Its orange eyes peered from beneath the brim of its hat, staring at them. “Indeed,” it said, a smile behind that long-beaked mask. “She will live, then.” A spindly hand emerged from its tarp-like robe, parting the bones hanging from strands. It held its palm open, proffering something immaterial. 

“And she will never come to harm again.”

“Yes, yes. I know.”

Lantern oil dripped onto the creature’s cheek.

Hmmmmmm.

The lantern dripped again.

“Hmmmm.” Round white eyes stared at the ceiling. A figure sat sprawled over a chair, limbs hanging loose like deflated balloons, trailing across the floor. Long, stretched out. Pained with a throbbing ache. It groaned. Hummed. Its head rolled against the back of the chair, drooping low, neck stretched long and rubbery like its limbs. 

Long hair grazed the floor—once pristine white stained with dust and charcoal.

“Hrnn.” How long? It tried to say, to no one in particular. The sound escaped from a mouth, though human it was not–it was more akin to a slice across clay, long, narrow, and shallow, blocked only a few millimeters in by yet more clay, as if the creature was molded by a demon. 

Phantom smells and tastes tormented the creature, smells of rosemary and lantern oil, tastes of mint and pepper. But they were not present, not truly. There was only the smell of dust, and taste of stagnant air.

Lamplight flickered over leathery skin, stretched over glowing lenses, stretched over the nose. Rubbery. Distorted. Wrong. Chains were under its skin, from their eyes to ears, cast in skin as if in resin. 

Clothes clung to its form, both too big and too small, baggy baggy, yet short on the limbs--aged academic attire, coated with dust. A brown and grey tweed overcoat, a blue undershirt. 

Strange colours bled into its vision. Power spilled from its eyes like tears, flowing upward into the air, dissolving like ether into the astral sea. It groaned. Reality felt slippery. It could see the rafters above it, but to comprehend was a different matter altogether. What was it that it saw? Something… immaterial. It saw the air, the magic coursing through the thin firmament, away from it, seeping out of its pores. Holes punctured its knowledge, its memory. It felt like it should have known things, at least some things. There was an inkling of that, of that it was something. Maybe.

A young girl. Orange eyes. A teddy bear in bandaged hands. Faint things the creature could hold on to. Memories, fleeing like firelies, and it was ill-equipped to catch them. 

But she would live.

“Dhhhhh…” Its hand twitched. Malformed fingers swept the floor like so many tendrils. They brushed something--long, wooden. Familiar. Its fingers twitched over it, caught just enough to pull the thing to the chair.

Beneath the lenses which made its eyes, something fluttered, strained. It could see it—a cane, on the ground, coated in dust. 

It blinked, slowly. It gathered its strength and reeled in its limbs. Millimeter by millimeter, grain of dust by grain of dust. It gripped the cane. Something that felt… right. Familiar. Its hand gravitated to about three-quarters of the way up the wooden thing, and slowly, with the clattering sound of dragging wood, made stand straight beside them. 

Vision tilted as its neck shortened until its head snapped into place, neck still too long, but functional. The world seemed… upright, at least. Two-legged.

It rose, blinking slowly, groaning, leaning on the cane. Power spilled from beneath its fingertips, flowing from under its fingernails like blood. 

De… Delilah. 

Dirt-smeared silver flowed throughout the room like so much quicksilver, trailing through the mud. A fading lantern swayed gently, moved by wind leaking through shattered windows.

The creature sighed, a long, gusting sigh--a gale rolled out from its form, pushing away dust. This room felt… familiar. Like home.

It turned its eyes to a desk. Amid aged parchment, weathered illegible by solar wind and the dust of space, a tall hat with a wide brim stood, untouched by the elements, almost as if taunting it. And it seemed… familiar, somehow. Like it had seen the hat somewhere before. The creature felt a pull. It stretched its arm over, unsure if moving its legs would do any good. 

It set its spindly fingers over the tall top section and raised the hat. When it met its scalp, it felt right. Like it was made for its rubbery skull. A… gift. From something… perhaps someone. The brim cast a darkness over its face, swallowing the light, leaving only the two glowing white circles of its eyes visible. 

Then, it was time to move. One foot. Then the other, and its back went with it, flopping over like a noodle. Then the other. Then the other, the force of each step casting its limp form, until at last some semblance of equilibrium was attained. It hummed a tune which may or may not have been familiar, something about butterflies and ships. 

At the far end of the room was a door. And beyond the door, it would be free, it thought.

One step, then another, and another. With each step, something fell around them, something that was not there before. A pen, which clattered to the ground. A blanket, which draped over a fallen chair. A glass, which shattered against the floor. A teddy bear, which met the ground with a gentle sound, glossy eyes staring upwards. Magic thrummed and things were conjured, with no rhyme or reason–at least, not one the creature knew. They appeared in the air without ceremony, and fell in just the same way. 

After a while, it was there, on an old terrace with silver-lined stairs. Up those stairs, it would be free. It wanted up those stairs… and then there was a tug. A door was created in front of them. Thick and wooden, a door to nothing. It felt as if passing through was the right decision. It grabbed the knob, and expected freedom.

It passed through a deep darkness, and then a shimmering light. Though only brief, it was all consuming, yet familiar. Inside that door, though, something revolted against it. Its brain buzzed, skin tickled.

Then, in the same motion, the door opened again, atop the stairs. 

Up those stairs… it found a gift, in a grass-lined plaza, bordered with lanterns. Something bundled in deep-blue fabric. It stumbled from the door, which vanished with a faint fizzle as quickly as it had appeared. 

It approached, clodding along with limp steps, its limbs still rubbery. After a few moments, it dropped to its knees, the weight of its body too much.

It reached and picked up the bundle. A dark blue fabric, loosely wrapped around something long, something sharp. The cloth slid away, revealing a long silver dagger, with a fuller of gold and a handle of wrapped leather, bolted with black nails. 

The fabric caught its eye–dark blue, embroidered with a faint gold along the edges. Weathered clasps. A cloak. Inside the cloak was a name, embroidered in a burlap nameplate.

“Dee.” It read, out loud. “Dee.” The name fit better than their skin. 

They slid the dagger in a leather sheath sewn into the inside of the cloak, a movement which came to them with surprising ease, as if practiced. The cloak was… large. Billowing. Right. It had lingering smells, aromas the creature could barely detect; memories, blood, pomegranate and carrion. It knew them, and they knew it, like reuniting with an old friend.

Between the high collar of the cloak and the shadow casted by the hat, little of Dee’s form remained visible, save for the glow of their eyes, trapped behind glasses fused to their skin. 

They rose, a deeply bizarre movement in all, and something fell out of a pocket: a small letter. In heavy-handed writing, with thick black ink, the following three words were inscribed on the parchment: