Charade

“Good morning.”

You wake up... which is strange, given that you don’t remember going to sleep. The transition to suddenly being conscious is immediate, your mind becoming instantly aware of your surroundings, yet you don’t feel surprised or jolted. The plush chair you’re sat in is unfamiliar, as is the entire room you’ve been revived into, though you can only see one wall from your resting position. Its decor is overly grand, golden candle lamps flickering their light upon the dark red paintwork and leaving the oak floorboards cast in shadows. You’ve never seen a place like this before. You can only imagine its owner must be obscenely rich.

Peering down, you see your body has been clothed in black, the material taking the form of a robe or a dress. It is embellished daintily in black lace, making the whole look seem eerily witchy. It feels incredibly old-fashioned to be dressed this way, but then it does match the antiquated wall with which you’re faced with. Taking all of these elements together, it makes you feel like you’ve gone back in time.

“How are you feeling? You don’t seem shocked.” It now dawns on you that you’re not alone. The voice isn’t one you recognise and it emanates from a source behind the chair. Its tone is so soft and calming, or at least it would be if it were not for this situation. You try to lean to the side to get a better look at where it’s coming from, yet your body stays rigidly still. There are no ropes keeping your body bound to the chair, no restraints or sinister devices, and yet you simply cannot budge from this position. From the neck down you are as petrified as a statue, and despite your best efforts you cannot twist your head enough to get a good look past the headrest of the chair.

“Who are you? Did you drug me? What do you want with me? Why can’t I move my body?” You declare your questions out. At least you can still use your voice.

The tone of the concealed stranger never changes. “Drug you? Of course not. Drugs are such a reckless form of establishing your authority. I would be a poor excuse of a Mistress if that’s how I subdued my thralls. No no, I simply just control you. At this moment in the play, that’s really all I’m at liberty to say.”

She takes her time with her words, whoever she is. You find that when she’s speaking your lips stay perfectly still and closed, no matter how much you might want to open them. It’s like your own body is betraying you and won’t allow you to interrupt her, forcing you to wait for her to finish. “So where am I and why are you hiding?”

“Why, you’re in my home. Isn’t it splendid? And oh, I couldn’t reveal myself just yet. That would cut the fun short. This is a special session that I like to run every so often, like a playdate sort of thing. It’s nice to remind myself of exactly how powerful I truly am, and I’ve found that the most effective way to achieve that is to revel in the despair of one who’s rendered so utterly powerless.”

You shudder as much as your body will allow (which isn’t much). If you weren’t spooked by this situation before then you are now. She speaks so cryptically, her voice so comfortable in her position of power, whilst all you can see is the candlelight dancing upon this one garish wall. You hear the ruffling of a dress, followed by the clack of heels upon the wooden floor. Whoever she is, she‘s drawing closer.

“So tell me, how can you explain your immobility? Isn’t it strange how you can move your head just completely fine, like we deliberately intended for that to be the case? And the way you can’t speak whilst I’m speaking, such a specific effect, that certainly couldn’t be caused by drugs, could it? So what could the explanation be?”

Your breathing quickens. She’s right, this all feels so unconventional that the only explanations seem so far-fetched and bizarre. You close your eyes. You’d be gripping the arm rests harder if you had any agency in your hands to do so. “This… maybe the body being stuck could be explained by muscle dampeners applied to them or something, but the speaking thing… that’s like a behaviour I can’t stop… like you’re in my mind.”

“Exactly! You always were a smart thrall, even when you were down in your most mindless of states.” She’s right behind the chair now. You can see the tips of her fingers gripping over the edge, her nails coated in blood-red polish. You can sense her body there, looming over you. Her eyes staring down into the back of your head. 

“Mindless thrall!? What are you talking about? Please, I don’t understand…”

“Oh, but I think you know exactly what I’m implying, you just don’t believe it yet. It’s incredible how an unstreamlined mind can tend to behave. Like now, this scene will usually go one of two ways. Either you will fall into total denial, telling me that this is impossible, that there’s no way that I could be controlling you with my unearthly, hypnotic powers… despite the current demonstrations we’re both experiencing of me doing exactly that.”

“Or…” You see her grip tighten on the headrest, those sharp nails digging into the fabric. “You will fall into a deep despair at the realisation of what this means. You will come to the correct conclusion that your mind can be played with so easily like this, that I might tailor your behaviour to my exact whims. This is my favourite reaction, to see that sensation of total powerlessness sink into you. To watch you spiral down and down and down into it. Maybe you’ll even drop fully at sheer understanding of my dominance and submit in a mere instant to me. We can only find out, can’t we?”

You sit stoically in silence, the presence of those ominous fingers, delightfully tearing into the chair, sending chills through you. You take a while just contemplating her words, your thoughts frantically running amok in all directions. When you next speak, your voice comes out as barely above a whisper. “So you can control when I speak and when my body moves… is there anything else you’ve done to me?”

“Mmmn, still trying to maintain the conversation and play the smart one? My thrall, I didn’t take you to be the chatty type. Right now, those two mechanisms of control are the only restrictions in place. That’s all I need in order to conduct this conversation. But trust me, we will be going so much further. Do keep asking questions though. Put off the inevitable. What other bits of curiosity lay dormant in your mind? Show me.”

You can feel her leaning in so close now, the presence of her lips just inches away from your ear. And yet, you cannot hear her breathing. When she stops speaking she lets out no further noise, the silence only broken by your own nervous panting. You dare not look around to try and see her. A pit in your stomach informs you that would be a bad idea.

“...How are you controlling me? If it’s not drugs, then what…?”

She giggles in delight, her fingers clawing down the chair to your shoulders, gently caressing them. There is nothing you can do to stop her, the feeling of her massaging you both terrifying and, annoyingly, relaxing. “Now wouldn’t that be telling? How about instead I give you a clue. Let’s just say that looking into my eyes will bring this little charade to a close - at which point, you’ll return to being my obedient property. Your conscious mind will tuck itself away nicely so that it doesn’t interfere with your absolute loyalty to me.”

You scrunch your eyes up tight, the massaging intensifying the more her words toy with you. “There’s no way you have that much power over me… there’s just no way…”

“Aha, denial! There it is, a bit later than I expected but still arriving in full force! Well, my darling, this does mark the end of this segment of our game. We’ll resume this soon, I promise. I think taking a break will help you to understand the nature of your eternal predicament.” Her hands lift off from you and she begins to stride around the chair, into the space between you and the wall. Her figure is framed by a corseted, black ball gown, the skirt trailing behind her upon the floor. It is also adorned with the same lace patterns as the gown you’ve been clothed in. The dresses’ dark fabrics contrast against a body which is so unbelievably pale, like the sun has never once touched her skin. Her hair is a shade as pitch-black as the dress and long enough that it blends in with her ensemble seamlessly.

She turns to face you and you barely have time to perceive her. Such a pretty face… with such…

pretty… glowing…

overwhelming...

...red eyes…

…

…

…

You awaken again, snapping back to consciousness. This time it’s a different room, slightly darker than the last but in no doubt just as grand. You take it all in immediately, this one is more decorated, its furnishings more intricate than just a wall with some candle lamps. There are portraits, statues, a fireplace with some logs fizzling into ash. Its wooden arch is grand and intricately decorated and, strangely, two mannequins are positioned either side of it. You test your body, no movement, same as before. So, the same scenario then - just with a different setting.

And then you notice that the mannequins are breathing. You flinch at the realisation, their bodies are so still that if you hadn’t been staring right at them you may have missed that they were alive altogether. Their expressions show complete indifference, not a single emotion disturbing them. They’re identically dressed too, in the same black cloth that adorns your body, as though you were all part of a set.

“Pretty, aren’t they? Don’t bother trying to speak to them. I’ll save you the embarrassment, they only listen to me. Just like how you do, my thrall.”

She’s speaking from behind you again, that voice still silky smooth as before. You immediately close your eyes to protect yourself from her. But even in the comfort of the darkness you can still picture those glowing, red orbs… and how quickly everything else had seemed to disappear the moment you gazed up at them. “They’re dressed the same as me…”

“Indeed they are. Or, perhaps more accurately, you’re dressed the same as them. It's a cute uniform, don’t you think? All my servants wear it. It’s just one of the ways I like to brand my property.”

Her teasing words are really getting under your skin. “Do they… do they have names?”

“Oho, what a cute suggestion, I could give you all cutesy pet names or something similar. But no, giving you all names would require me to remember them, and that is far more effort than what I’m willing to extend for mere thralls. To me, you really are just dolls to be played with. Servants that will follow my every command. Thralls to carry out my will, to exist at my convenience. Why, do you believe yourself to have a name?”

“Of course I have a name. It’s…” You gag as your own name fails to materialise. It’s not just that the word won’t leave your lips, it’s that it doesn’t even seem to exist anymore. You find that where your name was in your mind, now just a blank space remains. The more you try and search for it, the emptier your mind becomes, as if your own brain has been programmed to counteract you. Eventually you have to shake the fogginess from your head and try and stop thinking about it, lest all your thoughts should disappear.

“Oh dear, it took you this long to realise? Perhaps I captured your attention too strongly in our last encounter, all those weeks ago. I didn’t give you a chance to think for yourself, to realise all the bits and pieces that are missing. The memories that I’ve taken from you. Do you have a past, an identity? Of course not. How would any of that benefit you in your existence as my thrall?”

You frantically start to search your mind again. Every time you try to recall a memory, to visualise some part of your past, you just encounter more blocks and empty space. The sensation sends you mentally reeling into a spinning dizziness, whilst your body stays perfectly still in the chair. 

“So then, let me do you a favour! Let me inform you about your past as my thrall, as that’s the only past that really matters here. You lead a life as an adorable doll and a loyal servant. Just like the others, I gave you your uniform and in return I took your free will. A mindless, vacant expression suits you so well, I should add. But then, I could say the same for everyone else. And oh how you perform your duties so perfectly, like all my thralls do. Not just as a servant, maintaining my estate and catering to my needs, oh no, but also as such a faithful enforcer. Do you want to know how many other thralls you’ve helped me subdue? With such an indifferent persona, you’ve pinned them down against their struggles so that I could look into their eyes and...”

You hear the snap of her fingers, accompanied by her victorious laughter. You can feel sweat running down your immobile body.

“That can’t be true…”

“Again, the denial. Given everything I’ve shown you so far, it’s near impossible for anyone not to believe that this is the truth. But to accept that truth would be for your adorable mind to recognise that you are mine. That you don’t even belong to yourself anymore. But wouldn’t that just be devastating? How inferior you would feel if you accepted that knowledge. Go on, let it really sink in.”

You open your eyes and try to remain calm. They’re still standing there before you, their bodies still dedicatedly unflinching. Given the glassiness of their eyes and the motionlessness of their posture, anyone could have mistaken them for lifesize, porcelain dolls. Their behaviour dehumanizes them completely, rendering them as just more decorations in this lavish estate.

How could you possibly be like that? What would you look like with that expression? Standing to attention, so devoid of thought or emotion. For your conscious mind to simply vanish, to be that mindless. Unaware of your surroundings, not reacting or responding to anything unless your Mistress commands you to. How can you even try to imagine your mind being that empty? The thought of it begins to overwhelm you, you’d felt the briefest glimpse of it earlier when you’d tried to recall your name. The sheer dominance of that suffocating emptiness taking over your mind. Imagine that but total and permanent. Suddenly something that seemed like pure fantasy is beginning to feel very, very real. And the way she flirts with it like it’s nothing. Like you really are just an object. Her object. The way she can reduce you to just an item in a collection and act like this is truly your place. That it is natural to have no will of your own but to be a mindless servant.  The totality of that power… it begins to make you feel incredibly small. 

You notice that despite the control she has over your body, you’ve begun to tremble. You look down at your hands and realise you can finally move them. You raise them up to touch your face, gasping at this sudden moment of relief. It doesn’t last long though as she speaks again, now with a tone of smugness.

“My my, then you’ve accepted it. Your ability to move was always set to return to you the moment you finally gave in. Tell me, what does it feel like to know that my control is this complete? Are you reveling in it? Is there a beautiful joy in knowing that you don’t have to worry anymore, you can simply drop and be my possession once again? Or are you terrified? Do you dread the inevitable of returning to your rightful place? Actually, don’t speak. I don’t need to know.”

You whimper. It’s about all you can manage.

“Regardless of the result, I’ve achieved satisfaction. To have you here, my adorable thrall, trembling in your powerlessness. Succumbing to the sensations of what total submission feels like. That means it’s game over. My thralls, bring the defeated to me. It’s time for you to go deep again.”

The mannequins suddenly come to life. They step forward in sync, taking their positions either side of your chair. Their grasp is firm as they take your arms in their hands and pull you up to your feet. Do you resist or do you just allow them to guide you? It really doesn’t matter. They out-strengthen you and they’re not about to disobey. You can imagine yourself as them, out-strengthening all those other souls and forcing them to submit to your Mistress. Even up close, you do not witness so much as a flicker of hesitation in their expressions. They are so deep under her power, that all they can do is follow her every order. They force you around the chair, walking in perfect step with one another, turning you around to face her - your Mistress.

You see her reclining on her throne. So relaxed in her power. The same gothic motifs adorning her ghostly body. She looks at you with such a welcoming, calm expression, and you look back into those perfect, overpowering… glowing...

...red eyes…

…

…

...

"Thrall?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Do you remember our little game?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"It was so many months ago now, but you were such a delightful subject. Some just fall immediately and they're no fun at all. If only every possession could be as fun to break as you."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Mmmn, as much as I love to wallow in nostalgia, it's about time we got to work. There was an intruder last night, someone who thought it'd be a clever idea to break into my estate. Go and fetch this troublemaker from the dungeon and bring them to me. I'd like to see what makes them squirm."

"Yes, Mistress."