret to how you managed to graft demon flesh onto one of my reapers?”

“Your reapers?” Hilda asked.

“I did not give you permission to ask questions, witch.”

Hilda gritted her teeth. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m sure it helped. It amplifies my power far beyond what I could do with my own staff.”

“Still, it is no small feat.”

“Well… I had some help from a voidling.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” the goddess said, brushing a lock of hair back with regal indifference. “While Noir is impressive in his own right, he merely provided the foundation for you to work upon. More like sewing than any magic. It was you who purified the flesh. You who tricked a dead thing into behaving as though it were alive, and furthermore, to coexist with something it should have consumed without thought.” She leaned back slightly, voice lowering with interest. “That kind of craft hasn’t been seen in millennia. No one trained you in this. So tell me—how did you do it?”

“I don’t know, then. I guess I got lucky…” Hilda said. Though she didn’t get that lucky. The graft had been imperfect. The changeling was still spreading, still threatening to consume Morrigan’s body. Though it now lacked a will of its own, she knew she only delayed the inevitable unless she could find a way to improve it.

“Alice, what do you think of this?” Lorelai asked.

“Witches have achieved remarkable things in the past, Mistress,” Alice replied calmly. “Given a strong enough catalyst and a voidling to handle work that requires non-human hands, I do not find it impossible. Improbable, but not unbelievable.”

“Yes…” Lorelai murmured. “But still.”

Hilda cautiously looked up. She was a little more worried about something else at the moment. Considering that the goddess was so interested in this, she wondered when she would want to take a closer look at the operation herself. If Lorelai got her hands on Morrigan, she’d probably tear the girl apart just to see what made her tick. That possibility troubled Hilda more than anything, and it brought her back to what Lorelai had said earlier.

“Sorry but…” Hilda began slowly. “What did you mean when you said Morrigan was one of your reapers. What did you mean by that?”

Lorelai’s smile returned—slow and serpentine, flashing bone-white teeth.

She rose, unfolding like a marionette with too many joints. She wasn’t just tall—she was wrong. Like someone had stretched the shape of a woman just a little too far and messed up the proportions. Yet, despite that, there was still an eerie beauty to her face.

“I am the Goddess of Death,” Lorelai said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Reapers are my creations. Tools introduced into this world to serve a vital function.”

Hilda froze. Her grip on her staff tightened. But Lorelai wasn’t looking at her anymore. She stepped toward Alice.

One long finger lifted, hooking gently under the reaper’s jaw. Alice didn’t flinch, didn’t resist—she simply allowed her head to be tilted up, her gaze directed up to her maker.

“Harvesting souls, fulfilling that which has been ordained by fate. It is all so tiresome. So I thought, why not allow humans to handle it themselves? Thus, in exchange for taking on the burden, they are transformed and given access to my power.”

“Access to your… power…” Hilda’s words trailed off, her mind racing through every oddity she’d observed from Morrigan and Death—things she’d tried, and failed, to recreate with traditional magic. Of course. Power was just another word for—

“Magic,” she said aloud. “Reaper magic comes from you?”

“Of course,” Lorelai replied, as if Hilda had asked whether fire was hot. “Though, just as with witches and their star magic, reapers are limited by their level of attunement.”

She let her finger slide from beneath Alice’s jaw and drifted around her, placing her hands gently on the reaper’s shoulders as if she were a prized sculpture on display.

“But attuning naturally would take far too long,” Lorelai went on, “so the contract changes their bodies—and their souls. It is why they cannot wear color, and why they can never go to heaven.”

Hilda’s brows creased. She looked at Alice, standing motionless, but there was a flash of something in the girl’s eyes. She was afraid.

“You don’t see them as people anymore, do you?” Hilda asked. The words were out before she could stop herself. Despite knowing what Lorelai could do to her with a snap of her fingers, Hilda couldn’t bite her tongue. “They’re just tools to you, huh?”

“Does that bother you?” Lorelai asked, turning her head slightly.

“They may have signed your contract, but they are still human!”

Lorelai let out a soft chuckle, one that sounded as though she genuinely found the idea charming. “Humans always think they’re so important. That their individuality is some sacred thing. They are completely consumed by such vague and trivial ideals.”

“Well, maybe humans are like that for a good reason,” Hilda said. “What’s the point of living without passion? If we didn’t have that, we wouldn’t build and create. We wouldn’t make art or music or stories or anything else. Then what would be the point of even being alive?”

“You speak as though you’re saying something new.” Lorelai’s tone was calm, almost bored. “I’ve walked this world long before your ancestors lit their first fires. Before the first witch ever cast a spell. I’ve heard it all before.

“An animal doesn’t question its purpose, it doesn’t seek to find a meaning in its existence. Then there are humans—so unique, and with such capacity for evil. Don’t you think it’d be better to lack the capacity to create both art and war? Everything they touch is ultimately left in a worse state, yet you believe that is acceptable because sometimes they sing songs?”

“If you believe so little in us,” Hilda muttered, “why even involve yourself in the first place? Why make reapers at all?”

“Because it is my purpose,” Lorelai said evenly. “I don’t fulfill this role out of desire or sentiment. I serve order. And my reapers, in turn, have their place under me.”

Her finger drifted up the side of Alice’s cheek.

“They are such magnificent creations. Bodies that are effectively immortal, souls that will not corrupt and turn hollow, and the intelligence to understand and comply with their duties. Even if, on occasion…” Her nail jabbed into Alice’s skin—not enough to draw blood, but enough to make her flinch. “They disobey.”

“You didn’t create them,” Hilda said. “They had lives before they ever signed your contract.”

Lorelai chuckled and turned her gaze down on Alice. “Alice, what do you think of that? Do you consider yourself my creation or no?”

“Of course, Mistress,” Alice said. “I was nothing before I became a reaper. My human life had no meaning. But now that I’ve been reborn as a reaper, my life does have meaning.”

“Very good, Alice.” Lorelai moved her hand to the top of Alice’s head, stroking her hair with mock affection. “You see, my reapers are not puppets. I do not command their every breath, nor do I wish to. They have free will to exist as they please, as long as they fulfill their duties. Most I allow to scatter across the world, out of my sight, and leave it to the hierarchies of fates and arbiters to resolve any issues…”

Then, her hand stilled.

“But this one.” The goddess’s voice cooled. “This one has a habit of disobedience. She lies. She’s deceitful and worst of all... she hides things.”

Alice stiffened. Her eyes widened, glowing faintly with alarm. “M-Mistress?” she asked, hands tensing at her sides.

“That’s why I keep her closer than I do other reapers. After all, she’s special. She sees things even I do not. And that makes her uniquely capable of disrupting fate. It also makes her so very… arrogant.”

Hilda saw Lorelai’s posture shift.

Then the goddess’s long, unnatural fingers clenched over Alice’s scalp.

A pulse of black light erupted from Lorelai’s fingers, and Alice suddenly began screaming.

Her arms jerked violently, her body writhing while the sound that escaped her throat was like she was being flayed alive. Black lines spiderwebbed out from under her white hair, creeping down her forehead, past the scars around her eyes from when they were once sewn shut, and then across her cheeks like infected veins or a quickly spreading rot.

“Alice—!” Hilda cried out.

She moved without thinking, shoving forward with her staff clenched tight in both hands. Blue light ignited at the gem’s tip, magic surging through her. She thought her best chance would be to first push Alice away and then—

She only made it three steps.

Terri slid into her path, sword flashing from its sheath. The first swing came low and fast.

Hilda raised a barrier on instinct, but the wolf-woman’s strike slammed into it with such force that it sent Hilda skating back on her heels. A second strike pushed her back further, sending ripples of energy spreading out in a dome as the barrier cracked, then a third and final strike shattered it completely.

“GGAHHH—!” Hilda stumbled as her staff wrenched backward in her hands. Before she could recover, Terri closed the distance.

The wolf-woman charged straight in, sword returning to its sheath as a knee drove upward into Hilda’s gut, knocking the wind from her. A fist followed, slamming into her shoulder.

Hilda tried to raise her staff, but Terri’s fist came down hard in a precise chop to her inner elbow, sending the staff clattering across the floor. Then, one final sweep of the legs sent Hilda to the ground hard.

By the time she looked up, Terri’s sword was already drawn again—its point resting cold and steady at her throat.

All the while, Alice’s agonized screams echoed through the room.