PROMPT: Write in the genre opposite to the one you're most comfortable with (ex. psychological thriller).

CW(s): strong language, heavy objectification, psychological abuse, implied domestic violence and death.

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"Ah, look who's finally decided to join us."

It's with some effort that Thuli opens her eyes. Everything weighs down on her, and her body doesn't feel like her own as she wills it to move. But, somehow, she manages to tilt her head up and blink her surroundings into focus, the rest of her senses slowly returning to her.

Her nails scrape against a smooth surface. Armrests. Varnished wood. She's on a chair.

There's a table in front of her, small and very old-looking, like something you'd see in an antique shop. In fact, everything on it seems to have stepped out of another time period, from the white doily to the porcelain tea pot and the intricately designed cups.

"Care for some tea? Rose was kind enough to brew some for us. Do you enjoy Rooibos?"

Rose... why is that name so familiar? ... Rose ... Rose!

It's with a violent jolt that Thuli snaps her gaze up and whips her head around, trying to spot the other woman somewhere in the darkness of what looks like a windowless, candle-lit dressing room.

Only to have a hundred glassy, unblinking eyes staring right back at her.

Dolls. Life-like, real-sized wooden puppets hung up on the walls and from the ceiling by their strings, covering every inch of it, from top to bottom.

The more she looks at them, the more she notices the details, the human hair, the blemished skin, the cracked lips and the blood-shot eyes. She feels like throwing up. But she can't seem to look away, because they won't either, holding her own gaze captive.

"You remember my dolls, of course. They certainly remember you."

There's an ear-grating, rhythmic scrapping sound that pulls at Thuli, breaking her out of that stupor. When she finally looks at the man on the other side of the table, he's stirring the tea in his cup in languid motions, a wide smile stretching at his pale, paper thin lips, one that struggles to inject any warmth into the two small, impenetrable eyes looking down at her.

"Van Rooyen..." the name leaves her lips as a hoarse whisper.

"Please, call me Edward. I think we're far past formalities at this point, my dear Thulisile. Or do you prefer Thuli?"

"We're not ... friends," she manages to push out through gritted teeth, a familiar spark of anger flickering inside her. "It's detective Ngoyi for you. And you're ... you're our prime suspect ... you..."

Those lips touch the brim of the cup, the smile around it stretching wider. "Am I now? And what crime exactly am I being accused of?"

Thuli blinks, struggling to call forth the thoughts and memories she needs, even though she can feel them right there, fluttering just inches away from her reach. "People have been going missing... thirteen of them have-"

"Thirteen? Are you sure?"

9

21

7

13

18

"Eighteen." Thuli rushes to correct, frowning at her mistake and the disconnected data floating in her head. "Eighteen missing people. And all of them disappeared in the places where the ... Harrier circus performed."

"Then every person associated with the circus is a suspect, no?" Long, sharp nails scratch alongside a perfectly trimmed beard. "Why have I been singled out?"

The man isn't even looking at him as he says this, and there's a misplaced lilt of curiosity and detached calmness in his voice that drains at any of the seriousness and gravity of the accusation.

It's as if they're just playing a game together, like a guessing game, or a game of pretend. And it's so horribly disorientating that it leaves Thuli doubting herself, questioning everything in her muddled mind, desperately searching for the connective dots to her reality.

Wood trimmings?

Yes. They were found in three of the
places where the missing people
were last spotted.

So, what? It's just wood.
Could have come from anywhere.

It's a rare, special wood.
Used specifically for carving.
Not exactly the kind you find
just laying around.

So, you saying our kidnapper
is a carpenter?
Or a sculptor?

Or maybe a circus puppeteer...

"Thuli?"

"It's detective Ngoyi," she snaps, surprised at the violent disgust she feels at hearing that name coming from that man's mouth.

"Right, of course." He gestures dismissively, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I was just wondering what evidence you have against me. From what I gathered, no one else takes you or your theory seriously. That's why your superiors sent you out here alone, isn't that right?"

"I..."

Women go missing all the time.

There's no connection.

This is why no one
takes you seriously.

You think there's a
kidnapping clown out there?

If you wanted to go to
the circus so badly,
you just had to say so.

This is why no one
takes you seriously.

I have no time for your nonsense, Ngoyi!

Fine, go waste your time.
But don't bother coming
back empty handed.

This is why no one
takes you seriously.

"I'm not alone ... I ..." She holds the sides of her head, pressing harder and harder, trying to grasp onto any of the names and faces floating in her head. Why is it so hard to remember anything? Why is everything so jumbled in her head? "I have a partner, Detective Roy... he..."

"Roy?"

Willem

Beyers

Nkosi

Trevor

Roy

"Ah! You mean detective Rhodes."

The man's sudden motion makes Thuli whip her head up, one of her hands instinctively reaching for her waist, fingers brushing against cold, hard metal.

Her gun. She still has her gun.

"He's not one of the recent ones. But you did always have a soft spot for him in particular, so I'm not surprised you'd mention his name instead. He should be here somewhere ... ah, there he is!"

With a gloved hand, the man gestures vaguely at a spot on the wall, and a confused Thuli finds herself following the motion with her gaze. Her eyes land on one of the dolls that hangs higher up than most, a young man with messy reddish hair, pale freckled skin and a permanent goofy grin clashing with the horrified look of his unblinking, empty green eyes.

Thuli feels her whole body go cold, all sensation lost as everything in her gives out.

"What ... why ... how...?"

"Oh, have you just noticed? Surely, there are a lot of recognisable faces in here. Come now, look carefully, Thuli. Don't you remember them?"

And she does. Against all better judgement, she does look.

As her eyes sweep across those walls, more and more of those faces stand out to her in their eerie familiarity, as if she's seen them like that before, just as pale and still, devoid of all life, even though she can't put a name to most of them.

"You've seen their faces so many times, after all. In missing reports and such. Or maybe friendly faces that talked to you?" That slow, deep voice somehow drops even lower, and suddenly it's like he's right there next to her, pouring that noxious sweetness into her ear. "Maybe knew a little too much for their own good?"

"You're the kidnapper," she hears herself say, voice weak and thin, but unwavering and final in its certainty, one vindicated by the calm smile that the man in front of her offers in return. "What ... what did you do to them?"

"What do you mean, Thuli?" That smile blooms into a sharp, toothy grin. "They're right here. You can see their faces, don't you?"

"Stop fucking with me!"

Thuli is on her feet before she can process it herself. The chair tumbles to the floor behind her, but her eyes and ears are all focused on the grinning, pale face at the end of the shaky barrel of her .38 revolver.

The man doesn't even blink at her outburst, or the gun staring him down. His expression is one of pure, amused exasperation as he props his chin up on interlaced hands. "I assure you, Thuli. I would never lie so gratuitously. Specially not to a dear old friend."

"We're not friends!" Thuli barks, struggling to keep her composure through the boiling mix of fear, confusion and rage bubbling up inside her. "I don't fucking know you. You're just a sick son a bitch who's going to rot in jail, so help me God."

"God..." The man scoffs, smile faltering for a split second as his gaze drifts off to the shadowy corners of the dressing room. When he looks back at her, it's with a different sort of smile, one laced with bittersweetness. "If God existed, then I wouldn't be here. And so wouldn't you, detective Ngoyi."

"You'll be praying to one soon enough. Now get up, hands up where I can see them, and turn around."

The man moves his hands, but it's to pick up the tea cup and take a long, drawn-out sip, after which he places it down to slowly lean back against his chair. "And what if I refuse?"

A sharp click rips through the silence as Thuli cocks her revolver.

"I'd reconsider," is all she says, and though her voice is deadly calm, she has to fight against every trembling nerve in her body to not immediately put her finger on the trigger.

Again, the man scoffs, but it's a sneer, dripping with heavy, almost tired condescension, that tugs at that cold mouth as he shakes his head. "Thuli, dear. You and I both know, that you will never pull that trigger. You haven't done it once. Why would now be any different?"

"What the hell are you talking about? You don't know me!"

"Then go ahead, shoot me."

S h o o t        m e.

Something in the air shifts.

Suddenly, Thuli stops breathing. Her body locks up, as if frozen solid, except for one of her fingers, which slides back and slowly starts curling around the trigger.

No.

You fucking ungrateful bitch! 

Don't touch me!

"Come on, Thuli. You're so close."

I'm your goddamn husband, Thuli!
Is this how you treat me?

I-I mean it. Don't come any closer!

Stop.

But she can't. She can't move a single muscle in her body. She feels nothing but that finger, pressing harder and harder against the trigger, but she can't make it stop. She can't make herself stop!

"Go on, it's alright. You know you want to."

I-I swear, I will shoot!

You wouldn't dare!

No, please...

"Shoot me, Thuli!"

NO!

There's a beat of silence, where a bang should've been, and then a soft sigh.

When Thuli opens her eyes again, now brimming with tears, she sees the puppeteer, still sitting there, calm as can be, studying his reflection on the shiny, surface of a silver spoon.

"Women are pathetic, helpless creatures, aren't they? What use is there in you having a will of your own, if you're going let yourself be ruled by weakness?"

He looks at her then, as if expecting an answer. But Thuli can't move, can't even draw in a breath to utter a sound, much less words, can only stare on through misty eyes.

And yet, he looks almost disappointed by her silence. Whatever trace of a smile still lingering on those lips vanishes as he stares off once more into the darkness.

"Rose, my love," he calls out with a lazy, bored gesture at the emptiness. "Be a dear and come help your friend."

Rose

With a motionless start, Thuli's wide, unblinking eyes glance to her side.

One of the dolls, hidden away in the shadows, stirs and moves, walking over to them. It's a beautiful young woman who comes to stand by the man's side, with porcelain skin, sunflower hair and eyes as blue as a clear, summer sky.

You're Mr. Van Rooyen's wife.

Yes. 
Seven long, happy years now.

...Right. 
And you assist him with his act?

I'm a part of it, acually.
I pretend to be one of his dolls, you see.
Then I cut my strings
and reveal myself as human.

That must be quite
a shock to the audience.

Oh, yes, they love it.
And I have loads of fun with it.

Pretending to be a doll?

No, pretending to be a human, silly!
It's much harder than it looks.

Ah, you didn't tell me
you were a comedian as well.

Well, detective,
I am a woman of many surprises.
I'm sure you have some of your own.

Perhaps...
Though they're not nearly as interesting.

Oh, I disagree.

Well,
how would you know?

I simply know.
I know everyone's secrets.

Huh... 
That's a bit sad though.

... How so?

If you know everyone's secrets,
then they can never truly surprise you, 
can they?

Huh... I guessyou're right!
Well, aren't you a smart cookie.

What can I say?
I'm a woman of many surprises.

...
You know what, detective Ngoyi?

What?

I think we're going to be
very good friends.

Thuli blinks away the tears, realising that Rose is suddenly right there beside her, carefully reaching for her gun. She wants desperately to say something, to scream out at her friend, but she can't. Her lips won't move, and she still can't breathe, the panic of not being able to get air into her lungs kept on the very edge of breaking by whatever strange power is still keeping her there, clinging to consciousness.

Rose is silent, her face just as devoid of an expression as it is of flaws, unblinking eyes solely focused on her task. With gentle but firm touches, the revolver is pried away from Thuli's cold, stiff fingers.

With quick, expert movements, Rose empties the chambers, the six bullets falling into a pile on the soft, yielding skin of the palm of her hand.

"Give them to me, my love. We mustn't let children play with dangerous toys."

There's a split second where Rose meets Thuli's frantic eyes. A brief moment where the dim light catches and warms that vast, endless blue.

But then it's gone.

Rose turns around and carefully drops the five bullets onto Edward's expecting hands, only for them to vanish into thin air with just a quick flourish of his hand.

"Good job, my love," he coos adoringly, brushing aside some stray blonde hairs and tucking them neatly over her ear. "I'm terribly sorry you have to do this, every time. It must bore you as much as it does me. But I guess that's part of performing, isn't? The joy of doing the same act, over and over again, night after night. Until it's perfect. Second nature, even."

The young woman doesn't say anything, only turns around to stand by his side and face Thuli once more. The man looks at her too, not with any of that earlier adoration but with a question, a pensive stare that worms its way into her skin.

With a snap of his long fingers, air rushes back into Thuli's lungs.

Suddenly she's stumbling backwards, tripping over the toppled chair and crashing into the floor, her lethargic arms unable to protect her skull from banging into the hard wood. Chocking through the dizziness and the splitting headache, she blindly crawls away from the other two.

"The human soul is such an odd, fragile thing, isn't it?"

She hears the other chair scrape against the floor as the man gets up, the click of his dress shoes as he slowly draws closer to her. The fear of his approaching figure quickens her scramble, and when her back hits something solid, it's that fear that gives her the adrenaline needed to use it to pull herself up on trembling legs.

"You can try to contain it. Build the perfect vessel for it. But still, it resists immortality. That's why most of my dolls don't last very long. Eventually, they all crack and buckle under the pressure of a weak, deteriorating soul."

Slowly, as she rises to her feet, Thuli realizes that she's leaning over what looks like a work desk, covered in unfinished doll parts and wood trimmings. But right there, in the middle of it, she spots it.

A carving knife.

"But then, once in a while, I capture a soul like yours. A soul that survives, desperately clinging to its existence. And I used to believe it was due to a stronger will. That would definitely explain why they're harder to control."

Thuli turns around, still leaning back against the desk. She sees Edward's tall imposing figure moving through the shadows towards her, his black cape melting into the darkness of the room.

He stops right in front of her, towering over her, blocking all of the light.

"It was only after watching you, constantly escaping my control, only to repeat the same loop over and over, stubbornly holding onto the last moments before your death, that I realised. It's not willpower, or a strong desire to live that keeps the soul going. No, that's not strong enough."

Those large, greying hands slide over her cheeks, framing either side of face, holding it captive in their firm, unyielding grip. They tilt her head back, forcing her to look straight into those two small eyes that glint like silver.

"It's fear," he tells her with a wide, inhuman grin, cold breath ghosting over her skin. "Fear is the ultimate motivator. And you have plenty of it, Thuli. You're drowning in it. Probably have your whole life, haven't you? Fear of pain, fear of failure, fear of leaving, fear of being alone, fear of the truth, fear of life itself. And now ... fear of death. The death of your soul."

Thuli blinks away the tears, struggling to find her voice again. "Y-you're lying... I'm ... I ... I'm alive... I'm not... I'm still-"

She chokes on her words and the sudden pain of sharp nails sinking into her cheeks.

"This stubbornness of yours was endearing at first, I admit. But this is getting tiresome. You're a doll, Thuli; my doll." As if to prove his point, he sinks his nails deeper, and the instinct to tear that vice-grip away from her hits an invisible wall, that strange overwhelming force that weighs down on her body, forces it still. "The faster you accept the nature of your existence, the happier you'll be. Just ask our lovely Rose."

The man steps aside, violently wrenching her head to force her to look directly at the other woman on the other side of the room. Rose is still there, standing by the table, quiet, expressionless and unmoving, Thuli's revolver hanging limp from her hand at her side.

"She was my very first doll, you know. Such a miserable woman, unable to make the right choices for herself. Until I freed her. I freed her from death. I freed her from the illusion of choice. And now she's free. Free to be mine, like we always wanted. Free to live with me, forever, safe and beautiful and perfect."

"R-Rose..." she cries out, fighting against herself to reach out a trembling hand towards the young woman. "Please... you can still... run away... you don't have to... you don't deserve this ... we can still-"

"How sad. You truly still believe in the woman who betrayed you. Time and time again."

He leans down, inches from her face, voice lowering to a deep growl that shakes and resonates deep in her very core.

"Rose is mine. Whatever pathetic version of love you think you have for her can't reach her. You're just another toy I found for her to play with. Even dolls need a companion, after all. That's the only reason I've kept you for so long. But I'm thinking maybe it's time to retire this old toy. What do you say, Thuli? Want to join your friend Roy on my wall?"

Thuli shut her eyes, taking in a sharp, shuddering breath as one of her hands slowly, silently slid over the desk behind her. "I-it's detective Ngoyi for you ... you fucking monster!"

The carving knife sinks deep into flesh.

The shadows tremble, as a guttural scream rips through the air, and suddenly she's on the floor.

She only has time to scramble to her feet and take a few steps towards Rose, before a heavy weigh crashes into her. The moment that follows is a maddening, desperate struggle for an upper hand, one that the bigger man eventually wins, a pair of bloodied hands wrapping tight around Thuli's throat, pressing harder and harder as the world around her starts to fade.

But then, in that tense silence, a different sound. The metallic click of a cocked gun.

"Rose!"

Thuli's eyes spring open, only to find herself on the other end of her own revolver, firmly held in the blonde woman's hands.

"Rose, what on Earth do you think you're doing?" the man behind her growls. "Put that thing down. It's not even loaded. You gave me all of the bu-"

The words trail off, both Edward and Thuli realising the same thing at the exact same time.

Six chambers. Five bullets. One left.

Rose remains silent and expressionless, unwavering. Her unblinking eyes are on Thuli, but there's something else stirring in that emptiness, the faintest flicker of a light on the edges of that endless blue.

"Rose, dear," the man starts, and his voice is calm, but Thuli can hear the slight tension there, the struggle to keep it that way. "There's no need for that, I can handle this. So put that thing away, before you hurt yourself, alri-?"

"Thuli," Rose says, in a clear, soft voice.

Thuli's eyes widen, blinking dazedly up at the other woman. She can feel the man behind her also freeze in shock, the hands around her neck twitching to a stop, giving her a brief relief from the pressure.

"Who is happier," Rose asks in the silence that followed, a quiet intensity burning behind those glass walls, "the bird in a cage, or the bird on the ground?"

What?

Aww, are you getting senile already,
my poor Thuli?
Do I have to repeat it slowly and clearly for you?

What? No!
Enough with the senior jokes already,
I'm not that older than you.
I just don't think I get the question.

It's a simple one, really.
You have a bird that lives in a cage,
but lives a long life, safe and fed.
Then you have the other bird,
who's free and gets to fly,
but knows she'll die very soon,
at the end of a barrel.
Who's happiest?

Hum...
isn't that a bit of a flawed question?

How so?

I mean,
how do you know the bird will die?
There are plenty of birds out there,
flying about.
Why is it either imprisonment
or death?

Why isn't both freedom
and life possible?

Because sometimes...
sometimes that's all the choice you have.
And I want to know
which one you'd chose.
If you had to.

Well...
Honestly, Rose,
I don't know.
It's a weird question.

Oh...

What would you choose then?

I ... Never mind.
You're right, it's a silly question.

The tears flow from Thuli's eyes as the weight of those words suddenly crash down on her. The weight of all that time, all those versions of the same conversations she'd had with Rose, for who knows how many decades and lives. The weight of those mistakes, repeated, over and over again. Of failing her friend over and over, while Rose bore the brunt of a lifetime's pain, unable to share the load or even be afforded the mercy of forgetting.

The man behind her scoffs, blowing a cold puff of breath into Thuli's ear. "What nonsense are you blabbering about, Rose? Have you finally broken? Do I have to fix you again?"

Thuli shuts her eyes once more, the heart she's not sure she even has anymore racing at the horrifying thought of what she's contemplating, of the absolute immensity of the pitch-black uncertainty that's staring right back at her.

The ultimate fear. The one that feeds all of her other fears. The one that keeps her soul going. Trapped in a body that no longer belongs to her.

"Rose, put that gun down," the man tries again, in that same strange, overpowering voice. But Rose doesn't budge. "You know what I'm capable of. You don't want me to hurt you again, do you? Or do you want me to hurt your 'friend'?"

He spits out that word, like venom, and Thuli feels those hands tighten once more around her, cutting her breath.

It's only then that Rose falters. Her hand trembles, her gaze unfocused, almost desperate as she stares at Thuli. A clear, pressing question sits behind those eyes. Behind that sky of deep, endless blue.

Which would you choose? 

If you had to.

With her last sliver of strength, and the all-consuming fear of the void pressing in on her, a teary-eyed Thuli rips away those hands on her throat just enough to scream at her friend.

"Let's fly, Rose!"

The sky opens up as the clouds part. Two birds flutter their wings as rosy lips curve into a single tear-stained smile.

With the flash of a deafening bang, the shadows burn away, a monster turns to dust and two wooden dolls drop to the ground with a dull thud.