Elegy for the puppets [Satu]

[Tarot]

Timestamp: Late Fall, 510 AV

The days were getting shorter and colder, but the ethereal string entwined to Satu's finger got all the brighter with each mile she traveled. Why was she marching? What moved her tired feet? What drove her on? Did she even know who she was anymore? The landscape around was the epitome of the post-Valterrian world - it all looked alike. Every now and then, a ruin or the remnants of some ancient road; once or twice, she got lucky enough to find pieces of old earthenware while she set up her camp for the night. Someone with an archaeologist's bent would have a field day here. Three swings of the showel and lo - a buried town would be buried no more. If you were patient enough to break a sweat, bones would be sure to follow. A light blanket, a veneer of earth, had been cast upon those who had come before. The world was Satu's now. If not the world, at least this slice of the wildlands that stretched as far as the eye could see, across endless plains only interrupted by the occasional elevated ground - but it would have been too flattering to call them hills.

She was getting closer and she knew it. It wasn't just the string getting brighter and tighter around her finger, or the faint buzz Satu could hear if she brought it to her ear. The animals felt it as well. Once she was ambushed by a large wolf-like canine that sprung out from a thin screen of trees; but the creature stopped on its tracks as soon as it was close enough to feel the string and its power. This was nothing like Falyndar. The Power was close, and closer every day. The beast cast a final, hungry look at the Konti but finally withdrew, driven by a stronger instinct than feeding.

Two days later, Satu realized that the string no longer faded into the horizon. It ended somewhere within her line of sight, in the endless plain ahead of her. The clouds danced in the sky above, the world shifting from sunshine to shade and back again every few seconds. It would likely rain later in the day. Torn poles of ancient iron and steel stood solitary every now and then. Skeletons of grey bricks threatened to make her stumble and fall if she wasn't careful. This had been a city, and a large one at that. Now it was just rock and grass - not even flowers had chosen to dwell here. And it was in the middle of this nowhere that the string finally ended. At first sight, it appeared to have been tied around some sort of unremarkable block of grey stone that only managed to be remarkable because there was literally nothing around it for miles on end.

Then Satu would get closer and slowly discover what the stone was. The rounded shape near the top eventually gave it away. It was a tombstone. Oddly enough, the Konti could have sworn someone far away was singing a song so faint that the words could not be heard, only imagined. But there was no-one in sight, nor any place they could hide. The world was naked here. As Satu walked up to the eerie landmark, the first raindrop fell upon the cold piece of grey stone. There was an actual grave here. The earth - very soft around this place - had been moved not long before, dug out and then filled again. The singing voice, a beautiful soprano, it was real, right? Why did it seem to come from the ground beneath her feet? Satu's eyes wandered to the epitaph engraved upon its surface. The string, bright yellow for her mark to see, ran laps around the stark words lettered in somber, squared characters.

Here lies S A T U Konti Sister beloved friend and willing slave

The song was haunting now, and the ground almost trembled with its intensity. The distant, muffled voice was calling out to her. "Saaaatuuuu.... Saaaatuuuu..."

[Satu]

Satu walked alone through the open plains, white hair and Myrian leathers setting her starkly apart from the scenery. Her face was dirty, and streaked with dust. Dry earth caked under her nails, while her hair blew haphazardly in the breeze. With her light gait, and gentle movements she stepped amid rubble and debris, graceful as a dream. To anyone observing from a distance, she appeared ghost-like and airy. At first, she had stopped periodically to scan the landscape for signs or messages, but none exposed themselves to her scrutiny, and she had long past stopped the search. It was all the same, as far as her pale eyes could see. Endless and ongoing, nothing changed or even showed itself to be unusual or interesting. There was not one thing to disturb her thoughts as she walked. By now the Konti’s memories of Opportunity were completely fragmented, or buried too deeply to recall. Even Falyndar with its heady violence was but a faint, dreamlike memory. From the Myrians, she had learned how to live with Powerful feelings and emotional turmoil. And instead of uncontrollable violent outbursts, she had slowly learned how to turn those dark reactions and emotions inward. This path of turmoil funnelled Satu’s belief into a new and twisted Calling. She was destined to bring change to Mizahar! She had a purpose! A meaning! The only issue was that she did not yet know what this truly meant, or how to accomplish this feat… And the thread pulled her. Ever onward, its bright strand became more vibrant with each step of the day, and at times into the night. Power was in it, and along the length of it. Often she would meditate upon its vibration and the reactive tingle in her blood. She relished its spark, as it tightened on her long finger, urging her to a more rapid pace. And invariably, her feet quickened as she hurried towards an unknown destination. At times she stopped to rest during the day, but always she continued on before she was refreshed. Surely answers were waiting for her! Footsore and weary from the journey, Satu was surprised when she came upon the end of the thread wrapped around a stone. The Konti’s eyes closed in thanks. This was her destination! But… there was nothing here. She looked up, and the sky confused her, with its changes of sun and shade. An ominous warning indeed! Looking back to the stone, her hand stretched out slowly to touch the winding thread. Her fingers dragged along the rock roughly, scraping at her scales. It was then that she saw the stone for what it was. A grave stone! She read the words, and shook her head. It couldn’t be! It made little sense. A slave? Never had she been a slave! A distant song floated into her awareness. Satu whirled about, looking for the source of it. Nothing. Nothing was there, nothing was anywhere. She was alone on the empty plain. The quietness of her Heart startled her. How long had it been this way, without her even knowing? The first of the raindrops hit, soft dollops startling her. All the work towards a semblance of normalcy threatened to disappear in this one instance. It was a grave. It was her own grave! Rooted to the spot, she read the words again, and her eyes narrowed as buried memories threatened to resurface in her silent Heart. No! She reassured herself, they have not killed me! She was still alive! Still alive! But was she? The thread’s end brought her nowhere, only to her grave… Sorrow filled her and her knees gave out slowly. Her body slid down the front of the tombstone, and bent legs rested in the disturbed dirt beneath her, as she stared out over the plains, now unmoving. Would that she could have wept, but her traitorous tears refused to show. On each side of her, her hands clenched the black and pungent soil. To have come so far and then... nothing! Death! With a violent fist, she threw the handfuls of earth away from her as far as she could. But the music still remained. The beautiful voice sounded almost below her. It called her! And spoke her name! Pressing her palms into the dirt, she imagined she could reach down and touch the beautiful singer and the haunting song. “I am here,” she leaned towards the earth, whispering. “I am here…”

[Tarot]

By now, the rain was coming down hard, too fast for the soil to soak it up. Satu's hands clawed at the soft earth of what was supposedly her own grave, each handful stolen from the burial making the haunting song closer and louder for her to hear. Very little was left of the Konti who'd left Mura on Avalis' calling. The world had shattered the beautiful clockwork of her blessed race, yet for some reason the broken toy still continued to move - an impressive display of resilience, if nothing else. She was here, she whispered, and the dark earth finally gave way, revealing a head surmounted by a crown of white hair, silky but dirty and smelling like wet soil. For an instant, Satu thought she was looking at her reflection in some mirror; yet, it slowly dawned on her that this was no person of flesh and blood. The features looked like they had been born of a chisel and lacked the pigmentation of real skin. One could see that the jaw and eyelids were separate pieces to a beautiful doll made to Satu's perfect likeness and in full scale. It had an expression of serenity and its eyes were closed. The craftsmanship was superior, something only matched by the best dollmakers in the world. Perhaps, in ages past, this would have been a porcelain toy for royalty, dressed in brocades and endowed with actual Konti hair. But the mouth piece was moving. The song came from inside the doll. "Saaaatuuuu…" it spoke her name and began to stir slightly. Hands and arms of wood emerged from the cold earth. Puddles of rainwater were forming around the Konti. "Have you found what you were Called for? Have you found peace? Have you found freedom?" The doll's eyes slid open, and while they were but two marbles Satu could have sword there was intelligence burning behind. "Oh, Satu," the doll said after a while. "It is so cold and lonely here. Why did you not go back to Mura? You could have saved us then. It is too late now. Your Heart can never be the same again. What am I to do, Satu? It is so cold and lonely here." Lightning flashed in the middle of the sky. The ensuing thunder almost eclipsed the doll's thin soprano voice. The doll blinked. "Stay here with me, Satu. Stay with me always." Its hands fell upon Satu's shoulders and caressed their way to the sides of her neck. The doll's wooden fingers laced around the Konti's throat and began to press tighter and tighter. "It is your fault, Satu! You ruined this for the both of us. Now you stay with me ALWAYS!" The last word was almost a mad shriek coming from inside the doll as it attempted to destroy the Konti it had been built to resemble.

[Satu]

Satu’s fingernails and hands were dark and muddied, while bits of black soil clung stubbornly to her arms and clothes. The smell of earth was strong in her nostrils, but it was the shock of seeing her earthly reflection in the ground that finally caused Satu to falter in the search for the song. What she saw shocked her, a beautiful doll! A beautiful Konti doll! A beautiful… Satu? She should have run away in that moment, but she had forgotten how to move her legs. The mind whirled, trying to process what it saw, but too much had happened in the past two seasons for the HeartSeer to process one more strange occurrence. So she froze, staring. Opportunity, Falyndar, Taloba… the physicality of the traumatic events that had transpired in these places had inundated both the HeartSeer’s fragile Heart, and her sensitive mind. Never would she have dared dream that such levels of violence and aggression existed in the world, let alone be loosed upon her. But those were human failings and emotions, as tragic as they were. This situation was utterly beyond the Konti’s comprehension. This Satu-doll, in this Satu-grave could not be placed or compartmentalized in anyway she had ever known, and so it was all the more frightening upon her mind. Tentatively, a slender hand reached out, to touch the pretty, dirty thing. Would its falseness be apparent? Or was her own likeness to be found at the end of the touch? But before her fingers could connect, the mouth moved! The song, it was there, within. Satu looked closer then scrambled back in horror. The doll! Oh Avalis, it did look like her! But with a Heart like Drainira’s, cold and silent… The thought scared her, scared her more than even the false eyes that stared at her. The thunder sounded, the rain soaked her, but she did not move further. Her hair stuck to skin spattered with mud and wetness and her leathers were drenched. As if in a dream, Satu replied to the thing, flatly, “Saved? Mura could not save me.” Shock had reached its numbing tendrils once more into her battered mind. “There is no saving there. They do not know us. The Konti have abandoned us. Only lies and untruths, and lies reside there. No, we could not go back… we need to find - ” Her head shook. Was Satu even aware she had switched to the plural? But the doll had already said it; the doll had spoken the hypnotic word. Drainira’s Freedom. The Konti latched on to it, as an anchor in troubled seas. She held it in her Heart and caressed it with her mind. Seductively, its false promise filled her entire being; its promise eclipsed her true and intimate Calling, and twisted it into something unrecognizable. How could she know what she had become? With Freedom clouding her mind, she welcomed the doll’s familiar caress along her skin. And her eyes almost closed at the touch. But fingers she knew so well closed about her neck, pressure tightening. Her sea blue eyes flew open, as her throat constricted, to look upon the cold, marble beads. A matching shriek exploded from the Konti’s throat, but it had not the power with the dolls hands around her throat. In that moment of terror and rage, Satu lost herself irretrievably as her mind let go. The Konti’s mind screamed. But a primitive growl sounded instead. Satu was threatened, and she reacted instinctively as all her trainings came together, flashing in her mind and she reacted. Bringing her chin down to breathe better, Satu twisted her shoulders roughly to the left, to loosen the grip upon her neck. She then raised her right arm to bring the elbow roughly down hard upon the doll’s forearms, hoping it would let go, breaking the hold upon her neck. A shriek did escape Satu’s mouth then as she fought, attempting to strike the dolls temple with her right fist. Satu moved. Satu attacked. Satu reacted. And Satu told herself she would live! That was what she now knew. What she had been and what she now was did not concern her. Survival! The primitive wish consumed her! All else be damned! Was this her Freedom? She did not stop to think on it, for already she told herself that she would survive or at least die trying; Weakness had been burned out of her.

[Tarot]

"Always together! Always together!" the doll sang as its fingers pressed against Satu's throat with unexpected violence for such a delicate item. They were cold and wished for nothing but to be reunited with Satu in this forgotten grave that bore her name. Her life threatened, the Konti's instincts flared. Her will to live erupted from the depths of her soul and wrapped itself around her in an almost physical way as she struggled. Her HeartSense flared, and Satu instinctively knew what this thing was. A golem, much like Drainira but much less sophisticated. Even the lack of colors to be sensed had a peculiar signature to it, and Satu was getting used to the negative feeling. Her elbow crashed into the doll's arm, and was partially successful in loosening the grip on her throat, yet the thing persisted, driven by a hellish will. The Konti's fury only burst hotter and wilder as the seconds passed. She counter-attacked like a cornered beast and hit the doll squarely in the head, then again and again. Their eyes were locked in a deadly stare that neither party could interrupt. "Let us be free together! Stay with me forever!" Even the doll's words seemed to lose meaning in the struggle, getting lost in the steady downpour and the echoes of thunder. One blow, then another, then a hit to the arms to dislodge them just enough to draw another breath. The doll felt so hard and impervious to damage. Time had slowed down, its flow simply dictated by the unending stream of blows. More than a battle of bodies, it was a battle of wills. Satu thought she could see them, energies like cocoons woven around them and making sparks in the middle where they touched. Two wills, each trying to conquer the other and destroy all hope of victory. In the end, the largest reservoir of will must prevail - and a mere doll could not compare to the original. After what felt like the hundredth punch, the creature's hands slipped from Satu's neck as the attack opened a large black crack down its face. The doll's countenance changed instantly, from mad and defiant to fearful and whiny. It brought trembling hands in front of its damaged face. Whether Satu would listen was another matter entirely. "Mercy! Mercy! Have mercy, Satu! I surrender! You are free! I will be your slave!" Had Drainira not said that slavery was the freedom of the weak? It had been proved who was the mistress and who was the slave. The doll tried to parry and absorb any more punishment Satu may want to inflict on it, but made no further move to attack the Konti. If Satu only looked up from the cold grave, she would see a man sitting against her tombstone, smiling and clapping his hands. He was an old man of the Eyktol deserts, a Benshira with a rugged face and a greying beard; his clothing was that of a mere beggar, with a worn out jacket and old breeches. "Magnificent," he would say with a smile as soon as Satu noticed his presence, "life imitating art imitating life… or some crap like that."

[Satu]

No longer was Satu an innocent from Mura. And yet she was neither the solely reactive, violent Curled Blade of the Myrians either. Satu was now something else entirely. She was both less than she was, and more than she had been. The lines of her separate individualities blurred together into one distinctive and unique personality. For all the world, the Konti looked like a bedraggled white kitten, as Oni so often told her, but one that had been left out in the rain, drenched, and dirty and spitting mad. Mud coated her, and dirt dotted her face. And though her look was fierce, she was still a Konti, and a soft, otherworldly quality hung about her, even in the mud and the muck of the gravesite. Her innocent appearance was a shell of the past layered over her, but one that almost guaranteed she would forever be underestimated. Delicate hands, bloody at the knuckles flew to touch the tender neck where the doll had finally relinquished her terrible hold. The Konti choked and coughed to regain her breath, while her cold, blue gaze studied the doll for any sudden moves. There was no trust left in her. She would have struck the doll again, but for one particular word it spoke. The word stayed her hand. Free! Satu stopped as the word slid into her mind, igniting a passionate yearning. Very thoughtfully she said, “I am. I am Free.” Then she looked back to the cracked, replica, “And slavery is Freedom for others…” Freedom, the anchor word her subconscious mind had latched onto in an attempt to stay connected to something of value, and to retain a semblance of sanity. But her mind, traumatized as it was had been misguided, and unknowingly had chosen poorly. The corners of the HeartSeer’s mouth began to turn upwards and her eyes glowed in a sudden lighting flash. Satu told the thing, “It is my Calling...” to lead, she thought. The gravesite, especially one’s own in the pounding rain, was an odd and unexpected place to take a sweet moment for reflection. Satu had found her direction once again and it was stronger and more focused than ever. The doll was a threat to her no longer, and she was closer to Freedom than she had ever been. Satu stood straighter, head lifted high as water dripped off her nose and cheekbones, and made trails down her muddy arms. Regal in her filthy, wet garments, Satu experienced what she thought was the joy of Freedom. But there! A man, an old Benshira… She did not know him! His words made no sense. Was he mad? She did not think to assume the doll and the man were connected; he seemed so out of place. Slowly, her weight transferred to the balls of her feet, and her hands hovered near the suvai, knuckles bloodied from the battle. One of her pinkie fingers stood out, at a little angle, she had disjointed it in the attempt to subdue the doll sometime during the scuffle. It was as yet unnoticed by her, intrigued as she was by the desert man. “I will not follow the Weak,” she declared, “or suffer Fools to lead me!” But what Satu meant, or who the words were directed at, was unclear. The man? The doll? The grasslands? Herself? It was then that her HeartSense sparked, resting upon the old man. She tried to read his Heart, but could not. Satu could not read it! It was there, within him, she felt it. But unlike Drainira or the doll, it was vivid, and bright, and powerful. It was beyond her skill somehow. She could not read it! The strangeness of this struck at her, and caused her to falter in her words, but a rough cough passed her throat once more breaking her stunned silence.

[Tarot]

The man tilted his head ever so slightly at Satu's declaration of freedom. Yes, she had earned the right to say so; the right to think so, even. Freedom as a concept, sad but true, existed solely in the mind of the slave, or those who had known slavery; for those who only knew freedom would have no word for it, and simply reap its sweet fruit. The old Benshira smiled. The doll had gone silent, its eyes still blinking every now and then as the rain kept coming down. "I have been watching you," said the old man, and Satu would notice that his clothes did not appear to get soaked with cold water - unlike hers. "I have found your march to freedom to be most inspiring, young Satu. You vanquished those who would take your freedom away, all the way through this last test. The doll was entirely my doing, a tool to test your resolve, and it is now my first gift to you… maybe I should have added some more glitter, though." He stood, hands in the folds of his robes, and bent slightly in Satu's direction. "But freedom for freedom's sake is the food of wild beasts, Satu. They eat, mate, kill and die. End of story. You deserve a better script than that. Once one acquires freedom, the next step is to realize one must bring the flame of freedom to others… by liberating them, or enslaving them, as necessary." The funny thing was, the man spoke nothing but utter madness, yet it made sense in a very twisted way. His voice was calm and cadenced, almost hypnotic in its reassuring tones. "I possess the power that will make it possible," the Benshira's pearly white teeth shone bright between his dark lips. "It all starts with YOU. Everything is possible if YOU believe it is. The world is what YOU believe it is. Others will believe what YOU want them to believe. Freedom and slavery are for YOU to decide. Unleash that force… the force of YOU." A dark mark began to spread over the back of Satu's left hand. It looked like a set of five parallel lines set at regular intervals - though, depending on how one looked at them, some looked closer than others or even on the verge of touching. It was a matter of perspective, for if Satu squinted and took a careful look, she would see that the lines were both identical and regular. "They call me Sagallius, the Puppeteer. Drainira is my champion. She had words of high praise for you, Satu, and she was hardly exaggerating. So, shall we make the puppet dance to YOUR tune? Shall we give freedom to the doll by binding it with the String? The power is on the artist's fingertips…" He smiled and waited for Satu's inevitable reaction.

[Satu]

The wet doll blinked at her, from a face so similar to her own, but for the crack running through it. The old man surprised her and the HeartSeer’s mood shifted accordingly. A gift? For her? Like a young child, Satu’s face lit with pleasure. “She is perfect!” The Konti exclaimed, although after Satu’s altercation with it, it was now decidedly less than perfect. Her muddy hands clapped together, excitedly. When had she last been gifted anything? And his voice was smooth, almost hypnotic as it sounded in her ears. The words were simple, wise, and she believed them utterly. “I understand!” Satu hung on each syllable, nodding and listening. “I tried to find the way…” but something had been missing. “I did not know how to make them listen.” She still didn’t, though her eyes sparkled with fanaticism. He understood! She leaned forward, towards him, “I want to help… to spread the Flame!” The timid and Weak-Hearted were plentiful, turning up in every place she traveled. Far and wide they tainted her world. Satu had seen into their Hearts, and viewed their Fears and Weaknesses from Mura to Taloba. So many limitations, it sickened her! Guidance was what they needed! She could give them that! “I have been waiting, and wanting. Please, show me! I would help them. I would free them! From themselves if need be!” The world faded into the background of rain and grass, even the muddy gravesite was forgotten. His words flowed and his manner held her, transfixed. And always, she watched his Heart, unable to comprehend its glowing uniqueness. Satu uttered the words, “I do believe. I do!” He was right, she was Strong now. Something had shifted within, as a force built inside her. Others did not see as she did! Not into the Heart. Why should she not show them? What was freedom? What was slavery? She knew. And she would decide who was worthy… and who was not. “Let me show them!” As he spoke, his words encircled her and she could feel her hand tingling beneath its mud covered coating. With narrowed eyes she watched as dark marks began to spread over the back of her left hand. The marks grew into dark lines, five of them, their positioning transient. Satu held up her hand, stared at it. Rain washed down its length as she rotated the appendage in the downpour. It felt the same, but for the marks it looked the same too. “Sagallius, the Puppeteer?” Satu asked puzzled, almost distant. To have fear of offending him did not cross her mind. She did not know him, and had not heard of him, immersed with Avalis and Laviku as she had always been. But dawning broke over her wet face, the doll, and the mark… Gnosis. A god! Oh! Her heritage of good behavior decided to show itself as she lifted a dirty arm, and reached up to smooth back her hair. The little effort to look presentable for him was a pretty attempt, an unconscious response from the Konti. Did it seem out of place? Satu stood muddied in her own grave, as a radiant smile emerged to give life once more to her chaotic inner world. “I am ready! Bind it, Sagallius! Bind it...” Satu breathed huskily in her excitement, “Drainira was right all along…”

[Tarot]

Satu's hand tingled with power begging for release. The mark of Sagallius felt very different to the Konti than the mark of Avalis that she carried from birth. Her Divination came to her in brief spurts, sometimes when she least expected it; this power screamed control, hers and hers alone. It was manipulative, yes, and reassuring at the same time. Those five lines could be interpreted as a set of puppet strings, but also as an empty music sheet, ready to be filled with a melody of Satu's own choosing. This mark conveyed a singular meaning - the world is not what it is, it is what I say it is. The Benshira smiled appreciatively at her comments, but raised a hand at her attempt at making herself more presentable. "No need to put up façades or appearances for me, young Satu. I can see your Heart very well, and in time I am sure you will learn to read mine, as well." He stood up, leaving the grim stone upon which he had sat, approaching Satu with slow steps. His clothes still weren't getting wet under the heavy rain - because he was a god, or because he could will the world into doing his bidding? He kneeled down, sitting on his heels, as he began to instruct the Konti on her newfound gift. "Touch the doll," he whispered, "like a friend would. Like a lover, even. Anywhere. Softly, and only for an instant. Imagine the strings in your mind as you do, picture the doll responding to your control. It has a will, yes, but a lesser one compared to yours. You have tamed it. It will never oppose you again." He gestured for Satu to do as he said, to touch the doll that was to be her gift. If Satu did as Sagallius told her, she would see thin strings of energy - clearly this time, not faint like the string that had led her here - coming out of her hands and fingers and reaching into the doll after the touch. "Make it dance now, Satu! Give it freedom! You need to move your hands and visualize the motion. In time, if you grow powerful enough, the thought alone will suffice. That doll is begging you to show it the way. It is volunteering to be your practice tool before you move on to the weak-willed and fearful people of Mizahar. The name of this power is Cordas, the Art of the String; mark it in your Heart, Satu. It is the key to freedom, yours and everyone else's." As if on cue, the doll nodded and spoke in a slightly frightened voice. "Please, Satu… get me out of this filth. I want to dance. Beautiful, and free." A burst of thunder in the distance sealed off her plea to the Konti girl. Sagallius smiled. Let the girl taste of the power once and she wouldn't be able without its sugar. Even in the middle of the nightmarish tests lined up on the young Puppeteer's path, she would march on - driven by the promise of more power more control more freedom. Just like everyone else before her, just like everyone else thereafter.

[Satu]

Power in control! With the mark of Cordas, the mark of the Puppeteer was now contained on Satu’s left hand. And with its arrival, the Konti’s demeanor changed almost instantly. She stood tall and regal once more, believing wholeheartedly Sagallius had healed her terrible inner wounds. Sagallius had made her whole again! Sagallius had perfected her! Sagallius had saved her! Or so she thought... Euphoria radiated outwards from her body and into the wet air around her. Without hesitation, she did as he asked, reaching out to touch the doll. Muddy earth covered her hands, but Satu was comforted knowing that Sagallius saw beyond filth and petty appearances. He saw her! Just as she saw others with her HeartSense! The Konti trembled with excitement, and shivered with need. She craved Power and it was there! Her fingers curled in anticipation. Turning her face up towards his again, she hoped to someday read his Heart as he had said. Perhaps he led her on, but for a HeartSeer, nothing could be greater than to touch the expansive Heart of a god. Satu wished for nothing more. A willing disciple, she hung on his words, enraptured like a young lover as he neared. At his instructions, her head nodded. Briefly her fingers reached out to rest upon the doll’s cracked face. A sense of love and of knowing filled her. But it was the feeling of Control that seemed to slide teasingly along her veins; it drew her awareness into her fingers and became stronger with each minute. This Konti doll was hers now, as the Weak-willed would become hers later. Barely had she begun, and already she desired more! Her mind filled with the intoxicating scent of possession. Lifting her hands away, she saw the strings stretch between her and the doll. Connected, they were! Slowly, carefully she lifted a single finger, then two and watched the doll to see what responded. Then she tried various combinations of finger movements to try to understand the workings of puppetry. She focused so intently, so badly did she want the doll to soar! “Soon, soon! You shall dance! But now is the time to simply rise!” Satu’s hand movements were clumsy and unsophisticated. So much time was wasted as she looked from the doll to her own hands, and back. It would have frustrated a saner person. But Satu had all the time in the world to perfect this art, and her intent face reflected this. “I will learn! I do not wish to disappoint you!” she told the Puppeteer. “It shall be my gift to the Weak, so that they might also be perfected… as I have.” There was no greater gift she could give…