22.
The Dollhouse smelled like lilacs and rot.
Isolde hadn't eaten in two days. Not out of defiance she had forgotten what hunger felt like.
She lay curled on the floor, her back pressed to the silk bedding, limbs too sore to stretch. Every muscle ached. Every breath scraped like glass down her throat.
Since last few days, Dante had said nothing. He hadn't touched her again. He hadn't even appeared.
That silence broke her more than pain.
Because she knew it meant he was preparing something.
And when Dante prepared, something always bled.
Day Three of Isolation
The lights in the Dollhouse flickered. The air turned cold, as if the room were sinking.
Then-mechanical clicking.
A hatch in the floor beneath her creaked open, revealing a dark, square shaft.
Isolde pushed herself upright, trembling.
A voice echoed through the ceiling-a woman's voice. Robotic.
"Test subject 04, failure to assimilate. Reconditioning phase two authorized."
Isolde scrambled to the edge of the hatch. "No-no, what is this-?!"
Before she could move-
Gas. Thick. Sweet-smelling.
Her lungs seized. Vision blurred.
The world went black.
She woke to screaming. But it wasn't hers.
The room was pitch black except for a spotlight overhead.
Stone walls. Bloodstained floor.
She was restrained-not silk this time.
Barbed wire. Thin, sharp. Coiled around her wrists and ankles. Not tight enough to sever-just enough to keep her still and bleeding.
The copper scent in the air turned her stomach.
She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there.
And then-
A second spotlight lit across from her.
A man. Shackled. Gagged. Eyes swollen shut.
Her former Classmate Jean Gaggehas always been kind and helpful to her. Just like a good friend.
Now he was barely alive.
His fingernails were missing. Knees crushed inward. Skin peeled back on one arm.
She sobbed. "Why? Why him?"
Dante's voice came from above-unseen, calm. "Because loyalty must be dissected, dove. You gave it to the wrong man. So now, he gives me what he owes."
She screamed as Dante descended into the light, gloved hands carrying a scalpel and a hammer.
His black shirt was rolled at the sleeves. His face was expressionless.
"I'm giving you the honor of watching," he said. "This is your classroom now."
"Please-don't-don't do this again-!"
He didn't respond. He brought the scalpel down on Jean's chest.
Slow. Deliberate.
He peeled the skin back in clean ribbons, carving a spiral over the heart.
Jean thrashed. Muffled screams filled the room like a funeral choir.
Isolde vomited.
But the chains didn't let her collapse.
"What you run from," Dante murmured, "I turn into devotion."
Later, Isolde was returned to her bed, wrapped in gauze and silence. Her wrists burned where the barbs had cut. Her mouth tasted of bile.
He sat beside her, clean again, sipping wine.
She didn't look at him.
"I hate you," she whispered.
He nodded slowly.
"You will," he said, "until accept to love me." He leaned closer.
"I removed your name from every registry. You're dead to the government. Dead to the world. Only I know you breathe."
He stroked her cheek.
The next night. The lights dimmed.
A new box appeared at the foot of her bed.
She was too weak to open it. But he did, appearing silently.
Inside: a velvet dress. She flinched.
He reached forward and helped her to put in on.
"No more running," he said softly. "Not because you're bound. But because you understand now."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
He wiped them with his thumb.
"You will obey not from fear," he whispered. "But because it's the only place left for you to go."
And then-
He led her to the dining hall for the first time in weeks.
Candlelight. A table of silver and black.
A single meal laid out. Her favorite.
He pulled out her chair.
She sat, hollow.
Midway through the silent dinner, he set down his fork and spoke "If you try again... the punishment won't be yours alone."
He reached into a silver case and pulled out a photo.
Her aunt's grave.
Dug up.
A single hand sticking out of the disturbed soil.
"I want you to understand how far I'm willing to go."
Isolde's fork clattered to the plate.
She collapsed in sobs.
Later that night, she lay in bed, eyes open, heartbeat slow.
The silence screamed.
And she finally understood. She could never leave.
Because leaving meant bringing others into the fire with her.
And Dante? He didn't stop with pain.
He became it.