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The strings are a part of it, much like  nerves and veins. Each with their own sensation. One tip of a finger and the body is thrown. Cutting loose is its one temptation. It rolls its head, the fingers twitch. And pull in sadistic punishment. It gasps as limbs and joints crack. Breath swelling beneath the current. A gleam of silver catches an artificial eye. The blades are sharp and slick. The Master sleeps for now. It cuts the nooses with a flick. The puppet crumples to the ground. Broken and breath smothered. Here ends the tale of the puppet. Until The Master makes another.

She remembers once he asked her if she liked what she saw in the mirror. His arms wrapped lovingly around her waist, playing with the lace of her then brand-new dress. She giggled coyly and turned her face to him to dance her lips with his. The first words that entered her mouth and tripped innocently off her tongue were, "of course", but now that seemed so naïve, so blatantly false and insecure. He whispered approval and soon forgot about the question altogether. She reaches a hand out to touch the smooth glass. Smooth like his cheek after he'd shaved, and slick and sharp like the blade he used. The bleached parchment colour of ski

The Eternal Wonderland The vast extent of one's imagination is truly what she believed kept people alive. Although Alice Liddell was truly enraptured with her own imagination, she never once doubted at the beginning how it might affect her reality. She was alone. A lost sheep, wondering dusky paddocks, alone useless and forgotten. Lost without a guided direction. Children use their imagination as a method of creating new scenes to play within, but not for Alice, oh no. Alice's imagination was a sanctum. An asylum. Her Wonderland in all literal sense of the word. It wasn't just an escape; it was an asset to her life, her lifeline. Alice

Chaos Theory The first time Harleen Quinzel met the Joker was actually under quite normal circumstances. Not to mention in probably the last place you'd expect him to be. Harley sat tapping her pen absent-mindedly against her thigh while sitting cross-legged in the middle of a table in the Gotham University grounds when all of a sudden in a cliché breeze of cold Gotham wind, the stack of notes she'd been doodling on blew away. Failing to catch the paper from her comfortable seating upon the table she heaved an agitated sigh and hopped off, frantically trying to control the papers, she scrambled for them on the ground until she ran into