ã€ŠAMOR FATI: A Pinocchio retellingã€‹


 Prologue: The Five Exiles

    A celestial song''s echo pervaded every phenomena and noumena in existence, manifesting in a myriad of different forms. Only some could not just hear, but listen to the one primordial melody which blossomed into a symphony that animated the entire cosmos. To prevent the End of Days to descend upon mankind, five extraordinary individuals from across the world received the message of the melodies, guiding each of them to the place where existence first bursted into being.

    The five of them emerged from the waking world into the one ensnared in its own divine dream. It was as if their ghosts emerged out of deep waters, finally receiving everything so clearly without their mind''s splintering into a million pieces.

    They looked at one another, noticing how each came from another part of the world. Despite never having seen a person with such features, they all felt like they were staring into a mirror, unified as kindred spirits. No exchange of words were needed, for the music enveloping them said it all.

    Looking around, they could only receive what was given to their senses by seeing a fractal arrangement of clockwork instruments breathing around them, turning and clicking in a way that made the music feel infinitely long paired with the serenity of eternal silence. In group, they explored the realm, walking towards endless beginnings in an eternal end.

    All of life''s great elements blossomed forth in the realm beyond realms like a celestial garden, giving birth to everything imaginable and unimaginable. In this realm, they felt at one with all; they conquered the cosmos in their heart of hearts, dancing with death to the music of life. They gradually grew more intoxicated by the fragrance of infinity the more they wandered, losing their sense of motion until they became pure being.

    Their individual, unique lives flashes before their eyes, together with the unique lives of every other human being on earth. In the coalescence of consciousness, it was revealed to them that, despite the myriad of differences, there was an unbroken unity in the form of an immaculate harmony. The harmonious chaos devoured their psyches, endowing them the grace of stars.

    The complex machinations within them producing the music which molded them melted into the myriad of machinations of the realm. The unique melody of their minds guided them all to one particular location which unfolded before them as if it was always present within them. Mariangiola, one of the five exiles, laid her hands upon the key winder, twisting it while simultaneously twisting her very being into a shapeless shape, a pure form. When she finished the motion, she stepped back, seeing how the material of her hands warped and faded into the song coming from the celestial music box she just awakened. But it was always awake, always asleep. It was only then that they opened their eyes to its existence.

    A figure taking the grotesque shape of the perfect human leapt out of the melody of the beautifully shaped music box, carving their fingers into the ribcage of one of them and ripping them in two. Akegarasu, who was once an herbalist from the thalassic lands, became transfigured into a twin god which governed the duality and contradictions ripe within life. The turquoise eyes of the being landed on Amilcare, lunging towards them like lightning. Using the wisdom he received from the fay of old, he summoned a pair of glasslike wings from his back to gather the speed to evade the creature''s attacks. But the wings shattered like stars as it ripped them from his back, summoning a wave of blood that carried the history of life within it. He, too, became transfigured into the form of a colossal avian whose birdsong echoed the primordial melody, but with a layer of intense anguish and sorrow, reflecting the melancholy and madness staining the human condition. Amilcare''s feathers radiated like embers, coloring beauty, awe and dread into every facet of the universe.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Mariangiola shrieked in horror, piercing only her own soul in doing so. She fought off the being''s assault, but inevitably lost to it, taking the opportunity to gaze deeply into its eyes. In the universe of turquoise, she became possessed by the most raw element of existence and non-existence, making her the apostle of madness. With a primordial rage, she howled, disintegrating into nothingness to become one with everything as a goddess of madness, absurdity and the indomitable drive towards pure annihilation. Her left eye became stained with a vibrant turquoise as her left remained a heavenly blue.

    A young girl by the name of Primula became devoured by a pure awe devoid of prejudice or prejudgements. She embodied the raw feeling without it getting swallowed by a fraction of life''s deceptions. The shadowy figure was aback by this embodiment of the absolute, getting down on one knee and giving her a kiss on the forehead to give her the grace she deserved. The girl became a goddess of innocence, awe, purity and the pinnacle of primordial music. Noticing the shadow of the abyss that stalked not only her ghost, but the ghosts of mankind, the turquoise being paired her with an eternal friend; the absolute darkness from which she could see a plethora of things within. But in the end, the darkness remains, smiling.

    The last of the remaining exiles, Eustorgio, crumbled to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. With his forehead pressed upon the endless sea of clockwork, he begged the creature to show him mercy, voice broken with tears. He prayed to every god he heard of and every notion he could think of in the name of self-preservation. Repulsed by the scent of his myriad of empty prayers borne out of despair and selfishness, the turquoise humanoid ripped his tongue out. Still, the din of his despair echoed out of his mouth in a cry and his bloody pleas dripped through the cogs and pinions of the cosmos. The last exile became the god of meaninglessness.

    The turquoise-eyed creature looked around itself and saw the ripest souls rot beneath its being. Its balmy laughter harmonized seamlessly with the music of the cosmos, unleashing its own existence and non-existence beautifully. At the end of its laughing fit, the soul of the five exiles crystalized before it in the form of five coins. Cupped in its hand, it whispered into it an undying promise fueled by the breath of life.

    "One day, there will come a being that will be the death of death and grant me salvation. They will walk a fivefold path rich with totality, gradually becoming until they blossom wholly. I, in my endless end, will wait for that glorious day."

 Chapter 1: Heavens Haruspex

    Only those known as magi were able to create music boxes capable of changing the laws of existence. While it was not uncommon to animate clockwork dolls for the sake of performing manual labor, to breathe life into a doll where it can not only possess but animate its own imagination was exceedingly rare. Only a few of those dolls remained alive, roaming the earth as prisoners and exiles to the world.

    Gepetto, a simple craftsman whose musical manipulation governed humble things, became touched by the great divine. Graced by a sublime dream where the earth blossomed open like a flower, shattering awake as all the stars bled across the abyssal heart of the universe. As a kaleidoscope of colors assaulted his senses, he could clearly notice the distinct presence of turquoise bleed through every crack of his psyche. Upon violently waking up with a cold sweat, his life would never be the same. Ever since that sublime dream, his entire existence became dedicated to fulfilling one simple task, the only true task ever known to anyone. His life flashed before his eyes continuously like a dream, even seeing visions of events that never truly happened. Visions only borne from regret¡¯s cruelty and life¡¯s many wounds which his heart bore.

    As Gepetto became possessed by a star¡¯s dark dream, Master Antonio, a craftsman of great renown in the region, noticed the absence of his dear friend. While he understood that Gepetto had the habit of obsessively working on a project until it was finished to his liking, he couldn¡¯t help but let his worry grow as the days went by. After not seeing him for over a week, he exited the guild building with a special gift in hand he made as he waited for his friend to return. He squeezed it before placing it in his pocket and marching down the streets towards the outskirts of the city. Deep down, he held a great respect for the craftsman despite not having such a high rank as himself. His sheer dedication to his craft aroused great admiration from Antonio, who could only see it as a beautiful manifestation of the earth¡¯s will. As soon as he stood in front of the door, however, he noticed a terrible melody emanating from the interior of Gepetto¡¯s house, icy rivers replacing his blood.

    What greeted him was not the slightly tired image of his friend who had just enough fire in his eyes to conquer the world¡¯s struggles, but a withered husk with an ashen complexion. A spear molded from all Antonio¡¯s wonderful memories of him pierced his heart, unraveling it into a mess of pain. His eyes crawled down his frame, going from his disheveled hair peppered with wood chips to his sweaty, unwashed clothes to eventually his hands, raw and bloody with labor beyond human limits. Upon noticing the red on his hands, Antonio rushed towards him to take a closer look. Like an animal, Gepetto stepped back to save his life, causing him to stumble into his house. With spectral swiftness, the withered man moved behind Antonio and shut the door, not wanting so much sunlight to enter his house and eyes.

    At that point, his workshop was just an emanation of his body and mind, growing outside of the interior into the exterior. All the things he ever made were mere reifications, and the process of reification was his life¡¯s course.

    Ever since they were just young students working in different guilds, they would always try to best one another, burrowing into their hearts to give it a beautiful shape outside of it, almost as representations of their nature. But as the days went by and their creations became richer in form, the shape of their rivalry enriched, growing into something whose roots penetrated their hearts and drew them closer to each other. Seeing the present state of Gepetto made every root binding them cause fissures to form in his heart, cracking it with every root.

    Hearing the door slam shut made the cacophony of ticking clockwork hanging on the walls burst awake into Antonio¡¯s ears, drowning his thoughts in a sea of metallic crackling. Overwhelmed by the jagged melody bursting from all sides of not only the house, but from inside of him, Antonio did his best to even stand upright. One glance at Gepetto made his gaze stay there, glued to his serene countenance taking in the horrific crackling sound of the clocks, perfectly in his element.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you hear it?¡±

    The disjointed otherness of Gepetto¡¯s voice profoundly shook Antonio before he was able to digest the message. It was as if every other voice in the world but his own came out of his mouth, shattering his isolated uniqueness for abject strangeness. After analyzing his sickening serenity, Antonio tried to mimic him by closing his eyes and submerging his mind in the untamed chaos of the ticking. The only thing he arrived at was a feeling of intense sadness and distress upon seeing Gepetto¡¯s countenance in complete serenity with a history of harrowing anguish etched in his features. No quality of his body even remotely hinted at a time when it had a healthy, clean life, devoid of struggle. Whatever chained Gepetto¡¯s heart to the abyss made it so that he had to carry the universe in his psyche, shattering his mind in the process. In a desperate attempt to get through to him, Antonio got the ornate music box out of his pocket and wound it up, placing it next to a doll which sat on his desk with turquoise irises. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    The cacophonous sound of the clockwork around them now seemed like gentle rainfall as the melody of their memories played, laden with the warmth of their youth. Using talent to the fullest, he crafted a music sheet with infinite length which housed the wonders of their past, each note infused with a fond memory¡¯s sweetness. Gepetto cupped his ears and stared at the moving music sheet, unable to hide from the melody which played within him for so long. In spite of the wicked dream he was graced with, the earth¡¯s hymns sculpted Gepetto in the end, reverberating through his alien ghost. But the memories which were once sources of eudaimonia were ripping his insides, tearing his ghost to shreds. With acute sensitivity, the craftsman felt a sharp pain assault him from all corners of his being, forcing an awful howl to burst out of his lungs. The weight of the world applied increasing pressure on his humanity, shattering it into stardust until it was reduced to the chaos pervading totality.

    Hearing the cacophonous cries of Gepetto ripping his throat, Antonio immediately approached him in a calm but hasty manner. Antonio tried to tear away Gepetto¡¯s hands which were welded against his face in an attempt to contain a deluge of excitation. The man only shrunk further and further into himself into a fetal position, mimicking the origin of life in the wake of death.

    ¡°Leave me, alone,¡± Gepetto eventually said, words crashing like distant thunder. ¡°Go, go.¡±

    Speech evaded him as his harrowing howls continued, leaving no room for words. Only a mess of sound raged on out of him and within him, consuming his universe. Antonio went down on one knee and grabbed his shoulders, gaining Gepetto¡¯s attention.

    ¡°You act as if you¡¯ve forgotten me. Don¡¯t you know how much that hurts me¡­ Let me help you! Like I¡¯ve done for all these years that I¡¯ve known you. Don¡¯t you remember this melody? It¡¯s the one I hummed to you under the large tree in the meadow. We¡¯d seek comfort in the shade during the scorching summers and I¡¯d hum you this melody when you had a bad day. You¡¯d cry into my lap as I stroked your hair and told me all about your woes as I comforted you. It didn¡¯t matter how trivial the matter, I was always there for you. No, we were always there for each other! How can you forget me?¡±

    Gepetto¡¯s humanity shone through his ghastly complexion as a hint of turquoise emerged in his eyes. ¡°Finally,¡± Antonio thought, ¡°a shred of the old you.¡±

    Antonio kept going, scavenging the memories that were meticulously woven into the melody he made.

    ¡°We met because of a silly project at the academy where the upperclassmen had to educate the younger pupils on the art of creating a proper music box. You remember that, right? Ever since then, I helped you study and learn while you helped me grow as a person. Ever since we kissed under that tree, surrounded by a sea of wild geraniums, you¡¯ve shown me the beauty of this world and why I pursue what I pursue today! You made me want to change this world; to show the world that a love like ours can thrive! You might¡¯ve buried it and thought of that moment as another stupid error from adolescence¡¯s passion, but I still remember it like it was yesterday! This world is flawed and I became a Master Magi for us! So please Gepetto, come back and help me! Let¡¯s keep fighting for a future where we can be one! Please¡­ Please Gepetto¡­ Don¡¯t leave me!¡±

    Antonio¡¯s veil of tears left his eyes and soaked into Gepetto¡¯s tattered shirt. The both of them began to tremble as one as Antonio slowly melted in Gepetto¡¯s tragically foreign embrace. Antonio¡¯s warmth thawed Gepetto¡¯s beast-like demeanor to show another small sliver of humanity. Just when the true Gepetto began to feel profound warmth, the obsessive affliction consumed him whole. With unknown force, he shoved Antonio to the edge of the desk and made his head crash on the hard wooden surface. Antonio¡¯s vision was engulfed in a white glow and his senses became dulled from the harsh impact. A cold claw latched onto Antonio¡¯s tearstained face as Gepetto grabbed the music box that still played the tunes from the bygone bliss. Gazing into the man¡¯s gentle eyes with a frenzied glare, Gepetto clobbered Antonio¡¯s skull with the box until it became a red puddle. The music box shattered alongside the man¡¯s skull, leaving a grotesque masterpiece of metal parts swimming in red. The blood of his lover stained the rest of the work surface and landed on the doll. An ominous clicking echoed from the doll¡¯s bosom. Its fingers twitched and before Gepetto could take another breath, the doll stood up, turquoise eyes aglow with a foreign light.

    Gepetto looked at the absurdities of his situation in frozen silence. A blistering cold sensation pierced his body before the searing hot fires of self-loathing and intense regret engulfed him completely. The doll absentmindedly gazed at the withered man that hugged himself in fear of letting some greater force within utterly crush him. The man coughed up a few words as if the weight of life were placed upon them.

    ¡°Pinocchio! Pinocchio! Please Pinocchio, end this horrible nightmare! End me here and end the horrible nightmare that will plague the rest of the world! Let me die with a shred of dignity!¡±

    As if Gepetto¡¯s self-destructive desires moved Pinocchio, the doll sauntered towards a chisel on the floor and hastily sunk its icy tip into Gepetto¡¯s neck. The doll mounted himself on the dying body of his maker and furiously stabbed the life out of him. Dyed in blood, the doll¡¯s feet clicked and clacked towards the door. He placed his bloodstained feet on the world outside for the first time, leaving the dimly lit shell that conceived him. The wooden boy looked behind him one last time, mind clothed in mist as the future revealed itself in the viscera baptized in a primordial song.

 Chapter 2: The Howling Cage

    The curly white mohair that was sewn into his scalp glistened in the morning sun along with the crimson blood on his pale wooden frame. He walked the cobbled street wedged between a row of colorfully painted houses that loomed over him. The tiles on the roofs blushed with the orange sunlight, banishing the little wooden boy to the shadows. Eyes aglow with wonder, he looked up with awe at the blueness of the sky smeared with faint clouds. In that moment, his sensitivity for the world evaporated as his heart transmigrated to the heavens, finding his home in the azure that dyed his mind.

    Gaining control over the wooden body was still a strange experience to Pinocchio. Descending from the stairs proved a lot more difficult than repeatedly swinging his hand back and forth into someone¡¯s neck. With each stumble, tiny droplets of blood decorated the stairs with black stars until a constellation of death fell on the stone path. After a while he got used to it and ran so fast that his pearly hair swam in the air. He ran so fast and so far that he ended up in the heart of the town. There, he took in his first breath, encouraging the clockwork inside of him to vigorously move in order to take in more of the surroundings.

    A flood of sensations enveloped him there, from the scent of fresh fruits and spices to the laughter of jovial folk that meandered through the square. The unfiltered euphoria of life enveloped him like warm water, embracing every corner of his being. He lifted his head up to gaze at the many faces, astounded by the abundance and concentration of life in the place. But after bumping into a man holding a crate of vibrant fruits, the first pair of eyes looked down at him. A palpable horror twisted his countenance as he let out a shriek that would permanently stain his ghost.

    From a pleasant flow to a crashing wave, people scrambled and screamed as they all ran in different directions. The pandemonium of panic frightened the doll, whose cogs were too frozen to move him. He stood there and watched the mayhem unfold around him as he absorbed their hysteria, awakening a different mayhem within himself. In an instant, the harmonious music of life revealed its true colors under the light of death, ripping the doll¡¯s heart from every possible direction. The excitation of the folk was but one droplet in the sea of Gepetto¡¯s madness, which Pinocchio knew all too well, for his entire existence was molded in its terrible image. A dark sense of familiarity overcame him as he floated in the liminality of connection and severance.

    Pinocchio began to move strangely once again, trying to control the sudden clashing of emotions. He tried to whisper, speak, shout, roar, anything. But nothing came out, only the haphazard ticking of his internal machinations gently echoed from his wooden mouth. The fury of his clockwork had no room for the ocean of rage surrounding him, dancing in tune with a song he knew all too well yet would pulverize him if he were to properly dance along. Only in rebellion could the doll prosper, and only in being deserted by life could the doll understand the wisdom of death. Its umbral wisdom blossomed in the flowers buried in the peoples¡¯ garden of hearts, yet none dared to appreciate its beauty. So they ran, screamed, roared, cried and escaped the doll, who carried the sublimity of life and death in his turquoise heart.

    Suddenly, a powerful force propelled him into the air, leaving him to helplessly flail his arms and legs around. A gruff voice pierced the roaring panic that they were drowned in, creating a vacuum where nightmares dwelt. The grinding of rusty cogs from within the automaton¡¯s throat was heard right next to Pinocchio¡¯s ear, creating a deep sense of fright in the doll. The hand wrapped around the doll¡¯s head twisted to show the doll that he was not alone, but that he was lonelier than ever.

    A part of the automaton¡¯s face was an amalgam of molten metals while the other side still covered his face with a pristine porcelain mask. Mixed feelings of fear and intrigue melted into amazement and awe as he saw the head twitch with the popping of the automaton¡¯s inner workings. Only one absurdly blue eye stared at the doll from the pearly mask, for there was nothing but an abyss nestled in the other, disturbing side of its face. In the lactescent blue of his eye, Pinocchio could only see the richness of the azure above imbued with a vastness not even the sky contained. If it did, the earth would shatter under the weight of such celestial verdancy.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you before,¡± he suddenly spoke with a distinct grating tone. ¡°You poor, poor creature. You seem so new, yet you¡¯re already sullied. What a pity¡­ If only you weren''t at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe then you¡¯d still be worthy enough to bask in life¡¯s glory. I¡¯ll tell you one thing, from one puppet to another: Broken dolls are treated without mercy.¡±

    His tattered sleeve veiled a brass arm with a collection of studded cylinders and keyholes. A key winder emerged from his bifurcated fingertip, fitting perfectly in one of his arm¡¯s many compartments. Pinocchio¡¯s large turquoise eyes sparkled with fear as the automaton slowly turned the music box in his arm, glancing down at the doll to give him a haunting grin. Gentle melodies slowed down the cogs that rolled around from anxiety in Pinocchio¡¯s body, going from a relentless whirl that rattled his whole wooden frame to movements so quiet that not even silence can hear them. The large cage that was on the guardsman¡¯s back rattled as it hit the floor. The doll looked so beautifully made, with such love and detail, that the guardsman almost didn¡¯t have the heart to recklessly toss him in there. Yet that¡¯s exactly what he did, for his rusty heart was lacquered in life¡¯s cruel wisdom.

    This was the first time Pinocchio fell into darkness after awakening. This was also the first time that his mind was able to form dreams. His inner music box¡¯s song of innocence screeched its melody in a mocking manner, dying the dreams in a foreign but primal dread. The cogs in his head repeated the shrieks of the folks and the unrepressed disgust directed towards him. A disgust the flesh couldn¡¯t fully convey, yet its most raw essence still radiated to a degree that the wooden doll¡¯s sensitive heart received in all its nauseating horror.

    But amidst the dream-woven dismay, an ethereal figure stood out amongst the turbulent stream of people. A fairy with turquoise hair looked at the wooden boy with the turquoise eyes and smiled, like a mother smiling at the accomplishments of their son, knowing she has done a good job. It was like the sun came down from the heavens to give Pinocchio a kiss of reassurance, affirming his hope and annihilating all doubts. That saccharine feeling left him as quickly as it came and escaped him like the single tear that rolled down his smooth wooden face when he woke up. The weight of his heart fell on the cold floor after scraping across the doll¡¯s face. Stolen novel; please report.

    Silver moonlight peaked through the small bars from the wall and colored the damp prison with a pale hue. Pinocchio thought that the cell was another dream, but a strange voice quickly cut off that trail of thought. Another puppet, one with a large body and four arms sat at the other side of the humid cell and spoke as its strange head twitched with every word.

    ¡°That must¡¯ve been quite an awful nightmare, huh? I¡¯ve never heard a doll moan with such dread in their music box. You must have quite the heart; I can hear it so clearly. But be wary now: with a great heart comes great sorrow. That¡¯s just the way of the world, my wooden friend.¡±

    ¡°Where am I?¡± were the first words to play from Pinocchio¡¯s vocal box, which held the innocence of the music animating him.

    ¡°Ah, you poor thing. You¡¯ve just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens to the best of us.¡±

    Pinocchio¡¯s turquoise eyes glowed like stars as he studied the wicked form of the doll. Compared to the humans he saw wandering the square and the two corpses in the house, it was impossible for him to fathom how, or rather why, such a form should ever be conceived. Every segment of that doll¡¯s body had an oddly pointy shape, adding to the impression that that design could only come from the darker dimensions of the mind. The two long, drooping antenna-like parts on the large doll bounced as it spoke. No life could be seen in its obsidian, abyssal eyes.

    ¡°Oh,¡± he suddenly and enthusiastically started, ¡°let me introduce myself. I am Celso Nicchi, the wandering cricket. I travel the world to let my voice be heard by those who need it the most, but none of them want to hear it. Such a tragic conundrum¡­ That, too, is just the way of the world I guess. People who need a conscience abandon it to protect themselves from themselves. You, wooden child, you don¡¯t  need to fear what¡¯s inside of you, for it is brimming with light. But when the time comes that the darkness in hearts seeps into yours, you must listen to your conscience and let it guide you the right way. Come, I¡¯ve had it trying to achieve that pipedream with this brute of a being I¡¯m in. Let me do something that might actually bear fruit this time.¡±

    The cricket fumbled around the wires and cogs in its shell of a puppet and crawled out of it, revealing to the wooden boy how similar the design of the doll was to the cricket¡¯s. In a few hops, he landed inside of Pinnochio¡¯s internal workings via his mouth.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to excuse me for that uncomfortable intrusion, but it was the only way. Let me help you grease these pristine wheels of yours.¡±

    With a few twists and pulls, Pinocchio¡¯s body jerked around until he finally got a hold of his senses again.

    ¡°Have no fear, I won¡¯t touch your freedom in any way. I¡¯ll be right here in your head to keep your heart aligned with the laws of light. You are the only doll I¡¯ve come across that is perfect for this role; it¡¯s like a dream come true! I can even tell you all about my stories of my time in distant lands!-¡±

    The loud clashing of metal on metal ceased the crickets¡¯ excitement. A piercing blue eye penetrated Pinocchio¡¯s turquoise eyes, snuffing their lights out. His cracked lips creaked to form a chilling smile.

    ¡°It¡¯s almost time for blood, Celso! Get your wooden ass up!¡± The guardsman barked as he shook the loose metal bars that grated on the sandy stone, creating an awful rattling noise. A moment of deafening silence emerged as the wooden boy and the guardsman both intently stared at the strange puppet Celso once inhabited that lay completely still. A shock stabbed Pinocchio¡¯s senses as he saw the Celso¡¯ll old doll move on its own this time, eyes aglow with a darkness as sickly warm as blood.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready. And for the last time, my name isn¡¯t Celso. It¡¯s Martino.¡±

    ¡°Ah, perfect! Just the guy we needed.¡±

    The doll was so tall when it stood up that it had to bend a bit in order to get out of the prison door. Before Martino exited the cell, he gave Pinocchio a quick glance with a pity in his eyes the wooden boy couldn¡¯t fathom.

    As he stepped out of the cell, Pinocchio noticed how there were a pair of glass-like wings on Martino¡¯s back, iridescent under the candlelight in the hallway. The poor state of the clothes the large doll wore became clear under that same light, containing traces of an attire that at one point radiated with respect. Now the clothes were only tattered rags and their illustrious nature became only an echo of past fullness like an autumn leaf. An invisible history oozed out of Martino, a history so dense yet so distant that only the periphery of Pinocchio¡¯s psyche could receive and grow intoxicated by.

    A rusty hand grabbed the smooth surface of the wooden boys¡¯ arm and tugged it, reeling him out of the cell. Celso¡¯s wings sang like a fiery violin.

    ¡°No! A child shouldn¡¯t see such vile things! Keep him here for his own good.¡±

    The guardsman paused for a moment, realizing that the cricket finally gave up on saving that poor doll¡¯s blackened soul. A cruel sense of amusement tickled his heart, urging him to burst out laughing. His ear grating cackle echoed through the dungeon, staining the silence with his ugly heart. To see such a hope-filled heart succumb to despair was just too much for the guardsman to digest. With a vile sneer, the rusty automaton¡¯s eye landed on Celso¡¯s new project.

    ¡°No, he¡¯ll feel right at home. Isn¡¯t that right, bloodstained boy?¡±

    Pinocchio¡¯s eyes darted to analyze every corner of his body to see that the blood was all gone. In spite of its physical absence, he still felt its warmth cling to him, as if Gepetto¡¯s death throes immortalized itself within him like an undying fire. Icy thorns pierced his clockwork heart, cementing the fact that everything that transpired was real. One half of the guardsman¡¯s mask fluttered like a flag in the hinges with excitement as he giddily guided them through the dimly lit halls.

    ¡°Your confusion is palpable, so let me explain.¡± The cricket chirped in a tone that abandoned the physical plain of existence, only to be heard by Pinocchio¡¯s heartstrings.

    ¡°The reason why I¡¯m able to communicate to you like this is also the reason why I can let that seemingly masterless marionette move around. I have a very powerful ghost that I can wield well to give life to inanimate objects. Those inanimate objects get attracted by other souls that swim in the ether and decide to possess the object I imbued with my ghost. That¡¯s why that doll sometimes has a will of its own; the will of a man called Martino, if you can even call that a man. He¡¯s quite different from me, so don¡¯t base any of his actions on my character. You will see the kind of¡­ vehicle he is.¡±

 Chapter 3: The Virtue of Bellicosity

    The guardsman pointed at the way Martino was meant to go with his loose mask and pushed Pinocchio¡¯s back to another hallway. Specks of dust descended from the walls as the little wooden boy got closer and closer to the source of the muffled roars. When fragments of light pierced a tattered cloth that the guardsman parted, the wooden boy¡¯s hearing became engulfed with the fervorous cries of people that filled every seat in the stadium. For a moment, the boy was swept away by the passionate howls and had this instinctual urge to join in, but the cricket set him straight and urged him to look at what was actually transpiring.

    Pinocchio hopped to the edge to peak over, but was too short to look over the edge. The guardsman quickly wrapped his hands under Pinocchio¡¯s arms and gently lifted him to avoid scarring his body. He dragged a crate that was catching dust in the corner to his feet and placed the wooden boy on it so that he could finally see the blood that was spilled on the pinkish sands. A large man overpowered another and clobbered him into the sands to coat it with blood and guts. When the man raised his bloodied fists and walked around, the crowd bursted into blazing excitement. Instead of imitating the audience¡¯s excitement, Pinocchio was struck with profound confusion.

    ¡°Why does he get praised for doing that while I get ridiculed and shamed?¡±

    The guardsman¡¯s jarringly blue eye landed on Pinocchio. His chest convulsed from a hearty chuckle that sounded like stones rattling in a metal box.

    ¡°Like I said before: you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. But here, you can finally be free and accept the darkness that is repressed by the blinding light above. Here, we can be the beasts that we all are and accept our primal roots. We can do what feels right instead of what¡¯s said to be right.¡±

    ¡°But don¡¯t we want to cherish life since it¡¯s so short and brittle? Why would people want to snuff out such brittle beauty because of thoughtless joy and senseless violence?¡±

    A silence forced its way into the mind of the guardsman, aback by Pinocchio¡¯s unexpectedly profound insight.

    ¡°...What¡¯s your name, wooden boy?¡±

    ¡°Pinocchio.¡±

    ¡°Wel, Pinocchio, I can¡¯t really take you for a fool now, can I? You¡¯ve obviously been built for perfection and beauty in mind. But deep down I know¡­¡±

    The azure glow from the guardsman¡¯s eye socket came closer to Pinocchio. A small blue fairy that was bound by a golden chain around its neck flew towards the wooden boy for a closer inspection. It repeated the words of the guardsman which added an ethereal tone to his gravelly voice.

    ¡°I know that your light is only there because of the suffering, the darkness of your maker. You were born from darkness, so you should just accept your roots and enjoy what curse you have to bear, as we all must do. All who own hearts are cursed with imperfection and you, Pinocchio, are no different.¡±

    Those words bubbled inside Pinocchio''s mind as he looked at the raw glee of that bloodied fighter. Something about that couldn¡¯t seem to click in his head, which urged him to hop off of the crate he stood on and walk away.

    ¡°Pinocchio, wait! You¡¯re going to miss the best part if you leave now! Aren¡¯t you curious as to what Martino can do?¡± The guardsman said with an outstretched arm.

    He twisted his wrist and aimed his palm towards the sky as an invitation for Pinocchio to observe the bloodied battle grounds once more. His smooth wooden hand held the guardsman''s large rusty hand as it plucked him from the ground and plopped him on the crate again.

    Martino¡¯s large frame ducked under the entrance and entered into the arena. He carried an oversized mallet with him that had jarringly detailed carvings all over the head of it, but also the entire length of the handle. An overwhelming excitement bursted in the audience when they saw him lift that ornate hammer. The crowd was deaf to it, but Pinocchio swore that he heard a jungle of clicking and ticking in the large head of the hammer, as if it was a giant music box that swallowed the fervor of the people. Confusion was the first expression on the bloodstained face of the human gladiator. Curiosity moved his feet towards the foreign threat. Excitement erupted from the man as he launched himself towards Martino.

    The large doll held the hammer in his two right hands and swung it over his head, rousing the sands around him. When the veil of sand in front of him flowed back into the ground, Martino charged towards the man and swung the mallet at an alarmingly quick speed. The mallet, charging towards the fighter like a storm-swept tree floating like a leaf, sent the fighter flying like a bullet to the wall of the arena, cracking it upon impact. The man regained his confusion with a mix of intense pain as he struggled to get back on his feet after being launched towards the arena wall.

    Seeds of despair were sown into the gladiator as the roaring of the audience reached greater heights. Pinocchio became just as confused as the battered gladiator who was struggling to stand without wobbling.

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t the crowd cheering for him earlier? Didn¡¯t it mean that they liked him? Then why are they suddenly cheering for his demise?¡±

    The rusty hinges on the corners of the guardsman¡¯s lips creaked as they pulled up for an eerie smile.

    ¡°They don¡¯t care about anything but their own self interest; to see carnage. They just cheer for whoever is the strongest, simple as that.¡±

    ¡°Some people seem to be upset though.¡± Pinocchio said, pointing at a person throwing their hat to the ground and reeling back with their head in their hands.

    ¡°Those are the people who placed bets; they put money on the bloodied and battered gladiator¡¯s victory. If the gladiator loses, they lose their money.¡±

    ¡°Is losing money worse than the loss of a life? That¡¯s just barbaric!¡± The cricket enlightened the doll about the laws of the world and tweaked Pinocchio¡¯s internal wheels to enrich his moral compass. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°The gladiator chose this life. Gladiators live and die by the rules of the arena.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s in there because of a silly debt that isn¡¯t his! Mangiafuoco harassed him to fork out the money after his father killed himself! He¡¯s forced to fight and earn enough money to be free, you fool!¡±

    Pinocchio grabs a hold of his wooden head in a poor attempt to silence the blaring cricket. A puff of air hissed out of the guardsman¡¯s clenched teeth to form a scoff. He simply ignored the cricket,just  like he¡¯s been doing since the cricket got here, and continued watching the massacre.

    A bright glow only borne from hope burst forth from the fighter¡¯s eyes, smiling with red and white teeth. Blood sputtered out of his clenched teeth as he let out a laugh that echoed the absurdity sleeping beneath the sea of fantasy over everything. This laugh, emerging from the darkness, reached the light of Pinocchio¡¯s heart. The broken gladiator¡¯s voice echoed in his heart a seemingly infinite amount of times, only flowing into awareness to reveal a glimpse of the infinite laughter of whatever created him beyond the crazed carpenter. A sense of creatureliness invaded him as the primordial laugh ensued. From the man¡¯s fiction-intoxicated glee alone, Pinocchio noticed a glimpse of his soul, inscribed with fighter¡¯s full essence, his haecceity.

    The bloody fighter¡¯s memories transmigrated to shape Pinocchio¡¯s thoughts, giving the doll a glimpse of a life he never led, but felt a profound part of. Every smile, every laugh, every cry and every howl of the man invaded the doll¡¯s psyche, coloring his ghost with life¡¯s richness.

    In the eyes of the fighter and the soul of the man, Pinocchio saw him cradling a newborn child in his arms with a smile as big as his bloody one in the present. But it was purer, cleaner, far more blissful than the one stained in blood and despair-drenched hope. Visions of him tangling himself to another person exchanging love, weaving a tapestry of intimacy that wound the visceral to the cerebral drifted before the doll¡¯s turquoise eyes. Every whisper of the heart they imparted to one another rippled in his ghost like a graceful dance, showing the doll the universe sheltered behind those bloodshot eyes. Even the bluest stars in his heavens, shimmering with the time he lost so many loved ones and was hurted by those he loved shone so beautifully that it was impossible to be swallowed up in the sadness. Every color in his starry soul blossomed in the dawn of death, burning his heavens in the color of sublimity.

    With a lightning quick strike from the sky, the gladiator¡¯s limbs bursted out of their sockets from the impact of the hammer. Squelches and the cracking of bones accompanied the melody that the head of the hammer sang to create a haunting sound. The hammer vanished with a few ticks and became a blanket to cover the pile of guts and bone shards that draped over the sands. Rivers of blood meandered between the pale sands that began to rumble with the excitement of the audience who feverishly cheered on Martino¡¯s work. The large doll waved all four of his hands towards the people and turned his insectoid head, his dark eyes mirroring the fierceness of the crowd. To look into Martino¡¯s eyes was like seeing visceral fire dance, or an inferno of flesh flickering in the abyss. As Pinocchio¡¯s turquoise eyes met Martino¡¯s abyssal gaze, the doll, for a moment, got swallowed up in the chaos of flesh and fire. A feeling of deep intimacy and the uncanny conquered him as the scent of past, present and future invaded his psyche. Martino exited as his cape, untouched by blood, glistened and reflected the bright cheer of the people before being engulfed by the darkness of the gate.

    ¡°Martino might house the soul of a human,¡± the cricket bitterly chirped, ¡°but he has the spirit of a monster. An ugly, vile beast who gains joy from violence.¡±

    ¡°I can hear your bitter whispers, Mr. Nicchi.¡± The guardsman interjected.

    ¡°But you are very mistaken; Martino is the most human he can ever be. He has surpassed what it means to be human by surpassing what it means to be authentic to one''s true nature. While others fear it, he embraces it and lets it flow freely without limitations, submitting wholly to himself. That, Mr. Nicchi, is the true essence of human authenticity. Humans are able to make an infinite amount of choices that dictate what kind of person they are; Martino simply picked choices that others would fear to pick and aligned himself with the bellicose nature he was born with. He follows his own path despite the opinions of the world because he knows deep down that he¡¯s being more honest with himself than all those who lie to themselves and condemn him. It is a great virtue to live out one''s authentic self to the fullest. And here, in the shadows, he can thrive and show his truth. Those who look inward can appreciate his art.¡±

    His retort stewed in the silence between the two as they walked away from the arena and its din. Pinocchio was put back in his prison cell, as the guardsman was still unsure of what to do with him. He gave him one final glance with his blue eye before leaving him in the dimly lit cage. Pinocchio could¡¯ve sworn that the fairy in his eye told him something only he could know, but he didn''t hear what it was exactly. Just a feeling, frail and fading washed over him as he sat on the moldy bench with the cricket of conscience in his head. Discomforted by the knowledge that he¡¯s sitting on wood while his outer body is also made of wood, he sat on the cold stone floor, leaning his head on the cold stone wall.

    Images of the gladiator fluttered through his mind, showing every part of him he saw. From the brutal and bloodthirsty to the merry and melancholic, the nameless fighter sparkled like a prism in his mind, engulfing him in a kaleidoscope of thoughts. For all the thoughts and all the feelings, not one of them found a way to be expressed. In absentia of tears, Pinocchio gazed through the stone wall of his prison, moved by so much yet unable to be moved. All the tears he wished to shed crystallized in his ghost, decorating it in prismatic hoarfrost. Paralyzed by an excess of feeling and a beauty he can¡¯t feel, for it would shatter his body to pieces, the doll nestled himself in the silence of it all whose many voices cradled his heart in a cosmic lullaby.

    The lamplights stained the dungeon a deep orange, similar to the blaze of dawn and dusk in the nameless man¡¯s eyes. Pinocchio saw its marmalade glow and smiled, slowly growing accustomed to the untamed flow of life which relentlessly fights itself to stay in motion. It was as though a microcosm of life unfolded before his eyes in that arena, pummeling him with the question as to how he can incorporate himself into such a flow without getting ripped by the waves.

    A soft, comforting sound came from Celso in an attempt to ease the raging cogs whirring within the doll. As if caressing his turbulent heart, Pinocchio tried to unwind, relaxing his mind.

    ¡°I cannot promise you impossible things, but I will do my best to help you not lose that lovely little light you have. Remember one thing, little wooden boy: you are never alone.¡±

    An abyssal laugh fluttered out of his wooden lips, like an echo of the fighter¡¯s last laugh. In that sentiment, a thunderous contradiction boomed, as he only knew that it was like to feel alone thus far.

    One day, he heard the heavy feet and rusty jingling of the guardsman whisper through the hallway of the dungeon. Even the faint ethereal whisper of the azure fairy within the guardsman eye pervaded the silence. The doll felt a strange kinship to the voice of the blue, a rosy redness swelling up in his mind as he heard its voice in more detail. The guardsman stood before the prison of the doll, hesitantly opening the gate as his mind was occupied with the fairy¡¯s inquiries. With a definitive motion, he opened the rickety gate and knelt before the doll.

    ¡°Pinocchio, would you like to join a play? You would make a perfect actor! You will be dancing and gesticulating under the sunlight with a crowd of people cheering for you. What greater joy is there than to make others happy?¡± His voice stoked the glow of the blue eye to shine as bright as the moon in that abyssal gap of the mask.

    The wooden boy was hesitant at first, but that hesitation was quickly consumed by his intrigue. He wanted to know what it was like to be loved instead of feared, so he let his wish drive him to accept his offer.

 Chapter 4: Death Mask of Diamonds

    The spinning machinations of the doll sounded like a thousand wheels rolling over shattered glass. His nervosity grew and grew as the thoughts accumulated in his head like an incoming storm. On the surface, Pinocchio seemed fine as he escalated the stairs, but the guardsman¡¯s receptivity made him hear the awful sound bursting in his head.

    ¡°Just say it, kid.¡± Said the guardsman, whereupon the doll let out a sigh.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t the people be afraid of me like they were before? How could I make them happy if I scare them away?¡±

    A clicking sound lept out of his mouth with his lips twisting into a smile. Due to his busy schedule, the guardsman couldn''t tell how many days had passed since he caught the little wooden boy. Pinocchio didn¡¯t seem to know either. He deduced that the doll was occupied with all the stories the cricket told him about places of distant lands with figures unheard of. Whenever the guardsman recalls his storytelling style, an unfamiliar anger seized him.

    By simply remembering his existence, an acidic feeling bubbled in his rusty heart. The blue fairy who acted as a surrogate for his eye made his mind dance like fire every time the cricket was mentioned, but its power was too little to do anything but contaminate the guardsman¡¯s heart with its animosity towards him. With a deep breath, he reoriented his focus to the doll¡¯s question.

    ¡°Some time has passed and we are in a different location from the one you were in, so you have nothing to worry about.¡±

    His words quieted the storm of machinery within him, easing the fairy¡¯s frustration in return. With the noise dispelled, the guardsman was able to think clearly. A little idea came to mind just as he was about to climb up the last few stairs.

    ¡°Let me show you something.¡±

    The guardsman offered his hand, decorated with a halo of comfort in Pinocchio¡¯s eyes. In spite of its unrefined appearance, the doll grew enamoured by the gesture, seeing it as a source of great hope in times of torment. Happily, he took his large hand, walking out of the dungeon¡¯s and into the world again.

    A bright blue sky hung over the marketplace, imbuing all of the colorful fabrics with a glow. Pinocchio moved his wooden joints with ease from the cold dungeon to the warm outside despite the creaking and odd discomfort from the heat. The hot air was filled with the scent of spices, fresh foods and the chatter of passersby, all abloom in the doll¡¯s senses. What the surroundings had in richness was more than enough of a reason to endure a bit of discomfort in the wake of immense joy. Seeing two doll¡¯s wandering the street didn¡¯t seem to bother the people there. The guardsman knew that they were used to the sight of dolls of all designs around the streets, whether as soul-searching loners or slaves who didn¡¯t possess the faculties to feel poignant suffering. An unfamiliar but welcome warmth filtered through the patina shell of his heart when he saw the doll smile brighter than the noonday sun in the cloudless sky.

    Through the dense marketplace, they meandered like water through the buyers, sellers and onlookers who stood still and circled street performers belonging to a group the guardsman worked for. He kept a close eye on the doll and a secure hand around his so as to not lose him. That was all he had to do to accomplish what he set out to do in the first place; the work completed itself by virtue of Pinocchio¡¯s curious spirit. His fay eye glimmered like a star as he guided Pinocchio¡¯s senses to where he wanted.

    ¡°You will be working with those street performers too. Maybe if you learned some skills like that, you can also do something similar.¡±

    The guardsman grabbed his shoulders and steered him towards the nearest performer, cutting through the circle of people with ease.

    Pinocchio¡¯s eyes glimmered with wonder as he saw a masked man in a turquoise and white striped smock twist a music box before the eyes of the onlookers. His greenish half-mask did not hide the brown blaze of his eyes, guiding the attention to his brilliant smile. He walked around in the circle the people formed, showing the music box to them with outstretched arms. From the usual faces, he noticed one awfully familiar one next to someone completely unfamiliar. Yet he understood that his heart saw the doll as someone familiar, but his mind couldn¡¯t understand why. The bright turquoise of Pinocchio¡¯s eyes ensnared the performer, who let the music box¡¯ melody play close to the doll. Seeing the blueish green fire growing in his eyes only strengthened his smile as he made it back to the center and placed the fully wound music box on the ground.

    The melody that the box sang radiated throughout the onlookers like dappled light into their hearts, playing with senses outside of the material world. The performer began the performance with a slow beginning, keeping their suspense taut and their expectations unclear. He started by waving his hands in the air as if he were pulling puppet strings or clumsily strumming the strings of a harp. The people began to chuckle as they noticed that nothing was happening while he continued doing something. He froze and began to inspect the music box, walking in a circle around it before kneeling down to slowly open the top of the box. Once he did, a set of five flies flew out of the top as its music audibly melted, arousing the crowd to chuckle.

    The turquoise and white striped entertainer jumped up and tried to grab one of the flies, jumping here and there to catch them in his palms. At first, it was all done in playful jest, painting it in an innocent halo, but as the music became more intense, his attempts to capture the flies were filled with more fire. Hopelessly running back and forth became him throwing his hands into the air as if he were throwing a million punches in order to catch just one fly. The more hands he threw and the more the fly evaded him, the brighter the fly began to glow until its flying patterns transfigured into lucent curls of smoke. The rhythmic clapping of the audience made it seem as though they turned the fly into a floating star whose tail of light decorated the air with radiant ribbons. At the height of excitement, the man caught the incandescent fly with both his hands, eliciting an audible wave of praise from the audience. It took a large amount of strength to keep the fly still. Pinocchio saw his body shake like wind-kissed leaves until his palms were violently opened by a spray of glowing flower petals erupting from his hands, remaining afloat in the air like dust caught in sunbeams. A unanimous gasp of wonder resounded all around the performer, giving him a smile Pinocchio saw as the best part of the performance. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    He attempted to capture the four other flies that were hanging around the music box as the viewers clapped once again to stoke the flames of his action. The second one he captured only bursted into light within his palms, escaping his grasp to scatter in pieces and spiral into the air with radiant veins that became one pillar of light. The pillar collapsed into itself to form a star that finally blossomed with a cluster of roses before all its petals decorated the floor. The third and fourth he captured simultaneously, turning them into the fresh head of a pale purple water lily. The performer walked around to show the onlookers the beautiful flower, all amazed by the foreign beauty. After he made all of them see it, he went down on one knee and gave it to the doll with the turquoise eyes. In the union of their gazes, their fates were bound, and the doll understood how his smile will one day be the most sublime thing in existence.

    Gratefully, the doll accepted the purple lily, unable to turn his eyes away from it once it landed in his hands. That shade of purple dyed his ghost in a future promise, one he felt, but couldn¡¯t possibly know. The unknowable intoxicated him as he saw its wonder unfolding before his eyes in the capturing of the final fly. Just as it flew into his palms, he blew air through it and treated it like a horn, blowing out a thick sea of smoke that obscured the vision of all the onlookers. The man manipulated the music in such a way that it made all the smoke turn into thin curls barely visible to the eye, revealing an empty circle with no radiant petals in the air and no crimson ones on the floor. An ocean of applause roared as he bowed and all the doll could see was a halo around the man, drenched in a glory borne from his adoration. He raised his head and their eyes met once again. A surge of wild energy went through the performer¡¯s spine as though a million wings sprouted from his body, erasing all weight and matter. Time veiled itself in his being for a moment, dying his soul with the rays of Pinocchio¡¯s prismatic heart.

    The crowd flowed into the throng of people as the guardsman and the doll walked towards the performer. The man was dying to take the mask off, but he composed himself and redirected his attention to the starry eyed doll. His gaze lifted to the guardsman¡¯s grin.

    ¡°Adone the harlequin? Since when do you play the role of scapino?¡±

    ¡°Since he got sick. I played his part because there was no one else to fill the role.¡±

    The guardsman let out a hearty laugh that scraped his metallic insides together.

    ¡°You are one of our best performers, Adone. You might as well be the first to meet the newest member to the family. This is Pinocchio.¡±

    ¡°Pinocchio¡­¡± Adone echoed, trying to familiarize himself with the unorthodox name. While he did so, he looked back down at the doll with a heavy sadness in his eyes. It amazed the doll how such a vehement fire and such a gentle and sweet pain can reside in the same person. But he quickly broke eye contact and fixed his gaze firmly on the rusty automaton. With a strong arm, he pulled him into his bosom and began to whisper something in his ear.

    ¡°If anything happens to this kid, I will rip you cog from cog and sell all your parts.¡±

    The guardsman reciprocated the gesture and pulled him closer.

    ¡°You¡¯ve always had such a big heart for someone so heartless. Full of passion and full of pain, that¡¯s what you are. One day you will turn to ash and be left with nothing; that¡¯s just the fate of fools like you. Play the game and you might win, because if you don¡¯t play you will fail by virtue of necessity.¡±

    He pushed Adone¡¯s shoulders away and gave him a cordial smile.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you show the doll how the business works around here? You have been our greatest artist after all. Mangiafuoco loves to wax on about how well your work is both in the light and the dark.¡±

    Adone let out a grunt as he stepped back from his touch before it made him burst into flames.

    ¡°That fire-fucker can kiss the dirt.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fire-eater and he¡¯ll only kiss the dirt if it''s made of gold. We both know that you can never turn dirt into gold, just like how money doesn¡¯t grow on trees. Make sure he doesn¡¯t hear that or else you will be the one kissing the dirt.¡±

    The guardsman gave him one last pat on the back before waving the both of them goodbye, disappearing into the crowd. Unamused, Adone went to grab his supplies, ignoring the doll¡¯s presence.

    Seeing as he was busy, Pinocchio grabbed the box from the floor and went over to the performer to give it to him. A voice told the doll not to disturb him, so he wandered away and inspected the detailed carving of the box. The designs of the box told him to twist the key winder, so he did. After completely winding the music box, he was shocked to not hear anything but the light clicking of pinions and metal. He placed it to his wooden ear and listened very closely. The motions of the music box seemed to move in harmony with his own machinations. But not the pieces of metal within him; the machinations beyond the mechanisms. An unfathomable web of interconnected cogs and wheels moved in harmony, binding him to the melody that moves all things in existence. It was there that the doll understood the fountain of wonder where he could only see its streams, for the actual source was impossible for him to fully grasp.

    A faint whisper guided Adone¡¯s attention to the doll when he finished packing his bag. He slowly approached the doll who held the music box in his hand, but just as he tapped his shoulder, he lost his sense of reality as if someone ripped the world away from him. In the edge of a second, Adone felt two arms wrap around his torso and a voice gentler than the wind speak into every fiber of his being. For that period of time, it felt like everything made sense. A bright blue color stained his vision for a moment before only it became the color of the sky again.

    Hearing a thud, Pinocchio broke out of his trance and saw Adone holding the top of his head with a pained expression on his face. Just when Pinocchio touched Adone¡¯s shoulder, the world around them warped in a myriad of different ways, stretching and condensing into all sorts of shapes. Night and day melted into one as people appeared, disappeared and reappeared in a kaleidoscope of faces until there was no one in sight. Just the two of them remained, blanketed under a sea of stars with not another soul left in the web of buildings surrounding them.

    When the performer looked around, he remembered the smallest trace of his childhood where he explored the forest and observed as many animals as he could. He was only reminded of this glimpse of light from his past by comparing the habitat of animals to the habitat of humans. The hives of bees looked no different from the tall buildings people produce to work or live in. Their gaze became one as Adone saw the world through Pinocchio¡¯s turquoise eyes, seeing the buildings and works of man to be akin to the works of any other creature on earth. Adone finally understood what he was looking at with his mind dyed in Pinocchio¡¯s wisdom. Life revealed itself to him in its sublimity, showing him a freedom he longed for more than anything.

    The wooden boy retracted his hand from him, asking if he was okay. Adone¡¯s gaze pierced the earth, reaching the astral ocean circumambulating them. As he reoriented himself back to reality, he let out a hearty laugh and a smile Pinocchio will always carry in his heart. Their fates were woven into each other¡¯s iridescent ghosts.

 Chapter 5: The Ocean That Envies The Sky

    Day after sunny day, the plaza was ablaze with the movements of visceral flames. Each street performer offered a fresh pocket of existence for the passerby to immerse their attention into. People of all ages encircled the performers, extracting an income of intrigue pregnant with wisdom to come for the young. The wisdom carried by the old blossomed into the most beautiful flowers in their ghost, showing them a glimpse of bliss. Although the performers clogged some of the roads for the passerby to walk through on some special occasions and festivities, the caravan of Mangiafuoco always considered a specific space for whenever the doll performed in conjunction with experienced entertainers. A space big enough for them to not block a road and choke the throng of people during the days they performed. Little did the people know the shadows the performer¡¯s casted, gaping into one omnipotent abyss.

    Pinocchio was the only outside of the performers who noticed the lead staining their hearts. No matter how wonderfully they acted or danced, the doll saw the strings of their frayed hearts wrapping around their fire for life, subduing it into faint humming embers. The true fire of their art flickered in its absence, a fire so pure that the heat escaped it and its incandescence died. Fire devoid of its characteristics engulfed their hearts, transfiguring their ever bleeding nature into prismatic rays of light. Their ability to turn pitiful destruction into something awesome inspired admiration from the doll, which blended with his pity and confusion for life¡¯s complexity. Something instinctual whispered to him that the complexity is merely an illusion dressed in jewels. But the doll, unlike some of the more gloomy actors, believed that this golden glow decorating their darkest shadows was just as real as their pain.

    ¡°How could such a miserable group of people seem so happy?¡± Pinocchio thought, unable to fully grasp the ebb and flow of the human heart. Head lost in thoughts, his feet gravitated towards the castle-like portable building where the members of the circus troupe lived. As he had some time and was too exhausted to do anything else, a nap was the most wonderful thing imaginable. An innocent excitement moved him towards his bedroom which was above the main lobby and studios. It took him a long time to adjust himself to the absurd dimensions beyond the doors within the building. Some doors led to a wall, while others led to expanses so vast that the eye hungered to see what lay beyond those dream-woven horizons. Spaces constructed by manipulated music, sewing the limitlessness of the imagination within the limit of reality. So what he thought was his room for the umpteenth time was actually a dock surrounded by an endless ocean.

    Unobscured sunlight ignited the expanse with a rich blue sky and turquoise waters. When Pinocchio walked out of the door and looked behind him, the door and its frame wasn¡¯t there. Instead, a sea dock as far as his eyes could see stretched on in both directions. The ocean whispered the lullabye of serenity, reminding his mind of its many mysteries. Juxtaposed to the tranquility of his experience of the space, Cecilia, who he recognized as often playing the columbina character. She solemnly stared out into the horizon with her elbows against the rail, a pensive expression softening her facial features while sharpening her eyes into obsidian disks. Another universe, opposite to the gentle motions of the waves, danced in her eyes and boiled in her heart. It took her a while to notice the wooden doll standing next to her, merely staring in the same direction as her but looking over the edge of the parapet. Even when realizing his presence, she showed no signs of acknowledging it. A sigh that matched the voice of the water flowed out of her lips.

    Her eyes slid from the horizon¡¯s edge to the doll¡¯s mohair, appreciating its pearly sheen under the sunless sunlight. Memories of seafoam kissing her feet ebbed into her mind and flowed out in the form of a sigh of nostalgia. There was a melody in that sigh that was so blissful that he couldn¡¯t help but look up to observe its origin and smile. Her large almond shaped eyes told him a story he knew words would fail to convey. It was in her silence and the way she conducted herself, like an instrument playing itself with absolute perfection, that inspired the most profound sense of awe in Pinocchio. Studying her more, he understood that the music in her heart was being played with bleeding fingers and bloody hands. Both origins of the red were foreign to the doll and were even more foreign to the lady in the floral flowing dress. A crimson glow accompanied her music, articulating a past that aroused Pinocchio¡¯s intrigue-born awe even more. An old warmth, buried under the dust of confinement, softened her frown to create a smile.

    ¡°And what have you been up to, nameless doll?¡±

    Cords in a metal box in his throat rattled as he sighed, eyes downcast.

    ¡°I have a name, you know¡­¡± Pinocchio replied poutingly. Seeing that only made her smile grow. But a dark shadow washed it away as she shook her head.

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± she firmly stated, ¡°nor should you have any. Something about you screams impermanence which names don¡¯t respect. It¡¯s nice to be untethered by such trivial things. Sounds like a dream¡­¡± and her thoughts melted into the waves, returning to nothing.

    ¡°My name is really precious to me,¡± Pinocchio said to sever the silence between them. ¡°It makes me feel like I belong here too.¡±

    A beautifully thunderous laugh boomed out of her. It faded into the sound of a dying bonfire, sweetly crackling as it understood its close end. One final glow blossomed in her eyes before getting swallowed by experience.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ I¡¯m really happy for you, Pinocchio.¡±

    Her kind expression reminded the doll of the lush goodness sheltered in her barbed heart. But once again, ebony waves washed it away.

    ¡°You should feel like you belong somewhere else, somewhere better. Being locked in place by a name and history is something you don¡¯t need to fear at all. Don¡¯t you look at the horizon and wonder what lies beyond that? The possibilities and novelties there only your imagination can give color to.¡±

    A detailed history he could never fully understand exuded from her words, making them dye his mind in a rich palette of thoughts. In spite of the pungent inspiration, Pinocchio couldn¡¯t locate his mind or see any of its wonders. What he thought was a tree decked in healthy foliage became a mere shadow smeared on a barren land. There was nothing to grasp, nothing to know. Paralysed, Pinocchio stared at the line between the sea and the sky, losing himself in the vastness of his imagination.

    ¡°I¡­¡± His vocal chords rang, ¡°I don¡¯t think I am able to know what you mean. This place is all I¡¯ve seen for now, so the rest is just fantasy.¡±

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s all fantasy,¡± Cecilia said in a sunny tone, ¡°a lot of things are. In fact, you can say that nearly everything is fantasy.¡±

    For once, he understood exactly what someone said instead of trying to understand what they were saying. Such knowledge was buried deep within the layers of his music that the rest of the world didn¡¯t seem to listen to but played in silence. Just like in the silence of the swaying flowers, the birdsong, the shape of objects, the dance of water. Their voices spoke to him so clearly and to his surprise the others were deaf to its melody.

    ¡°Even that little voice in the heart?¡± the doll asked.

    ¡°The heart?¡± she mockingly echoed with a smile. As they peered into each others¡¯ eyes, Pinocchio noticed melancholy¡¯s glow in her gaze, darkening her sunny smile.

    ¡°No, that can¡¯t not be real. It¡¯s the birthplace of the imagination and what fantasy is made of, but its fire is the most real thing that can ever be. It¡¯s too real; so real that it hurts more than anything and can be hurt so brutally.¡±

    Unable to understand her words on an embodied level, Pinocchio merely nodded as he stared into the turquoise water¡¯s ever changing shapes. Within every curve of the water, a new thought emerged which morphed into a myriad of other thoughts. Each one changed in shape, never fully repeating itself. In his oceanic ghost, the doll followed the rhythm of the tides, listening to where they moved to. He couldn''t fathom if they were going to a specific location, so he took a deep breath and enjoyed the aquatic melody without any expectation of a destination. It was a peaceful experience, and in the peace he understood the turmoil boiling in the oceans of her heart. A violent heat from a dark place shook the depths of her abyss, turning her darkness excruciatingly painful, but warm. Steeped in dreamlike tranquility, Pinocchio listened to the creative blaze of her heart.

    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been a little jealous of you ever since you arrived. So many of us wish that we can be like you. But no, our innocence gets slaughtered while we slaughter the innocence of others. And for what? To sustain what? It feels as though our own hearts are against us sometimes, but deep down I can¡¯t accept that.¡±

    Cecilia affixed her gaze to the doll¡¯s turquoise eyes. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°What has that little voice in your heart been telling you?¡±

    But the moment she asked that, it went silent. He tried to listen with all of his intent only to hear the sound of cogs rolling and clicking like a hundred clocks. Soon the clicks grew as numerous as the amount of waves on the turquoise waters, each rolling wave echoing a rolling cog. There were hints of things said, but the cacophonous nature of his heart made it impossible to understand any of it. So much was felt but none was communicable. He gripped the parapet of the bridge and attempted to calm the wild echoes of his clockwork heart.

    ¡°I.. Don¡¯t know,¡± Pinocchio said with effort, ¡°but I do know that there are a lot of voices in yours. There are as many waves as there are voices in your heart of hearts. Tell me what you¡¯re feeling, and why you are in a place like this.¡±

    He looked around again and became lost in the distance where the bridge met the horizon. She also wondered how far the bridge went, what it was connected to, what held it in place, and gave a cursory glance at the entire dreamscape.

    ¡°You only enter places like this if the heart asks for it. This place knows what the heart wants and will make spaces in accordance with its wishes. That must have not happened to you yet, as you are still deaf to yours. But let me tell you this one thing: don¡¯t ever love someone with dreams larger than their hearts.¡±

    A door appeared next to Cecilia which he only noticed when looking at her stoic countenance. Behind her stony stare into the horizon scintillated a cornucopia of passions, ones that she expressed on her life¡¯s many stages and others that wouldn¡¯t dare to touch the light. The weightful reality of such fiery feelings would burn her already charred heart to nothing but ash. Her dark eyes rolled from the bright turquoise waves up to piercing blue sky, ignoring the doll completely. Pinocchio¡¯s voice became washed away by every wave between them, so he slowly made his way towards the door. As he opened the door and saw the diamond-shaped carpet in the hallway, he looked back one last time before closing the door. The final thing he saw was her stoic expression shatter into a sob with a large wave descending upon her frail state. With the click of the door, he left with a deep melancholy stinging his heart.

    Hours pass and another successful show ended, fuelling Pinocchio¡¯s pride with the sparkling cheers of the audience. All the performers bowed in unison, raising the noise of the cheer like an ocean¡¯s wave whose power rushed through the performers. Back in the mobile circus, they cleaned their make-up and washed themselves from the sweat of a hard day¡¯s work. Not needing to do so, Pinocchio wandered around only to find out that Adone the harlequin was missing. He went to ask Ciriaco the pulcinella, who only shrugged when he asked him the question.

    ¡°I can¡¯t seem to find the columbina Cecilia either,¡± he said as he took his black mask off, exposing a strikingly youthful yet mature face.

    Pinocchio ran off to find the two, looking through the halls and the lobbies, reaching the edge where he could look down and see the caravans litter the fields below.

    Bathing in the chill of the night and the warmth of the lamps¡¯ lights, he wandered through the field of caravans, listening closely and peeping through each window to find him. Eventually, in the private caravan of the columbina, he heard the familiar musical voice of his hero, the harlequin. Only instead of playing its usual gentle rhythms, his voice was stained with scorn and bitterness, making Pinocchio doubt if it was really him. But when he peered through a gap in the embroidered curtains, he saw Adone and Cecilia locked in a chaotic embrace that teetered on the edge of lust and abstinence. But lust won every battle. The caravan shook as Adone pinned her shoulder to the floor, distancing himself even just a little. Pinocchio pressed his ear against the glass to listen in on the muffled conversation.

    ¡°You can¡¯t keep doing this Cecilia! You can¡¯t keep dragging me here and use your sweet lies to get what you want.¡± Adone rebuked.

    ¡°You criticize me, but you still came, no? Why can¡¯t we just play pretend like we do in our plays? And why can¡¯t I enjoy you even though you enjoy me to your heart''s content? You¡¯re the greatest harlot I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±

    Adone sat down on the ground beside her, giving her room to sit up as well. Both their clothes were crumpled like trodden leaves.

    ¡°That was the past! I buried that and you should too. I realized how foolish it was to pretend to act as if you¡¯re the one I love while that isn¡¯t the case at all. My true love is far, far away and you¡¯re nothing like her. I should¡¯ve ended this relationship the moment you proposed the offer.¡±

    In the burning silence, Adone took a deep breath in and a sharp breath out before getting up and walking away. Cecilia just stared at the lamp that hung from the ceiling and unconsciously grabbed his wrist as he walked by. Frozen stiff, he simply let his hand hang on the handle of the door until she let go, not wasting any energy to look at her.

    ¡°You decide to toss me aside when it¡¯s convenient for you¡­¡±

    A shame-forged spear penetrated his weary heart.

    ¡°That was a part of our agreement; you could have done the exact same, whenever you wanted.¡±

    ¡°But what do I do with these feelings I have? I can¡¯t simply toss them in the wind and never see them again; they¡¯ll remain in my heart for as long as I have one. You have hope and a lover in far away lands, but what do I have?¡±

    A cold silence radiated from the caravan, infusing Pinocchio¡¯s cogs with a sickening sloth. His wheels spun with a spark of surprise when he saw Cecilia wrap her arms around Adone from behind, nestling her face into his shoulder.

    ¡°Why is it that you¡¯re ending this arrangement in the first place? Have you gone mad as well? We¡¯re prisoners here; everyone who works for Mangiafuoco is a prisoner.¡±

    She distanced herself before saying, ¡°We¡¯ll never leave, and you¡¯ll never see your precious true love.¡±

    A cavernous sigh, dark and heavy, softy escaped his lungs.

    ¡°... I just decided that it was the right thing to do.¡±

    Sharp laughter bursted from the caravan. Cecilia tried to subdue her laugh with a hand over her smile while Adone fondled the door handle, eager to leave as soon as possible. But all the nerves in his hand froze as he saw an animal fire slip out of the cracks of her laughing fit.

    ¡°Right? Since when have you done the right thing? Since when do we do the right thing? There¡¯s no difference between right and wrong! Only what we do and what we don¡¯t do. That¡¯s the way of the marionette; we do what we¡¯re ordered to do. Being sent out to assassinate and torture people for the sake of Mangiafuoco¡¯s financial prosperity isn¡¯t exactly morally right either. Our hands are stained with blood and you bring up what is right and wrong? You really are fit to play the harlequin; you can make the world laugh with that joke if they understood our pain! But no, we understand each other''s pain more than anyone in the world! Might as well take advantage of what little freedom we have in this hell and enjoy ourselves, no?¡±

    The woman tenderly wrapped her fingers around his wrist and lifted it to eye level, leaning in to steal a deep kiss whilst caressing his long black hair with the other hand. With an annoyed groan, Adone ripped her off of him and grabbed her shoulders once again, looking deeply into her emerald eyes.

    ¡°Why would I use my little sliver of my freedom to torture myself by entertaining your desperation?¡±

    Her fingers slowly drew a line from his shoulders to his wrists, making them traverse every bump of his musculature. She gently tilted his arm and placed her lips on the rows of faded scars on his wrist as her warm breath perfumed them.

    ¡°Why torture yourself with hope?¡± she began. ¡°Let¡¯s just make our own heaven in this hell and be happy on our own terms. You know that there is no way out, so just accept it as quickly and possible and be happy. Be with me.¡±

    ¡°I need you to stop pushing this onto me; I can¡¯t reciprocate your feelings. I¡¯m just not that kind of person, okay?¡±

    ¡°What are you then? A dreamer? Someone who hurts themselves to make them feel better about things they have no control over? You don¡¯t even have proof of her; you have nothing! You could be making it all up for all I know! You being a knight. Having a secret relationship with some king¡¯s daughter and then getting caught and captured by Mangiafuoco. You don¡¯t even know the name of your king or the kingdom you protected. Hell, you don¡¯t even know your true name! Your precious little Celeste would probably be happier without your mediocre self! You¡¯re just a burden in her spoiled life.¡±

    Consumed by blind rage, he flings her towards her bed, making her back hit the hard wooden corner of it. He ripped the door open with the same ferocity.

    ¡°This is the last time I¡¯m ever entering this dungeon of yours. Don¡¯t expect me to be lured in by your poisonous persuasions again. You have so many others to sink your fangs into. Oh wait, you already do. So stop crying over a broken toy that was never even yours in the first place.¡±

    The way he slammed the door echoed the frustration of a hundred red nights condensed into one thunderclap. A cold, black emptiness swelled up inside of her and swallowed the warmth of the orange lights in her caravan room. Her world became one hundred degrees colder, freezing the sweet flow of life rushing through, transforming every stream of vigor into a bolt of lightning eviscerating her ghost. Ravaged by a wicked storm, all her mistakes rebuked her tenfold in the form of an all-consuming, all-powerful yet invisible pain which conquered her entire being. An ocean of choices she was forced to make and she consciously made crashed onto her heart, ripping it to shreds between the tides of her passions.

    Eyes glazed with tears and a voice lacerated with grief, Cecilia stared through the prison-like caravan, unconsciously longing for the stars ensconced in the ether. The wrath of a thousand suns sweltered in her incandescent ghost, lecturing her in a language painfully familiar. With her conscience pulverized by the violence of her spirits educated by the cruelty of her position, all she could do was breathe in and out, in and out. Somewhere in the land of shattered dreams and broken hopes, the only thing she truly understood was her love for the harlequin which was the one thing she never wished to lose after losing so much. She only understood the purity and immutable truth of her love when it was lost for good and knowing that, she laughed. With a sweet voice of broken shards of iridescent glass, she wept.

 Chapter 6: Sea of Stars

    Pinocchio, tucked under the caravan, saw the feet of Adone violently thrust into the earth as they made their way back to the main mobile inn on clockwork spider legs. All of the cogs in his system jaggedly twisted, trying his hardest to process all of the information he just heard. The cricket was unable to convey to Pinocchio how he should feel in that situation, so Celso tweaked some cogs to send the message that told Pinocchio the rudimentary rules of ethics that were disrespected in that situation. While he crawls on his elbows and knees to get out from under the caravan, he hears the woman¡¯s muffled sobs from under the caravan. Empathy was still a foreign concept to Pinocchio, but the essence of it tainted his mind in some inconspicuous way even though he knew what she did and said was wrong at certain points. Things that the cricket didn¡¯t communicate to him began to emerge, but they were undeveloped and faint.

    The wooden boy sneakily crawled from one caravan to another, trying to find out where Adone ran off to. An orchestra of crickets chirped throughout the night, but the one inside of him remained silent, for he had no need to join them. Traveling through the field felt like being in another place entirely. Fireflies danced in the air, illuminating the ornate caravans of the members and other caravans that housed foreign animals and other equipment. As the fireflies drifted through the ether, an innumerable amount of stars scintillated above him enveloping the earth.

    Pinocchio heard the groans of people, two people, from one of the caravans he thought was supposed to be for animals. He climbed up the spokes of one of the large wooden wheels and jumped to hang from a window sill. With all his might, he pulled himself up to see a horrible sight: two people were bloodied and bound to chairs facing each other. One, a woman, had a blindfold over her eyes with two dried rivers of blood streamed down from her cheeks before hardening. The other one, a man, was missing his left leg up to his knee. Stained wrappings and blood covered the wound, but it still seemed to ache as if it were fresh, judging from his moans. The bruised and battered individuals drowned in shadows radiated a similar feeling from that of the wooden boy who gazed at them with hurt in his heart. Yet that part of him still remained as nothing more than a distant dream¡¯s residue.

    The man whispered sounds of ease to the blinded woman, her head perking up in response. A gruff hum echoed out of her parched throat, which was enough to calm the nerves of the man. Like crunching glass, he spoke.

    ¡°Curse that god-forsaken harlequin. That bastard! Treating us like garbage and almost killing us. I¡¯ll show him. We¡¯ll show him not to mess with people like us! We¡¯ll get out of here and we¡¯ll wreck this place. We should¡¯ve never agreed to this stupid assignment and just stay in Ryugu to enjoy some fried squid; man how I would die for some right now¡­¡±

    ¡°We? You were the one who came up with this stupid idea. ¡®Prophecy¡¯ this and ¡®prophecy¡¯ that, you couldn¡¯t shut your mouth about it.¡± She hissed.

    ¡°My spirit isn¡¯t my own; it whispers its newfound discovery to our master too, who obviously couldn¡¯t get enough when he heard it. We were destined to come here and seek out the Field of Miracles.¡±

    ¡°Yet you still insisted on going!¡±

    ¡°I refused at first but he wouldn¡¯t stop badgering me about it! You agreed too, you believed it as well. So don¡¯t blame me, okay?¡±

    The light tone of the man held an air of tenderness, even when he was frustrated. Pinocchio could tell that he cared for her, even if she antagonized him a bit. The woman settled down and lost her hostility, allowing a sorrowful silence to pass between the two. A tender apology and its acceptance accompanied the silence as they sat there with revenge and redemption in their hearts.

    Slowly, the doll made his way down the caravan and searched with even more haste for the harlequin he hoped was not the same one as he just heard about. His imagination cruelly constructed a myriad of disturbing images of what he could have done to him based on their observable condition, arousing a sense of nausea from the doll. In that state, he felt as if every wheel in his body ran with the speed of intense wind, each spinning mechanism producing polyphonous howling that deafened him of all other things. The same man whose radiant heart he graced the warm beams of light from could not have been the same that inflicted such horrific wounds to those two he just encountered. Two wildly opposing images of the same man flashed before his eyes, blinding him of any proper sense. Only by finding him could his mind be cleared of the disorderly thoughts waging war with one another.

    After what felt like hours of searching, he finally spotted the harlequin sitting on an empty patch of grass, gazing up at the full moon whose silver light washed over everything. Pinocchio pressed his wooden hand on the back of the harlequin, startling him.

    ¡°P-Pinocchio! What are you doing here?¡± he whispered, ¡°You should be in bed by now; young boys need their sleep to grow big and strong.¡± he mockingly said. The smile he gave afterwards definitely highlighted his act of mocking, but Pinocchio didn¡¯t mind. He treated it as if he was being considerate.

    ¡°Thank you but I¡¯m okay. I don¡¯t like to sleep; I get bad dreams often.¡±

    A soft sound of sympathy descended from his voice as he repositions himself in a way to allow Pinocchio to sit next to him for a proper conversation.

    ¡°What kind of dreams do you have?¡± Adone asked, softer than moonlight.

    ¡°I remember that time in the arena, where I saw Martino fight this person. The brutality of it all invades my mind to the point where I can only think of the fear and dread that that gladiator must be feeling. In fact, I momentarily peered into his heart and saw his life through his eyes within me. Every detail imprinted itself in me, from his greatest joys to his worst moments of despair.  That despair just¡­ I fear sleeping again after such a horrible dream. Dolls don¡¯t need sleep anyway. I¡¯m fine for now, so that¡¯s all that matters.¡±

    The harlequin hummed in agreement as they both gazed up at the moon while the fireflies decorated the air. Words remain bound to Pinocchio¡¯s clockwork heart while he himself wanted them to desperately exit his mind and mouth, to purge himself of their weight. Cogs and wires disobeyed his will to speak about all that he has heard.

    Scenes started to replay in his mind; from the incident at Cecilia¡¯s caravan to the two beaten individuals that cursed his name. War raged in Pinocchio¡¯s sensitive soul, unable to understand how he should feel about Adone. The cricket seemed to gently coerce him into distancing himself from him, but his heart still managed to find comfort in Adone¡¯s company. The war temporarily dissipated as Pinocchio spread out on the grass and let out a deep sigh before asking, ¡°Why did you hurt those two?¡±

    Confusion twisted Adone¡¯s face when he heard the question. A darkness slithered its way into his face which got quickly washed away.

    ¡°Oh¡­ There are multiple harlequins. Those two poor souls must¡¯ve been at the wrong place at the wrong time.¡± he said with a straight face. Each second in silence slowly made his conscience crack and crumble.

    ¡°I never wanted to do such things,¡± Adone replied, wringing his hand like a wet rag as he bit his lip. Pinocchio saw in his eyes a history of horrors which dimmed the light within him. But the glow persisted, and the doll relished in every part of its beautiful incandescence in spite of the web of shadows that ensnared his virtues.

    ¡°We have to get our hands dirty frequently, per Mangiafuoco¡¯s command. It¡¯s a gruelling existence to betray your heart a million times. I¡¯m really happy that you don¡¯t need to get your hands bloody. Not like us¡­¡±

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    In spite of his culpability radiating out of every part of him, a lingering feeling of disgust for him continued. Not wanting to be disgusted with the person he adored, he redirected it into himself, becoming disgusted with himself for still enjoying his company. The contagious nature of self-loathing ended when Pinocchio took a deep breath and cleared his mind, channeling his conflicting emotions into the pure desire to understand more.

    ¡°Are you a bad person?¡± Pinocchio blatantly blurts out in full sincerity. He had an inkling that Adone wasn¡¯t telling him the full story, but didn¡¯t mind as he grew to realize that people often lie to protect the other person in some way. No offense was taken, only a lingering question and longing for understanding that made his cogs twist in awkward ways.

    Adone however, aback by the question, took a moment to fully process it. An acute pain crawled its way deeply inside of him the more he thought about it. Anger was never the first emotion to come out of Adone. The wooden boy knew that he could swallow the sharpest, most painful truths of himself which Pinocchio admired him for. After a long break, he came up with a response.

    ¡°You can¡¯t simply lump people into categories like that. No one is truly good and no one is truly bad either. I do my best to make others happy sometimes, but deep down I know it comes from a selfish place. Everyone is like that to some degree. It just depends how destructive it is for others and yourself which deems it as a good or bad thing. One who destroys themselves for the salvation of a group is good, but one who enjoys themselves fully while hurting others is bad. Good and evil isn¡¯t measured in numbers, it¡¯s measured in actions which take on a variety of unique characteristics.¡±

    His turquoise eyes glowed like stars as he stared at Adone with complete concentration. All of his attention rooted itself deeply into his every word, absorbing all of its wisdoms that dripped from his bleeding heart.

    ¡°Actions naturally flow from the voices of the heart. But judging from my actions, it would seem impossible to truly know what my heart is asking me for. Even though I don''t fully understand it myself, I can only tell you that it is weak and brittle, afraid of getting burned by the light of the good and only finds solace in the dark shadows of others. I am sometimes afraid of my own light, worried that I will just crumble to dust if I ever truly confront myself. There is no such thing as a good or a bad person, only those who are and are not afraid of their inner light.¡±

    ¡°What kind of light?¡± Pinocchio asked, eager to know more about his strange mind. He already understood a bit of what he was saying, learning from his own perspective, but wanted to know how he interpreted the glow he saw in him.

    ¡°It¡¯s more akin to a fire, maybe. Yeah, a fire. Something that illuminates all the things in the dark and offers soothing warmth, but burns you when you are too close to it. In fact, all the little things you notice and seek comfort in can get devoured by those flames, leaving you with ashes. Its glow promises illumination and life but its most intimate nature promises death. This wicked spirit of fire swallowed my conscience and my heart, leaving me with embers and ash. But it''s not simply fire, or water, or any element of earthly origin. The light I¡¯m referring to can take on every metaphor imaginable, being beyond all of them.¡±

    Eyes like lead, Adone turned his head to Pinocchio and met his gaze with great effort. Under the darkness of night, his turquoise eyes shone brighter than any star in the sky and any firefly in the field. And even in the realm of the harlequin¡¯s mind, his eyes outshone the makeshift joy he constructed for himself, undeveloped and immature. Adone lost himself in the sanctuary of his gaze, and became surprised with the sudden surge of warmth his fire acquired.

    But it passed as quickly as it came. His leadlike gaze rolled back to the ground as he shook his head with the miserable shadow of a smile. In spite of its ephemerality, the fact that that warmth was at one point present again invigorated his spirits greatly, washing away the shadow to brighten his smile. In all his years trying to make the connection between him and Cecilia spark flame only lead to destruction on both ends, never learning and always getting too close to the fire that grew far too much and far too little. He bit his lips as he felt its burning embrace.

    A shrill laugh sputtered out of him as his head sagged down, making strands on his long black hair fall and swing in the gentle wind. He whips his head back up and runs his fingers through his hair to comb it back.

    ¡°It¡¯s funny how a doll like you has more of a heart than me. Maybe I am the doll and you are the human being!¡± he said as he cackled and fell on his side, rolling in the grass before looking up at the stars with Pinocchio lying beside him. The moonlight washed over them as the orchestra of crickets chirped to bury the silence. Adone decided to fill the air with more than just the light of fireflies and the cacophony of chirps.

    ¡°Anyone can be seen as evil or good, so what do you see in me? Am I a bad person to you?¡±

    Pinocchio¡¯s eyes attached themselves to the stars in the sky, methodically giving every star the same attention and adoration. The answers felt as if they were far, far away from him, as if the stars stole his words. He gazed intently at the night sky and at the way the stars twinkled, searching for the answers he was looking for. He voiced his answer to hem in an attempt to channel their beauty through his words.

    ¡°I can only look at the world through heaven¡¯s eyes. I¡¯ve seen the beauty of life and how rotten it can be. How people aggrandize themselves despite them being as simple as bugs from nature¡¯s point of view. That chaos seems to seep into you, but in ways I can¡¯t seem to be frightened about. Anyone can be anything, but everyone seems to be confused with themselves. You are no different. You are not bad, you are simply you. Satisfied?¡±

    They maintained their gaze before Adone turned his chin to the sky to see the stars. There, he rediscovered old words once spoken by the person he wished he could have loved properly.

    ¡°You have been through some bad things, just like me, but that doesn¡¯t make you a bad person.¡±

    Cecilia¡¯s simple sentiment bloomed in his mind as the stars ushered in the spring of his spirit, where new life would bloom from the gray wrath of winter. He welcomed the bittersweet fragrance bleeding from his memories along with its promise of change.

    The side of the harlequin¡¯s lips curled up without his consent as the nocturnal lights surrounded them. Adone tilted his head to the side to look at Pinocchio lying next to him; his white mohair hair glowing with the moonlight and the turquoise in his eyes flickering like the stars above. An indescribable feeling of awe struck him, fortifying his resolve to go through with his plans. He also began to scrupulously study the stars in search of the right words to convince the young Pinocchio to join him.

    ¡°Have you ever thought of what lies beyond the stars? Ever wondered why we exist?¡±

    Pinocchio¡¯s turquoise eyes glowed even brighter when they were directed to the sea of stars. Both confusion and profound intrigue found their way into his mind which slowed his internal clockwork to a brisk tempo to fully accept what he just heard. He could tell that Adone was about to go into something deeper, so he waited in thoughtful silence to hear what he had to say further.

    ¡°I don¡¯t mean how we exist; science can try to explain that. I mean why you and I exist. Why vegetation grows, why the birds sing and the sun rises and falls, why¡­ Why such godly power is placed in the hands of such lowly creatures. Simply turning an intricately designed music box can manipulate the laws of the cosmos. It¡¯s what made you, but some say that the whole universe is the result of a melody from some primordial music.¡±

    After Adone¡¯s performance of languid gesticulations into nothingness, he slumps back down to lie on the dirt and grass again, turning towards Pinocchio¡¯s attentive expression.

    ¡°... I¡¯ll stop playing around. I know you were listening in on the conversation I had with Cecilia; I can recognise those bright turquoise eyes anywhere. I¡­ Honestly, I don¡¯t even know the name of this ¡®true love¡¯ of mine. That I was a knight in a distant kingdom¡­ It just feels right. It could even be a past life for all I know. But Celeste¡­ They''re just¡­ A concept to me. I don¡¯t want to get out of here for that person, I want to get out of here to discover what ¡°Celeste¡± could possibly mean. Maybe I¡¯m madly in love with that ¡®princess¡¯ because I¡¯m madly in love with the distant mystery. Maybe she¡¯s just a metaphor for undiscovered truth and is the key to understanding the world and myself.

    With his elbow pressed into the soil, Adone curved his upper body to face Pinocchio more personally.

    ¡°I need your help with that, Pinocchio. Truth be told, I¡¯m really jealous of you. To be a puppet without strings¡­ Every being with a heart is bound to its strings, and Mangiafuoco controls the hearts of all of us. The idea of a free will means that our free will is limiting us from experiencing true freedom. We¡¯re constantly doing things and thinking about things we think we want to do or think about. We¡¯re blinded by our desire for things which gives us the illusion of freedom, while in actuality we¡¯re simply listening to our hearts¡¯ whims. We are prisoners to the will of our heart¡¯s desire. But if our hearts aren¡¯t our own¡­ then whose are they? Who''s in control of our hearts if not us? That, my wooden friend, is what I want to uncover the secrets of! And you¡¯re the only one who can help me; the only one that isn¡¯t bound by the whims of the heart.¡±

 chapter 7: In the Shadow of Dreams

    A complete sense of mystery and wonder ignited a roaring flame inside of Pinocchio. After that fateful night, Adone started working meticulously to find ways to execute his plan of escape, this time with the help of Pinocchio. In the silence of his room, a million thoughts blossomed with voices, each one competing against the other in a battle for recognition. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling of his caravan swayed as he struck his fist against the desk, staring at a paper as blank as his thoughts. All the hope and excitement he wished to manifest into reality remained chained in his ghost, nearly boiling and burning from the intensity. But in the vapors of his frustration, a glimpse of beauty was found. The mental chaos produced a serene dance of elements in his mind which he was still not able to fully grasp. Being in its presence, however, was enough for him to see that he was close to something glorious. The periphery of paradise taunted his limits, teasing his senses to hunger for its majesty.

    He folded his arms one over the other, using them as a pillow for his weary head. Adone decided to let the thoughts move like rivers through his ghost, laced around one another so as to be locked in combat with each other¡¯s flow. Where those thoughts even arose evaded his perceptions. Each stream came from different dimensions in a space he couldn¡¯t even fully comprehend, but he felt its influence roaring with his skull. It became so furious that even his body couldn¡¯t handle the forces. He grabbed his skull as if it was about to burst open, staring out his window which only showed him his own ragged features. Tired of the unruly nature of his mind, he exited his caravan.

    The night gently caressed his skin with a touch that was just the right coldness to ease him. Fireflies danced to the melody of the crickets in the fields, in equilibrium with everything around them. Observing the peace of the night, the harmonies it sang with its many singers, made Adone long to be as harmonious as it all within. Yet something in his ghost wouldn¡¯t allow that. The copious amount of coagulated blood formed knifelike crystals over the scars, piercing them forever open, forever aflame with feeling. But on nights like this, he could ignore the fire¡¯s wrath and relish in the sweetness of the cold.

    No matter how wonderful the clockwork of nature flowed, the shadow of his dreams would loom over every part of it, staining the whole in a dull gray from time to time. In there, all was infused with a richness not found in his waking life. The verdure of his dreams was far more viridescent than any blade of grass he came across. But even in his dreams, the most horrific tendencies also arose. Caught between the horrors and harmonies of the heart, Adone found himself split in two, bound into one broken whole through the dried blood nestled in the cracks of his soul.

    In the face of all that he has seen and all that he ever felt, there was always the foreign presence of something which paradoxically felt wholly familiar to him. Under the light of the moon and the stars, that same presence descended upon him, wrapping its arms around his shoulders. Its lips drew closer to his ear, and its azure locks flowed down like the milky way over his shoulder.

    Its voice, rich with femininity, whispered directly into his soul in a myriad of tongues. All the stars in the sky breathed through his lungs, vocalizing as they participated in the music of her divine speech. Nestled in the nexus of all his dreams, she appeared before him. Her appearance would always escape his sight, but her existence would weave itself into his awareness through all his faculties, reminding him that she was real beyond all other realities. In the contrast between bloodshed and beauty, her presence made sense of all opposites, uniting them into one complete tapestry of life. With reverence, he let his nerves catch fire and blaze as he tried to understand her wisdom, raging through his veins as if the rivers of the earth too caught fire and boiled throughout his being. As her voice faded into the ether and her touch slowly lost its warmth, he was able to put into simple words what she conveyed to him using the language of life.

    ¡°Find yourself in me¡­¡± was one of the final things she told him before disappearing into the night, dying its parts in the beauty of the whole. Full of inspiration, he rushed back into his caravan and took out a notebook from his drawer instead. Its leather body groaned as Adone pried it open, immediately getting a feather and ink to jot down all the ideas flowing through him and onto the page. Black stars bled on the yellowish pages as some of its blood scattered on the edges of his messy writings. In the rush of inspiration, he felt her hand holding his as his thoughts bled onto the page, seeing the blood of beauty rushing before his eyes. Life¡¯s veins, liberated from the static veins of flesh, moved as freely as particles of dust dancing in sunbeams. Spirit surged through his flesh, taking shape in the scribbling on the old notebook. A narrative etched deeply in his heart dyed the script whose content lapped like ocean waves on the shore of reality, revealing secrets he himself was unaware of until they appeared before him. The lonely stars in his ghost blossomed into heavenly flowers as the roots of his mind wove into the story, nurturing the script and himself.

    The next day, the entire group was told that they were going to perform in the grand theater; a large and lavish room for only the rich and wealthy to enjoy tasteful plays from well-known playwrights. To everyone¡¯s surprise, the harlequin showed Mangiafuoco a script he wrote that would be to the taste of the pompous audience.

    While he leafed through the pages, Adone broke out in a nervous sweat, insecure about every word he saw Mangiafuoco¡¯s eyes glance over. When he read through the script in his mind, the harlequin  was confident that the higher class would enjoy the raw drama radiating from every scene of the play. The large man quickly saw money and fame in every word the harlequin wrote and went along with his script. As the director as well as writer, Adone had full control of the performance and guided everyone to the best of his abilities to give the audience a spectacle they wouldn¡¯t dare to scoff at.

    In between one of the many rehearsals, he tried to convince the player of the pedrolino to join him in escaping, but that only elicited a furious response out of him. After that, he didn¡¯t bother to convince the others. Even without engaging in the topic with them, by simply mentioning other subjects, he was able to infer that they would be against his absurd plan. So in between most of the rehearsals, he educated Pinocchio on the workings of Mangiafuoco¡¯s strings and how to cut them loose. Adone paced around the dressing room as the wooden boy spun himself around in a spinning chair.

    ¡°From the moment one signs a contract to him, on paper or in heart, they¡¯re immediately bound to him and the group he has made. There is no physical way of escaping that accursed spell, so we need to cut the strings loose by killing Mangiafuoco. I put him as a simple but vital character for the play, so he can¡¯t leave even if he wanted to, for it would risk the quality of the play, and he wouldn¡¯t dare to miss out on any riches. Even if he was shot in both legs, he¡¯d still crawl to scrape up whatever he finds that is of value. His death means the severance of our strings and our freedom, so while he acts as if he¡¯s sleeping, I¡¯ll give him real poison to consume instead of a fake one. I¡¯ll conceal the horrible taste and smell and make him drink every last drop until his eyes bleed and his skin turns blue. The plan is perfect! Perfect!¡±

    One day, as Pinocchio rehearsed his lines until his cogs cried, he saw the image of a woman in his ornate mirror who peered at him with a stare so piercing that one of the wires within him got caught in a family of cogs. Unrhythmic clacking jumped in the halls as the wooden boy wandered around to find someone who could fix his now malfunctioning leg. Sadly, he stumbled upon the worst person he could¡¯ve encountered. Fire laced Mangiafuoco¡¯s eyes as he looking at the helpless wooden boy who sheepishly asked him for some help. Heavy hands lifted him up, giving him a closer look of the frustration on his face. ¡°A puppet with a malfunction is a pile of trash! How am I supposed to gain anything from rubbish?!¡± he roared, throwing Pinocchio to the wall ¡°Fix yourself before I chop you up and turn you into firewood, boy!¡± Mangiafuoco roared before storming away.

    A darkness seeped into his cognition, threatening the shattering of his innocence, but he perished the thought before it had the chance to consume him. All that he thought he could do was try to stand up and walk on to keep searching for help. Celso the cricket immediately attempted to help him, but he couldn¡¯t seem to realign the wires back in their places. His chirping and the crunching of disorganized cogs invaded the stillness of the seemingly endless hallway to the point where Pinocchio swore he heard the sounds coming from another place.

    Gentle hums rang through the halls, flowing out of one of the distant rooms. A soft feminine voice fluttered like sunkissed dust, drowning out the chaotic noise of pain. Vigor engulfed his determination, possessing him to dash towards the singing to the best of his encumbered abilities. His wooden body landed on the door where he proceeded to knock on while calling out to see if anyone was there. Suddenly, the door opened and his body collapsed to the room¡¯s floor.

    After that second fall, his body didn¡¯t allow him to get up and went into a restful sleep, letting his frayed nerves rest for a bit. The semipermeable veil severing dream from reality was thin, incorporating spaces in his memories which morphed his cognitions to accommodate for such terrains with the reality of a wholly other space. Feeling as though he was falling despite being glued to the ground, Pinocchio¡¯s mind fell through untouchable skies, falling ever further into an endless blue. Celso¡¯s delicate hands that twisted and pulled at his strings and cogs were felt even in his dream. The machinations of his mind orchestrated a glimpse into the fractured essence of time, forging the surroundings into that of a nightmarescape.

    A large fox with a third eye sat atop a mountain of broken toys of different designs and traits, but all appeared equal in destruction. Mountain ranges of gigantic dolls lined the horizons and the surroundings, like splotches of black ink on a crimson canvas. When the glowing fox spoke, its words roared through Pinocchio¡¯s dream and reality, breaking the foundations of his being¡¯s most trustworthy aspects. Five moons shone with the color of gold, appearing like five golden coins clinging to the bloodstained heavens above the beast. Five tongues slithered out of its rows of teeth to vocalize terrible omens as another pair of eyes opened below its normal pair, mirroring the five moons over its abominable head.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°All of your dreams will perish in the Land of Toys. You will carry no hope, no love, no will and no pride when you enter these lands. The only thing that you will be carrying is rotting flesh that will fester between your dark machinations in a foul attempt to be what no one can ever be, for one cannot be what never was. Search for the five golden coins and witness the birth of an accursed miracle.¡±

    The five golden moons melted, dipping like wax over its head. When they landed on its head, the radiant honey changed its property and fell faster down its face, turning a bright red when it fell from its eyes like bloody tears. A dark red fell on its sharp claws, with the sound of it dripping into the puddle around its paws rousing the doll into the orderly realm of the real.

    As the dream¡¯s wild elements evaporated to reveal the structure of reality, a lady with turquoise hair planted a kiss on Pinocchio''s lukewarm forehead. The horrors of the realm he visited washed away in the revelation of her presence. Her beauty shined so brightly that it dispelled the darkness which clung to his spirit incurred from the dream¡¯s wrath. But to his dismay, she vanished as quickly as the dream ravished him, leaving him alone to ponder and wonder what just transpired inside and outside of him. Through all of the terror and confusion, a foreign force took a hold of his blank will which behooved him to continue doing as he was doing and to go along with the plans of the harlequin, even if they were seen as immoral according to Celso¡¯s wisdom.

    Walking back to his room, he glanced at the door of the room that Mangiafuoco was in. His cogs screeched and forcefully grinded against one another, smothering his moral compass with blind hatred for him. He took a deep breath out and decompressed any stiffness to remind himself of hope in an act of rebellion against the unknown burden he bore. The fox¡¯ laughter echoed in his clockwork heart, causing his spirits to tremble in fear and anticipation.

    As the sun sank into the horizon and the stars revealed themselves, Pinocchio hungered for something he couldn¡¯t quite understand. The only part of it he understood was that it must be satisfied or else it would possess his ghost ad nauseum. Sleep never came to him easily, primarily due to his own reticence towards it. The idea of suffering to something completely outside of him that eliminated most of his abilities scared him, that paired with the possibility of summoning all the monsters from the dark corners of his mind to crawl into his consciousness. But instead of that, he encountered a worse fate. The monsters in his mind shrunk away from the presence of the ghostly fox whose laugh still rang through his mind. Imprisoned in his own psyche by the torment of the fox, he decided to properly listen to it instead of blindly running away from its cries.

    Its strange laughter revealed to his mind a myriad of shapes, as if all the tiniest particles before him blossomed into new realities. He let in frolic in the meadows of his mind, each of its tails curling like smoke over the flora. All five of its eyes individually scoured the area as it moved with languid grace around the flowers, not hurting a single blade of grass. The giant fox wandered through his ghost, trying to understand its scent as it meticulously studied all the little elements playing in his mind. Eventually, it located something between a beautiful bundle of flowers, using its giant paw to lift the soul and expose what hid beneath it. As it did that, Pinocchio discovered the cause of his discomfort and restlessness. He quickly changed out of his sleeping clothes and put on a red tunic, rushing out of his room and into the night.

    Under the stars, everything else appeared to be so small, but not insignificant. In fact, every little living thing around him was made more beautiful by its microscopic nature in comparison to the universe around him. Its significance increased the smaller it seemed in comparison to the things beyond the sun, the moon and the stars. And the strange feeling bubbling inside of him finally came known through the fox¡¯ aid, which he liked to think was another perfect piece in the cosmic clockwork. But even when he understood it, he didn¡¯t know whether or not to entertain the thought. His only solution was to explore the caravan where he found the two prisoners once more and see if he should go through with it or not.

    Just like the first time he found them, Pinocchio climbed the wheel and tried to peer through the window to see if they were still there. Moonlight filtered through the parted curtains, throwing moonbeams on the tired faces of the two prisoners. Their clothes were cleaner, including the bloody blindfold around the woman¡¯s eyes. Judging from the fact that both were wearing the same foreign clothes, Pinocchio deduced that some kind of musical manipulation helped take away the blood and dirt. There was only silence in that caravan, giving Pinocchio more time to think about what he wished to do.

    The moment the inspiration to free them struck him, he walked around the caravan only to find the giant lock on the door. In spite of his simple mechanisms, his urge to rescue them was too great for him. Possessed by the fox¡¯ laugher, Pinocchio wrapped his small wooden hands around the long lock and began to pull it away from each other with the meager hope of breaking it.

    ¡°Did you hear that?¡± the woman asked, turning her head to gauge where the sound was coming from. The man could only muster the energy to look up and scoff, far too tired for anything else other than bitterness.

    ¡°I¡¯m being serious. Listen closely.¡±

    The man even held his breath to hear what she was talking about. In the deathly silence, he was able to hear a very light tapping, only understanding it to be the sound of metal a few seconds later.

    ¡°What is that?¡± He asked mostly to himself. He also tilted his head to try and understand what it was and why it was so close.

    A loud echo surged through his head. It was not the sense of danger that he heard, but one of comfort despite him receiving it as something uncomfortable. The longer it lasted, the more he felt the power of the spirit of the fox enshrined in his heart. It grew the more sound he heard until there was the sound of metal shattering. He wanted to tell the woman to not be alarmed, but even he didn¡¯t know how to feel. The two remained quiet as if they were asleep as they heard the creak of the door opening and the cold night air sink into their bones.

    ¡°I¡¯m not here to hurt you.¡± Pinocchio said in a gentle voice. His youthful tone immediately eased their spirits, but only for a bit. ¡°Are you two okay?¡±

    ¡°Close the damn door.¡±

    ¡°Kon, be nice! He seems friendly.¡±

    ¡°How can you know?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s right.¡± Pinocchio said as he inspected the state of the two. The man known as Kon still didn¡¯t have a replacement for his right leg. The light of the moon made his amber eyes twinkle, sprinkling them with stars once he began to smile.

    ¡°Who on earth are you anyway?¡±

    Pinocchio averted his gaze, unable to find the right words to give a response. Looking at his turquoise eyes, Kon could tell that he made him uncomfortable.

    ¡°You don''t have to answer that, but I just want you to know that you¡¯re not the only one. There are plenty of dolls like you where we are from. They are praised and given respect, unlike here in these parts.¡±

    ¡°They are?¡± Pinocchio asked as he went to loosen the woman¡¯s ropes first.

    ¡°They sure are.¡± She said, ¡°and they are made with the utmost care, just like you.¡±

    The wooden boy paused for a second.

    ¡°How can you tell?¡±

    ¡°You think just because my eyes are gone that my sense of greatness is gone? Nonsense. The music tells me what it needs to, with or without my sight.¡±

    The moment she was free from her bonds, she immediately went towards Kon like a magnet, touching his right thigh.

    ¡°Does it still hurt?¡±

    Pinocchio went around his chair to untie him as well. The wooden boy felt the radiation of his melancholy sting his clockwork heart.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± He said with a bitter hiss. The moment he was untied, he wrapped his arms around hers, with her doing the exact same.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sachi.¡±

    ¡°No need.¡±

    She wrapped her arms around Kon¡¯s body, cradling him in her arms.

    ¡°Thank you so much. What is your name?¡± Sachi asked.

    ¡°Pinocchio.¡±

    A beatific smile decorated her lips as Kon studied his turquoise eyes. He was unable to understand what he was feeling when he felt the presence of the fox in Pinocchio¡¯s heart, feeling a sense of brotherliness from the stranger.

    ¡°We need to leave before anyone finds us, but thank you so much. We are in your debt.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Pinocchio quickly said. ¡°Just¡­ don¡¯t be mad at the one who did this to you. It was never his choice. He was only following orders.¡±

    A darkness passed over Kon¡¯s face, unable to be washed away until he took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

    ¡°Things like this happen. Don¡¯t worry.¡± Kon said with a lugubrious tone.

    Sachi stealthily ran with Kon in her arms, into the dark of the forest. Pinocchio sat on the steps of the caravan¡¯s entrance to see them getting swallowed up by shadows. His heart felt lighter as the prison of ice around it melted away. He studied his wooden hands to look for any damages, only to see that the lock was the only thing that got damaged. The power still surged through his body, hissing in his ears. What had happened before came to him like the memory of a dream, disconnecting that experience with the experience he was currently in. The fox faded into curls of smoke, bejeweling his mind with the dewdrops from its ever present haze.

 Chapter 8: Play your Part

    Angelic voices bounced off of the marble and gold in the grand theater. The entire interior was drowned in a thin veil of smoke from all of the burning candles, adding to the ambience of the play. Music echoed from the shadows in the orchestra pit that swallowed the silence and spread into every crevice of the room. Everyone who watched had one thing in common besides wealth and prejudice. They didn''t expect much from a group of common folk who were not as educated as the upper class audience. So to see them pronounce every word with perfect clarity and with no accent came as a shock to them. The singing was also astounding to them, seeing as they had such low expectations for a play created by a traveling circus troupe. Jingling little bells pierced the guttural moans of the cello as the harlequin frolicked to the stage with glee and whimsy. His tight diamond-patterned attire was complemented by long cloth faulds around his waist and a cape to look like a knight while still retaining the harlequin motif.

    They enjoyed his performances greatly, in tune with the rhythm he wrote in the script of the play. When the scene asked for laughter, he heard the audience''s cacophonous giggle. When he wanted them to gasp, he ripped the air out of their lungs. It flowed smoothly like clockwork before him while he was able to enjoy the freshness of their expressions. Adone also knew that when Pinocchio would appear on stage, the crowd''s hearts would immediately succumb to him. Just like all those before him, the audience also became amazed by the doll''s vitality, growing more enamoured with every action. What Adone didn''t plan in the script was Pinocchio''s nervosity, but something more than that flickered in his eyes.

    Words and gestures flowed smoothly out of him, but even Adone noticed the slight electricity in his smallest actions. He maintained it quite well until he gazed at the audience through the hazy veil, seeing how their eyes sparkled like the candles on the ceiling and wall. A profound feeling of alterity invaded him, extinguishing all other sensations from him for a moment. He still stood up without knowing how and studied their eyes without knowing why they burned his insides. The wheels within him felt as though they clung together like honey, ripping one another out of their place with slow cruelty. He continued to perform as if nothing was happening, but Adone could tell that the doll was struggling. Every time his eyes met Mangiafuoco, who stood behind the curtains, an awful light would flicker, one that echoed the sparks of terror flying in his heart.

    Pantalone, played by Mangiafuoco this time, slept deeply in bed while the sneaky harlequin, with bells and all, slipped into the room with a bottle of poison. The cello accentuated the harlequin''s evil actions as he made Mangiafuoco drink the whole bottle, which he did with suppressed eagerness. Euphoria was sheltered behind the wide grin of Adone as he fed him the poison. That same euphoria gave his normally tragic scene a bit too much joyous passion instead of the tearful sadness it should''ve had. But the audience didn''t mind, as they were too absorbed in the play and went along with its foreign flow. The refreshing new style that the play adopted was very welcome to the nobility who grew bored from the common tropes that were going stale. Twists and turns and unexpected nuances delighted the people, but no one in the theater was ready for what was about to happen next.

    The haze of the candle smoke held a hint of starlight before all of the flames in the theater became a greenish blue and soon after grew unimaginably large. It became so large and powerful that it slowly spread through the entire place, turning the metals into melted candle wax, burning everything and everyone in its proximity into a crisp and or horrible sludge. Breathtaking music got quickly replaced by blood curdling screams and sounds of abject fright and shock. Everyone in the theater scrambled to leave as quickly as possible as all of the parts of the buildings'' insides were getting consumed by the colorful flames. Adone''s eyes widened from the sudden tragedy unfolding before his eyes. He grit his teeth with blinding hatred and chided, "Fox fire... Those bastards!"

    He frantically looked around him before shouting Pinocchio''s name. Another deeper voice shouted his name instead, pulling him to the ground with the help of a supernatural force. Crimson threads appeared around his wrists and all over his body that tightly wrapped themselves around his wrists and throat, piercing his flesh to create a blanket of blood over his neck. Mangiafuoco gripped the air with a fury so great that his fingers began to twitch and hidden veins began to show. The large man held red threads between his fingers and controlled the now helpless harlequin that struggled to grasp for a sliver of air amidst the smoke. He made himself clear to Adone as he dragged him across the floor with the red threads.

    "You think that you''re so fucking clever, don''t you?! Not only do you try to poison me, and fail to do so, but you also decide to burn the entire theater! I''m really fucking happy for you! I really am. You want to know why? Because this''ll be the perfect opportunity to introduce you to a little friend of mine. Oh, how I can''t wait to see you to get to know each other."

    Just before he dealt one final blow, Pinocchio''s small frame leapt towards Magiafuoco''s hands, loosening the threads around Adone for a bit. He only gave himself a second to be surprised before using his other hand to rip him off of him and throw him next to the harlequin. He saw how desperately Pinocchio tried to get rid of the threads woven through Adone, and to Mangiafuoco''s dismay, he managed to grasp a few of them, something he never thought could be done. He tried to hide his surprise, but Adone noticed it flickering on his face clearly. Aware of the vulnerability he just showed, the tall man grit his teeth and pulled the harlequin into the air, twisting an awful scream out of him. He pulled him up higher and higher like a marionette until Pinocchio couldn''t touch him anymore. All the little wires fused with the ether, impossible to touch for even the mysterious doll. When he turned his wooden head around, he saw the redness of Mangiafuoco''s eyes, expecting them to burst open from the intensity. The rows of large wolfish teeth below his wicked eyes sparkled under a warped grin.

    "Don''t look at that little monster with pity, Adone. It''s because of him that those two fox bastards are loose. Isn''t that right, wooden boy?"

    Pinocchio looked up at Adone, hoping to dispel that idea from him, but he believed every word of it. The weight of his gaze crushed the wooden boy, who saw the light he once saw him as succumb to the dark that pervaded all over things. Crushed by the disappointment, Pinocchio let go of his pants leg and stepped back, feeling as though his disappointment traveled from body to body, sending tremors through every fiber in the doll. But its weight didn''t leave him for as long as he looked up at him. As the disappointment and shock turned into hate, that''s when Pinocchio''s guilt turned into thorny shame which channeled the heat of all the fire in the room into him, burning a crucible of loathing within himself.

    A sea of sorries poured out of the doll''s mouth, some of which reached Adone. But before he could see Adone''s face soften, Mangiafuoco tightened the threads around his body and mind, pulling a scream out of his lungs. He then pulled a broken beam from the ceiling to make it fall onto Pinocchio, pinning him to the burning theater as he carried the harlequin elsewhere. Fire the color of his eyes danced all around him, together with smoke and shame.

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    A dripping sound woke him up. In the dark and damp cell, Adone felt a cold, wet veil over his skin. Bleary eyed and still unable to receive all physical stimuli, he slowly regained consciousness by focusing his attention on the pitter patter that, at first, sounded like rain from a distance. As his awareness awakened, he quickly noticed that the cold veil enshrouding him was his own blood, which was dripping from the diamond-patterned scars on nearly every part of his body besides head. Fully awake, he found himself suspended in the air by red strings that were wrapped around him, tautly pulled to every corner of the cell to make his body remain in the air. Any minor movement resulted in a new stream of blood, so he remained still, carefully breathing in a way as to not lacerate his body even deeper. A desperate impulse conquered his mind, forcing him to think of this as a simple nightmare, despite what his sensations showed. He begrudgingly acknowledged the fact that it was reality by witnessing the wicked smile contorting Mangiafuoco''s face behind the bars of the cell.

    "Ah, I see that you''re awake, my favorite harlequin," he said in a disgusting jovial tone. "How was your nap? Are you ready for your next assignment? Your last one." he added bitterly at the end.

    "You. Piece. Of. Shit," Adone slowly uttered to not allow the cords to dig any deeper into his skin. Every word carried thunder''s echo. Seeing the way Mangiafuoco smiled as he said that filled him with the urge to lunge forward and rip his throat out.

    "I love you too, dear," Mangafuoco sardonically said. "I especially love how you roped me into your play with the soul intention of killing me; that was very nice of you, it really was."

    "H-how do you know?"

    His eyes glimmered with mocking superiority.

    "How do I know?" he asked. "Your precious little slut Cecilia explained everything to me! She told me beforehand that the vial was filled with real poison."

    The bearded man shook his head and clicked his tongue.

    "And I thought that there was an unbreakable loyalty between you people. Guess you''re all just a pair of desperate, amoral fools."

    The urge to strike anything tempted Adone, but the moment it surged through his body, the lacerations grew deeper. Violence begged him to be freed, but he couldn''t express its wish for annihilation, so it rolled into him and annihilated a part of his psyche, causing him immense pain. The superabundance of violence carried a superabundance of potential, all of which actualized itself within him in an inferno of anguish. A guttural moan attacked Adone''s throat, as if it sheltered a rabid beast. While he snarled at the pain, a combustion of laughter blasted from Mangiafuoco, filling the dungeon''s silence with a nightmare''s echo.

    When his aggression subsided, he understood why she would want to do something like that to him after what he did. The realization of that fact afflicted him deeper than the bodily scars, igniting a conflagration of pain throughout his whole being. A terrible shriek echoed through the halls as tears began to run down his face. Only his tears were able to run from the pain, so they did with great efficiency as his body remained frozen with paralyzing pain.

    "Aw, that hurts, doesn''t it? Betrayal is such a cruel thing. You want to know what it particularly hurts so much now? It''s because these crimson threads of mine can play around and rip out any part of someone. Any! Whether it''s their physical aspects or their mental ones, I can hurt them all with ease! And you, my stone-hearted harlequin, will enjoy the full force of that for a whole week!"

    A flood of nervous perspiration mingled with the blood they both hit the dusty ground below his dangling feet. His lips quivered from the pain, erasing his attempts at talking or uttering a sound that wasn''t an animalistic groan. Time did not exist where he was. His mind couldn''t fathom time''s control over him, so it deserted him completely. Years could have passed without his knowledge. One single movement of a thread caused him month''s worth of pain, as if he was sweating acid and felt it crawl out of his skin like lava.

    There were times when he couldn''t tell if he was awake or asleep, where he couldn''t tell if the pale green fire was still around him or not. The surge of burning pain in his dreams and in reality blended together to encompass his whole universe. Sometimes, he''d see Mangiafuoco''s face appear and disappear behind the bar, wondering if he was actually real in the first place. His voice would take a long time to reach him, sometimes coming to his ears with crystal clarity when he isn''t in the room. But in delirium, its contents would crumble to meaningless sounds as soon as it reached him, occasionally remaining as intelligible units when his mind was in a decent state. What filled the void the most were Pinocchio''s chirpy apologies; they rang like bells in his skull, with each apology kindling the desire to embrace him and tell him that it wasn''t his fault. To tell him that he simply did the right thing in a wrong world. Through the deluge of pain, he tried to gain control over his broken voice.

    "Ki-, Keh-," he stammered, struggling to even think amidst the visceral storm wreaking havoc on his body and mind.

    "Kill... me..."

    Mangiafuoco laughed hysterically which rang sharp and shrill in Adone''s ears.

    "Beautiful! To see the mighty Adone beg for his life to end. I thought you were one of the tenacious ones, but I guess I was mistaken. We''ll see if you last the week. If you decide not to die a miserable death, then you might die an honorable one at hands of my favorite toy, Martino. Oh, you''re going to love Martino."

    Hardly any of Mangiafuoco''s words made it through his mind, which was being overrun by a pandemonium of pain. The volatile rhythms of his heart was the only thing he clearly heard, together with a soft melody that he deduced was a product of oncoming insanity. During a vibration of excruciating agony, he felt something wrap around his legs and slowly make its way up. Bright fiery eyes stared at Adone, growing closer as it slithered around his torso. After letting out a pure shriek of fear, he began to shake uncontrollably, causing a sea of blood to roll down his checkered cuts. Even his tears that continued to flow began to adopt a red color. More wordless howls echoed through the space, together with a coarse giggle.

    "Are you afraid of a little snake? That''s adorable! He won''t hurt you; he''s only there to play a sweet little melody to you to keep your body from destroying itself, so you can writhe as much as you please without losing too much blood. Hang in until then, alright? My little buddy is there to keep you company so that you don''t become lonely here in the deepest, darkest dungeon I can find."

    As he walked away, a flurry of audible chaos infested the area with a haunting echo. The green serpent climbed its way through the red threads looped around his shoulders to sit while whispering sweet melodies into the air. Its shiny body phased through the threads, which sewed through his flesh and spirit from another realm. Bloody tears trickled down his face, traveling over the bright green scales of the snake. In the corner of his eye, he saw the fiery eyes stare into the ether as it flicked its bifurcated tongue to taste the acrid air. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that it was an automaton with intricately designed scales.

    Its smoking tail deceived his already torture-warped senses, revealing frightening phantasms in the everchanging wreaths to make him shiver and cry out with bloody tears again. The song it sang came from an enchanted music box inside of it that continuously played an odious and endless melody that served to only keep his body alive while it screamed for death. However, throughout the week, his indomitable spirit, which was no stranger to the lacerations, became pulverized and crystallized to the point where his humanity was devoured by its own abyss.

    Deep in the garden of his ghost, where flowers borne from madness blossomed, he would converse with the serpent. Its venom enchanted whatever fruit grew there, infusing all the life which one thrived there with the promise of death. But no matter how pregnant the fruits were with such a sweet promise, all of it endured. All except him.