The Devil Hath Power to Assume a Pleasing Shape

DAISY

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Daisy buried her face into the sleeves of Cotter’s oversized hoodie, which hung comically off her small frame. But it smelled like him, and that only made it worse.

Evidently, Daisy couldn’t sleep. The logical thing for her to do was go on a walk, but she couldn’t be that simple.

I can’t believe I let Alexandria get to me.

One stupid, underhanded comment; and it hooked straight into her chest.

“How do you know he’s not just fattening you up for something worse?”

Ha. Hilarious.

Except for the part where it felt true… for a single, traitorous second.

Because deep down, a little voice already had the script memorized: ‘Why would anyone willingly choose to be your friend?’

I can’t even hold onto the one person who actually gave a damn…

Hence the brooding.

Now she sat cross-legged in the dim storeroom, surrounded by broken toys.

It used to be the toy room, once.

The reason why it wasn’t anymore was painfully obvious.

A one-eyed doll, a wooden knight with a splintered lance, a heap of threadbare plushies… she spent a lot of her youth participating in the breakening and dismantling of innocent toys and plushies.

When the orphanage kept taking more kids in, they were usually disappointed to find this room disheveled and its contents plundered from years of misuse.

So Daisy figured she’d help. Stitching limbs back on these toys for the night… while refining her “medical” technique.

It was past midnight. By every sane measure, she should’ve been in bed.

Problem was, she didn’t get tired anymore.

As a trade-off…

“What are you doing, my little fragment?”

She gets to hear a rather annoying yet persistent voice.

She looked into the broken mirror the storeroom sported, and she saw a different version of herself through it, meticulously combing their hair.

“These… trinkets. I sense their joy, their dreams… their subconscious mind knowing they will never ever, ever reach such a high,’ the mirror version of her whispered. “You could be reaping. You could be so much more. The souls here beg for release; why not grant them the mercy of oblivion?”

Her fingers were busy threading a new button-eye onto the doll.

“I’m a little busy, past self,” Daisy muttered, threading a new button-eye onto a doll. “But I’ll pencil you in somewhere between never and absolutely never.”

One of the dolls stood up. Then another.

Then ten more.

Dozens of tiny, patched-up dolls rising to their feet as they turned… staring at her.

The limited-edition Hero line from the old palace bazaar; Daisy used to save for months to buy them, one at a time, lining them on her sill, when she felt there was still light in her life.

They jerked as if yanked by invisible strings, then whipped across the room.

Wood thudded. Porcelain cracked.

Of course she had to go for the expensive ones.

“Insane how you don’t even bother hiding your hauntings anymore,” Daisy mused. “You used to do it so well… back when I was younger.”

“Their laughter will fade. Their bodies will wither. Why not give them an end they’ll never forget?”

“It’s going to take a lot more than vague promises to tempt me. How ever tempting…”

“Ah… you remind me so much of myself when I was younger.”

“Golly, it’s like we are the same person.”

But Malmitres wasn’t so easily silenced. The pressure behind Daisy’s eyes flared. Images flashed of hands outstretched, faces contorted in terror, a river of blood.

Her hands reached for the wooden knight snapped clean at the waist. She aligned the jagged edges with inch-perfect precision, tracing the fracture line.

There was glue nearby. She didn’t reach for it.

Instead, she pulled a thin needle and thread from her pocket.

The stitches she sewed were delicate. Rebinding wood as if it were flesh.

“I’m going to fix what I can. And I’m going to make you watch. Say, how does it feel being the cuckold in this relationship?”

“Don’t act so taut and in control…” Malmitres hissed.

“Grk!!” All of a sudden, a burning pain overcame her very soul, every muscle of hers clenched, her teeth grit together so hard chips of tooth almost came out.

“You and I are inseparable entities. And one of us is much more used to pain than the other.”

Daisy knew she couldn’t keep defying Malmitres like this. It was unsustainable and the pain was unbearable.

But she must bear it. For the orphanage.

“Yea… well…” She found the courage within herself to smirk. “Then you know hurting me hurts this v-vessel too.”

“You’re all too right, unfortunately.”

Like a string had been cut, the pain vanished. She hacked out her lungs, her fingernails clenched against wood.

“Remember, it will only take one incident, one slip-up, to unravel you. Remember those childhood visions? They used to terrify you.”

Her lips trembled into a smile.

“And… all it took… was one silly, otherworldly boy to willingly tie yourself to the corner chair.”

“Little do you know the power latent in his blood…” Malmitres sounded like she was offended. “And now… it’s mine for the taking.”

“Well, you know what? I’m not going to let us lift a finger if he doesn’t want it.”

She soon went back to sewing the broken toys.

Stitch by stitch, she defied Malmitres.

“Because like it or not,” she said calmly, “my destiny is mine.”

The thread pulled taut. She snipped it off with a flick.

“I have different priorities than you. And one of those priorities—” her lips curled, “—is making sure you have an absolutely miserable time while I’m at it.”

She wasn’t a reaper. She wasn’t a goddess of death.

Finally, she finished her work. The doll was given a second life. And just for an added touch…

She gave the wooden knight a tap on his tiny helm. Its eyes then started to blink.

Her favorite hero: the Slayer of the Demon King, Ashwark—the Hidden Blade. Come to life!

“I’ll protect you, my damsel!” the toy declared, puffing out his splintered chest.

Daisy smirked.

These spiritually-powered constructs should entertain the kids for a while. And if she was going to fix things, she might as well make them fun.

…As well as use them for surveillance. Daisy had a suspicion that the targeted efforts on the orphanage was an inside job.

After all… she could bring little things back to life.

Just not the way Malmitres wanted.