THE PUPPET PUPPETEER . [ᴛɪɢ - ɢ. ᴅ. ʜᴀᴡᴛʜᴏʀɴᴇ]

{𝚡𝚟𝚒}

-ˏ ༻❁༺ ˎ-
'ˢᵒᶠⁱᵃ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ'
-ˋ ༻❁༺ ˊ-

𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙻𝚈

I try not to think.
It interferes with being nuts.

With said wise words in my head, I walked towards the dining hall. 

My eyes droopy and my legs in a world of their own. Somehow, by some great miracle, I managed to get Oren and Avery off my tail for the whole day up till dinner. I didn't want to explain to them what happened because, in completely frank honesty, I didn't even know what happened.

I didn't want to know.

So, stepping into the artistic marvel of dining, I forced myself to focus on the rich architecture instead. Spiraling chandeliers, high columns reaching up to them, and enormously grand windows, letting in the evening lights and view. The table itself was long and elegant. Each chair having intricate designs and luxuriously polished wood.

That night, in honor of Thea's visit, Mrs. Laughlin made a melt-in-your-mouth roast beef, orgasmic—Ave's words, not mine—garlic mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus, broccoli florets, and three different kinds of crème brûlée.

Sitting down beside my family, I kept no clue of pettiness on my face. 
Clearly, Mrs. Laughlin had favorites.

The massive table was set for eleven. I cataloged the participants in this little family dinner: four Hawthorne brothers. Skye. Zara and Constantine. Thea. Libby. Nan. Avery and me.

"Thea," Zara said, her voice almost too pleasant, "how is field hockey?"
"We're undefeated this season." Thea turned toward Ave. "Have you decided which sport you'll be playing, Avery?"

I let the idle chatter play around me. My mind drifting away in its sea of thoughts.

"They think she's back," The man gritted out.
His eyes almost as sharp as his aim had been.
"They think you're her." He let out a dry scoff, 
"Same face doesn't make same person."

"Oh?" I asked. My voice once more foreign.
"Tell me about this... 'her'."

The man shrugged, looking up and taking in the ceiling as if
gazing at a star-lit sky, "You don't deserve the grace of her name."

"And nor do you deserve freedom," My voice was controlled. Full of it.
"Not after trying to assassinate me. Definitely not from me." I held his

gaze. Toying him. Hooking his attention on me and me alone,
"But, guess the blue moon rises."

The man faltered, his eyes betrayed his desire. "They won't save me," 
he whispered, "I'm but a soldier. A clown of the grand circus. I know my place."

"Do you? Do you really think you're that expendable? A name," I said,

"A name and intel is all you pay for the reward of being a free man."

I slid a card toward the male and stopped it just as he went to touch.
"This is your way out," The man's eyes were stuck on the card. He obviously
tried to, but the conflict etched his feature, "Answer my questions. And it's yours."

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. A moment turned to two.
The air was tense and his breathing was the only sound in the room.

And finally, he spoke.

"What do you need to know?"

"Right." Thea dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "No feminism at the dinner table."