Յյ 𝔇𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 [𝔄 𝔗𝔚𝔖𝔗 𝔉𝔞𝔫𝔣𝔦𝔠]

𝟑𝟎 | 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥

ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵘᵖᵖᵉᵗ ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳ

𝔖𝔬𝔫𝔤: ℭ𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔐𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔲𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞 - 𝔉𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 + 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔢

Warnings: Mention of death (not described), mind control (kinda)

♥♠♣♦ ——　☠　—— ♥♠♣♦

The room was dark. Drapes of burgundy, maroon, and ebony covered the windows, blocking out any sort of moonlight that wished to peek through to see the grand reveal within. Chairs were set up in precise rows, each with a single red bow tied around the back. 

In the centre of the room was a long runway. Lights hung from the edges, ready to be sparked to life as the first model made their way down the runway. Curtains at the back held the secrets of the outfits, ready to surprise the audience as they started to trickle in, curious as to what the famous Divus Crewel would have in store for this time.

As the audience took their seats, they whispered quietly about what garments Crewel might have for them this evening. But as the lights of the stage erupted with an eerie glow, the audience fell silent. And then the audience gasped as a young woman staggered out onto the runway, her body illuminated by the haunting golden lights. As the dust passed through the light's line, it seemed as though the woman was lost in some old movie, forbidden from reaching the modern screen where she might be given the animation she was deserving of. 

Her head lolled to the side as she took a step forward. Her body seemed to be oddly heavy, despite the light clothing adorning her body. A simple dress that resembled something of what a ringmaster might wear, though with a haunting side to it. Rather than the usual gold that adorned the scarlet fabric, black ink dripped from the edges, falling onto the stage with every stumbling step.

One of her hands raised at the wrist as if someone was pulling it, and as they watched in fearful awe, the audience noticed something strange about the woman's body. Around her wrist was a thin golden cuff, thin enough to be mistaken for a bracelet. And at the top, a golden pin sat, an empty loop pointed towards the ceiling of the room. Her hand suddenly flicked up, as if greeting the crowd. One young man in the front raised his hand, sheepishly lowering it when he realised what he had done. There was no point in waving to a marionette.

He's born to be bad... so run for the hills...

The woman took another step forward, and as her heel met the wood, a pool of ink started to form beneath the heel, leaving behind a paw print stain on the floor as she walked off, still stumbling. The audience glanced at each other. 

What was wrong with this woman? She didn't even seem to be alive. Her knees buckled with every step, pointing in rather than standing strong and tall as they should have been. Her arms were limp against her sides, save for the oddly doll-like movements. So sudden that it seemed as though someone was controlling her. As if someone was holding the strings over her head, pulling her along the runway rather than allowing her to do as she pleased. 

The fear on your face... it gives me a thrill...

The woman's eyes suddenly blinked and a woman near the front let out a sudden scream, startling everyone in the room. Even the marionette seemed to be surprised as she turned her head towards the woman, her eyes no longer blinking. 

The woman in the audience felt her heart stop as she realised why this woman had seemed so off when she had first emerged from behind the curtain. In the direct light of a spotlight, the woman was able to see what was so wrong. Rather than the expressionless facade usually painted on the faces of the models as they strutted the runway, this woman had an almost clown-like expression on her face. Bright red lips that extended far past her usual lips, though not quite so far that it seemed out of place when you saw her. Black lines accented her face, blended in perfectly. And the eyeshadow around her eyes, whilst it simply seemed to be smokey before, now screamed in the woman's face. Crewel's signature mark. The mark of a Dalmatian. Spots around the model's eyes reminded the woman of the dog so beloved by the famous fashion designer.