I feel the strings pull on my elbows, jerking them up. My right leg feel the same, horrible sensation as another string pulls on it. "Softer..." I whisper. The tugs become gentle. I can feel my body sway gently. My eyes wander as my head is turned. I desperately search for him. "Am I beautiful?" I whisper softly.

"Yes." His rich voice echoes off the walls. Somehow I am happy and relieved. The movements stop and I hang in the air, limp and empty. Beads of sweat line my forehead. My limbs are sore and tired. My chest heaves as I pant loudly. He is holding the wooden rod in his hand, one string up. The one controlling my head. I am able to look in his eyes. They are dark. Dark and sad. His soft, raven-black hair glistens, partially covering his deep, empty eyes. His skin is pale and white as snow. He stares at me. "Dance again, Marionette." His movements are quick as he urges my body. I feel cold. My soul is gone forever. "I am tired." he whispers. I panic, my heart thumps wildly. He drops the wooden rod on a table beside him. I fall to the ground, my knees banging against hard floor, my hands whip out on reflex to soften it, but it doesn't help any. I am still afraid of the fall, even though I always know when he will let go. I am free, yet I still feel trapped. I am trapped. I am trapped in his gloomy, desolate world. "Go."

I feebly stand up, stumbling as I run towards the door. My hands are on the door knob, yet I turn back. He is looking towards the window. The moon is full. "Goodbye, my Puppeteer." I timidly whisper. It is all I can do. He looks over at me, a small frown on his lips. He waves me away. I do not need to walk long, although my legs ache and burn with every step and every bend of my knees. There is another door, only a couple feet away from the Puppeteer's door. I press it open.

Dolls litter the shelves above me. The ground is cold. I tread my bare feet across them, falling into a small lump in the corner. There are whispers. The dolls are talking among themselves. I push my back in the small corner more, keeping my legs close and burying my face in my knees. My hands clutch my white dress. The dolls whisper louder, fiercer. I drown them out by clasping my hands over my ears.

"The moon is bright, the wind is quiet

The tree leaves hang over the window,

My little baby, go to sleep quickly,

Sleep, dreaming sweet dreams.

The moon is bright, the wind is quiet,

The cradle moving softly,

My little one, close your eyes,

Sleep, sleep, dreaming sweet dreams."

I sing quietly to myself. My words choke in my throat as I see a lady in my eyes. She has long, chestnut hair and bright grass-green eyes. I can feel her warm cheek against my hair, her arms caressing me as she sings softly. I let out a strangled sob, crying myself softly to sleep.

........

The door swings open and light pours into the dark closet, blinding me for a second. There is only a black shadow in front of the doorway. I am huddled into a ball on its side. "Hurry, girl." It takes me a second to unroll myself and stand up. The shadow reaches out, grabbing my arm roughly. I panic and pull away, but it is stronger than me. We step outside and I whimper pitifully. "Be quiet." The person barks at me. It is a woman. She is tall and masculine with dirty blonde hair tied up in a tight bun. Little wisps hang from the back of her neck and the sides of her head naturally. She looks down at me and I can see that she has dusty blue eyes. They glare at me and her thin lips form a smirk, sneering at me. "Look at you, you little thing." She pulls hard on my arm and I suppress a yelp of pain.

She drags me to the dining room. The walls are bare and bricks. There is a long table, seating for ten people. At the end of the table is my Puppeteer. He looks up and I recoil from his gaze. "Marionette, come here." I take a step back, but the woman grips my arm tighter and pushes me towards him. He beckons with an arm. I silently tread across the floor, listening intently to my quick breathing and the swishing sound of my dress rubbing against my legs. "Let us play today," he says once I reach him. My eyes widen and I shrink away from him. He pulls out the rod from under the table. I glance at the girl by the door. She is confused and can't comprehend what he is trying to do. The rod is too short to hit with and I am only a servant not fit to even converse with the Master. The Puppeteer waves at the girl, shooing her away. She gives a low bow and runs quickly out of the room. "Come here, Marionette." I shake my head.

"It is too early." I whisper to him. He lashes out, grabbing my arm. I let out a scream, pulling fiercely away. He grabs my other arm, banging the rod against my wrist. I bite my lip until it bleeds. The grip is firm and painful. He glares at me with ferocious intensity.

"Change," he hisses. I nod reluctantly. He lets go and sits back down. I lay down on the ground, waiting. There is a tap, then fire shoots up my arms and legs. I grit my teeth, my heart hammers in my bosom. My legs and arms spread out by themselves. I lay on the verge of unconsciousness. "It has only begun, Marionette." I let out a pain laddened groan as something seems to pierce my hands and feet. My knees and elbows follow, then, my head, shoulders and waist. With every pierce, there is a feeling of thread slipping through the puncture wound. The last part is the most painful though. I let out a cry as it penetrates my heart. I breathe in deeply, gasping for breath. Something pounds my chest and I jolt upwards. There is no ground beneath me, it is only air. I can see the Puppeteer gazing up at me. He reaches out for me and I can feel myself glide over to him. I have no control.

He trails a hand over my face, then traces my lips. They unwillingly open and he gently slips the tip of his finger inside. I can feel my tongue reach out and lift his finger from under, pulling it in more. I close my teeth on top of it carefully, making the finger slide away and having it rest at the opening of my lips. I feel disgusted at myself. He grabs my arm softly, pulling me into his lap. I sit sideways on it, leaning my head against his chest. I want to pull away, but I can't. When I try, I can feel the sharp tug of the string. It stings my head. He won't let me go. His one hand runs across my arm, across the side of my bottom, and down the side of my leg. I can feel it tuck itself under my thigh. My dress is thin. But, something feels different. I am not repulsed or angered. My heart thumps loudly at this realization. I nudge my head against his shoulder, clutching his shirt tightly. He pulls the bottom of the dress up, trailing his finger on the inside of my thigh. It tickles and burns hotly at the same time. I have stopped breathing. He kisses my forehead, my eyes, my nose, and my cheeks. Down, down. I gasp as I feel his lips rest gently on my lips. Playing. We are only playing, are we?