Rhyce had learned, through years of experience, how to keep their thoughts and feelings concealed beneath an impassive façade. But even they couldn’t help gasping with shock and taking a step back upon hearing a voice blurt out within their own mind.

Regaining their composure with a little effort, they glanced around to be sure no-one else had heard the cry, or noticed their reaction. It was a slightly paranoid precaution, given that there was only one other person in the store and she was some distance away, but it was worth being careful. In any event, the girl employee didn’t seem to have seen anything - she was still standing at attention behind the counter, hands clasped together before her, staring straight ahead, waiting to be of service again. Some of the items Rhyce had already selected sat on the countertop, left with the servant for safekeeping.

Turning back to the shelf they had been facing, Rhyce inhaled through their nose, bracing themself. Then they picked up the wooden doll again. Immediately their mind was barraged by a long rambling stream of frantic exclamations: oh my Gods oh my fucking Gods you DID IT you’re TOUCHING ME YOU CAN HEAR ME PLEASE HELP NO WAI-

It was too much to bear for more than a few seconds, so they hurriedly set the item down once more. But what they’d heard proved what they had already suspected - the miniature mannequin was alive. It had a mind of its own. They hadn’t been able to identify anything about the voice - not its gender or its age - because it wasn’t, after all, a real voice, merely a string of loud, intrusive (literally) thoughts.

Since wooden poppets rarely became conscious of their own accord (unless hewn from a sentient tree), Occam’s Razor implied that some poor soul had been trapped inside. Rhyce wondered if the store’s owner knew that, and had to conclude he most likely did - any Magus worth their salt would know if they had an artefact containing a living mind. He’d probably trapped it in there himself, and kept it as a trophy. That was the most obvious explanation, even if they hadn’t heard some rumours about this particular master of magic.

Rhyce had an innate aptitude for magic - from a young age, they had found themself able to impose their will on reality in small ways, extinguishing fires before they could rage out of control, or calming frenzied animals before they could injure themselves or others. Their village was nowhere near anywhere important - their local Lord lived some miles away in a larger town, they had no Magus or practicing sorcerers, and their supernatural denizens were few and far between with little magical ability of their own. The most proficient spellcaster in the area was Orlav the elderly goblin, who had a talent for curing warts.

Intent on finding a mentor with real knowledge and talent, Rhyce had set out in search of new horizons the minute they’d turned eighteen, leaving their home and family behind. Their parents had been only too glad to see the back of their ‘bedeviled daughter’ - they’d have kicked them out years ago if Rhyce hadn’t ‘persuaded’ them otherwise. For two years they had been exploring other towns and villages, seeking out someone they could trust to teach them how to harness their power. They’d been sorely disappointed. The majority of magicians they’d come across were selfish, greedy and cruel. By the sounds of it, this Magus Thezon was no different, which they would’ve expected even if they hadn’t heard rumours of his wickedness in the few days since their arrival.

But it didn’t matter, because at this point they’d become so fed up they’d decided to take their tuition into their own hands. All they needed, they supposed, was a good, comprehensive spellbook, and an assortment of plants that could prove necessary for rituals. They’d already obtained one such tome and a handful of herbs that looked particularly promising, and now they were just browsing, seeing if they could find anything else that might come in useful. It had been sheer blind chance that they’d chosen to pick up the doll.

-amia prolly visit give fucker sloppy kisses in his asshoOH MY GODS YOU TOUCHING ME HEAR ME HOLY FU-

They had dropped it in alarm and stepped away, reeling from the mental intrusion, the bizarre rambling that had shifted into sudden head-splitting shouting. Needless to say, Rhyce hadn’t been expecting any of the items in this store to yell into their brain. But now they knew there was a person in there, they couldn’t leave it behind. It wasn’t right. Whoever this was, they clearly needed help. And apart from anything else, they were intrigued to hear exactly how they ended up trapped - the story, and the method.

They picked up the doll once more, and was met with a more tempered reaction than before, a quieter but no less excited mumbling in their mind. Oh Gods you did it you picked me up thank you thank you thank you you don’t know how long it’s been!! Please please get me out of here I’m begging you, don’t leave me, please help me.

Rhyce narrowed their eyes at the doll, raised their spare hand towards their face, and pressed one finger to their lips.

Oh I’m annoying you I’m sorry I’ve not spoken to anyone for so long and then I yelled I’m sorry please forgi-oh OK I’m gonna shut up now. OK. OK. Sorry. Please save me. Sorry. OK.

Sighing with relief as the doll, still clasped in their hand, fell silent, Rhyce turned and marched quickly across the store, ignoring the one faint exclamation it let slip - yes!! Oh, sorry. As they reached the counter, the servant girl’s eyes brightened and she smiled warmly. “Did you find everything you were looking for, miss?” she asked.

“Mx,” Rhyce corrected.

The girl stared back at them blankly. “Mix what, miss? Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to mix these herbs together?” They gestured to the phials Rhyce had deposited before her earlier.

Sometimes it took a moment, and supreme force of will, to hide one’s feelings. Rhyce stared back at the servant for a full two seconds before replying, “Never mind,” managing to keep the exhausted irritation out of their voice. They placed the poppet on the counter. “I’d also like to buy this, please.”

“Oh yes, I’ll be happy to sell you one such doll!” Turning and bending over, the servant rummaged in a large crate. Then she straightened, turned back around, and put down an identical doll next to the book and the phials. “That will be another ten silver coins, please.”

“No, no, you misunderstand,” Rhyce said patiently, gesturing to the living lay figure they had already found. “I want this one, specifically.”

The girl’s expression turned apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, that one’s not for sale. It’s for display purposes only.”

They arched an eyebrow. “Surely you could make an exception?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said with a grimace. “Master Thezon has forbidden it. But this doll is functionally no different!”

“Hmm.” Rhyce paused, concentrating more intently on the servant than before, calling upon the reserves of power buried within themself. “Then I guess you had better put that display doll back on the shelf, where it was before,” they said firmly, pointing to the mannequin that had come from the crate. “And I’ll buy this doll instead, as you suggested,” they concluded, directing their outstretched finger at the sentient object.

Although not successful every time, their powers of persuasion had always been their foremost talent. They had difficulty influencing the strong-willed or the stubborn, but they didn’t expect the vapid servant to be too much of a challenge. Sure enough, she soon had the glazed expression of someone they had successfully ensorcelled.

Picking up a cloth and wrapping it around her hand like a glove, she took hold of the doll she’d just retrieved from the crate, and stepped out from behind the counter. “I’ll just put this back on display,” she said a little dazedly, wandering across the room.

Rhyce smirked inwardly, while keeping their expression neutral, as the servant placed the ordinary item in the empty space on the shelf, and then returned to them. “Now, will these be all your purchases today, Miss?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you.” They already had their coin purse out and ready, and it was the work of moments to count out the necessary payment. Then the aspiring sorcerer was on their way, taking their new purchases with them, as quickly as they reasonably could without arousing suspicion. It wasn’t likely that the dopey servant girl would realise the trickery that had been played on her, but there was a chance the Magus could return from whatever business he was conducting elsewhere. Rhyce didn’t want to risk being caught in the act by him.

Across the street and a few buildings down the road was the tavern where they were staying, in one of three small but serviceable upstairs rooms for rental. Entering, they waved to the barmaid, Cornelias, who beamed and waved back. It could have been the polite smile of someone in service, but the young woman seemed genuinely friendly. She was showing teeth, which gleamed an unusual white for a peasant, and her eyes seemed to sparkle...

Chiding themself, Rhyce made for the stairs and ascended them quickly, ignoring the little quiver running through them. They had a possessed artefact to study - it was no time to get distracted by a pretty girl. Particularly when there was no chance of anything happening with her.

Stepping into their room, they closed the door and locked it. Then, allowing their excitement to show at last, they hastily emptied the contents of their bag onto the bed, before fishing the figurine out of the pile of phials.

Once more the disembodied voice cried out inside their head: You did it you did it YOU DID IT we got away I’m away I’m away I’m safe I thought for sure I’d stop you but I didn’t and now I’m not trapped there any more WAHOOOO -

“OK, you really need to calm down, friend,” Rhyce groaned, rubbing their temples with their thumb and index finger. “You’re making it real noisy up here.”

Oh sorry! Sorry. I’m sorry, I just, I haven’t spoken to anyone in so long, and I’ve never had to control my volume... Sorry. Don’t be mad. Don’t put me down somewhere and leave me alone again.

Their grimace softened, sympathy for the poor powerless person filling them. “No, I’m not going to... I wouldn’t do that. I wanna help you, that’s why I got you outta there. I just don’t want constant migraines while I’m doing it.”

The response was little more than a whisper. Got it... I’ll be so so quiet for you, so so so so quiet, quiet as a mouse, quiet as a rock...

“Not that quiet, I can barely hear you,” Rhyce grinned. “OK, how did you end up like this? I’m guessing you’re someone who got on the wrong side of the Magus.”

You got that right, the voice replied bitterly, at a slightly louder but still lower than average volume. Fucker scooped me outta my own head and stuck me in this lump of wood. Now I have to see him take me up the ass every day. Can’t even look away. Not fun. Don’t recommend it.

Rhyce frowned. “Wait, what d’you mean? He still has your original body?”

Yeah, you met me! Didn’t you realise? I sold you me! I almost tried to stop you - no idea how you talked me round. Guess I really am that stupid, now I’m not in my head.

Their headache was returning, from the voice’s confused use of first person rather than its volume. They took a moment to decipher what it was telling them. “The servant girl, at the store - that’s the real you?”

I’m the real me, the voice emphasised. That was the rest of me. Nice and dumb and compliant. Magus Mindfuck doesn’t waste a thing. Bastard. Rip his tongue out and feed it to him...

“Alright. I think I’d like to hear the whole story, please, from the start. And if you can try to keep the homicidal rambling to a minimum I’d appreciate it, justifiable though your anger is.”

Damn right it is. Scoop his eyes out with a spoon. Who’s she think she is? He ruined my life, I can be angry...

“You know I can hear that, right? And it’s ‘they’, not ‘she’.”

What? Oh. Sorry. Thoughts. Spirally crazy crashy thoughts. Hard to keep ’em straight after so long in here, they all whirl around and fly off in other directions... There was a pause, which Rhyce interpreted as the voice taking a figurative deep breath to calm itself - or herself, they supposed. OK. I’m good. I think. I’ll try. I’ll try and tell this clearly. So I used to work as a stablehand for the local Lord, fucking cunt kill him cut his face off and EAT it sorry got distracted again, and he had this stepdaughter...

***

Magus Thezon sauntered into his store without a care in the world, his blue robes swishing around his ankles, whistling a tune to himself. His troll guards, Morr and Hurr, did not follow him inside, instead taking up their usual positions on the building’s exterior, either side of the door. Their presence was intimidating to potential customers, but that didn’t trouble him - those that truly wanted to enter would do so regardless. Besides, the shop was a sideline to his real business, using his talents to carry out jobs for wealthy nobles, and he’d had a productive day doing just that.

His servant girl straightened up behind the counter at the sight of him, smiling broadly. “Welcome back, Master,” she said cheerfully. “Did you have a good day?”

“Very good indeed,” he grinned, drawing a glass jar out from within his robes. “Another young lady like yourself has been cured of her wilfulness.”

Her eyes went wide, and she clapped her hands together gleefully. “Ooh, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for her. I remember when you did that to me - it felt amazing...” Her expression turned distant and dreamy, wistful and nostalgic for the day she’d had her mind cleared of all defiance and negativity by the Magus.

Thezon smiled indulgently. Back when the girl (whose name he’d never bothered to learn, perpetually calling her ‘the girl’) had entered his employ, he’d imposed a lot of restrictions upon her. Do not speak without being spoken to, unless it’s to a customer in order to better serve them. Do not act without being explicitly commanded. Do not question me. Do not think for yourself unless absolutely necessary. Over time, though, against his better judgement, he’d become increasingly fond of his dim-witted slave, and given her a little more autonomy. Not that she was really capable of real independence - but he allowed her to talk unprompted, to think and make decisions for herself, to express her feelings. There was no risk in doing so, since all her thoughts and wishes centred around serving him. And he had to admit, he found her genuine interest and enthusiasm for his work rather sweet.

If he was honest with himself, he supposed he’d come to think of her as his daughter. In a way, she was - he’d created this version of her. And he’d taken her into his home, effectively adopting her, separating her from her family. (He gathered that her only relative was an abusive drunkard of a mother, so he reckoned she was better off.) If he had a real daughter, he couldn’t have hoped for better than this sweet, submissive little dunce.

He handed her the jar, which contained a navy blue cloud of disembodied consciousness, swirling angrily and battering ineffectually at the glass. “Put this away, and then close up,” he commanded.

“Yes, Master,” the girl replied brightly, and scurried away.

Once the jar had been deposited in Thezon’s chambers - ready for its contents to be transferred into another vessel - and the store had been locked up, the Magus’ surrogate daughter returned to the counter and bent over the front, laying her torso flat on the top, before tugging down her trousers and using both hands to spread her buttocks apart. She remained in that position, waiting for him, as he wandered unhurriedly across the store towards her.

“I almost forgot to tell you, I’m going away on business tomorrow,” he said suddenly. “The noble for whom I performed my services today has a cousin whose wife is having an affair. He sent half-payment in advance, so I can’t really say no. I’ll be away for a few days.”

“OK, Master,” the girl replied, staying in her right-angle pose with her chin on the oak surface, staring across the store at him. “I’ll take good care of the store while you’re gone!”

“I know you will.” As he approached her, his eyes happened to fall on the shelf where some of the items he knew to secretly be trophies were on display. He always kept two or three out where they could be seen, while the rest - dozens of them, perhaps hundreds by now - were stored away upstairs.

He slowed to a standstill, frowning. Was it his imagination, or was something out of place...? Yes, the wooden doll was in a different pose. The doll that contained the rest of his slave girl’s spiritual essence.

He turned back towards her. “Did someone move that doll?” he asked, pointing over at the mini-mannequin.

“Yes, Master, there was a customer who was interested in buying it. She brought it up to the counter, but I told her it was for display purposes only and put it back.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did you use a cloth, like I told you?”

“Of course, Master. I know the display items are precious and shouldn’t be touched by my bare hands.”

He exhaled, relieved. “Good. Good girl. What about the customer?”

“They bought one of the dolls from our stock, Master.”

“Good.”

He was still troubled. He and the girl should be the only ones capable of approaching the doll, thanks to the rune he’d engraved on its back that gently influenced anyone else who got near it, unconsciously steering them away. Anyone who could bypass that and pick up the doll would have likely heard the voice inside - and might have the power to do something about it...

Pivoting, he marched across to the shelf and picked up the doll, hoping to hear the ravings of a trapped mind inside.

Silence.

This was not the trophy, the prison for his servant’s soul. It was an empty vessel, with no mental presence and no trace of magic. One of the regular dolls, the ones they sold to the public.

Turning slowly, he stared suspiciously at his slave, crossing back towards her. It was feasible that she could’ve touched it, perhaps while tidying the store... that she could have regained the lost part of herself, then fabricated this story about a customer adjusting the doll in order to deceive him... staying here, in the guise of his placid plaything, to get close enough to him to kill him...

As he loomed over her, she glanced up with guileless eyes, which widened when she saw his baleful gaze. “Master?” she asked tentatively.

She certainly seemed innocent. And she was still exposing her asshole for him, making herself so vulnerable. He had difficulty believing she would’ve done the same had she been restored to her original self, even in the interest of fooling him and lowering his guard. But he had to be sure.

Laying a hand on the side of her head, he closed his eyes and concentrated. She didn’t move beneath his palm, holding perfectly still for him. A few moments’ spiritual screening told him that she remained a part-person, her psyche fractured and diminished, her mind reduced to a lesser form devoid of free will.

Satisfied, he stepped behind her and rammed himself into her anus without further ado, feeling the need to fuck away the stress he’d accumulated in the last few minutes. The rest of the girl’s mind clearly hadn’t been returned to her body, but that still left him with pressing questions: where was it, and who had taken it?

***

The thick cloth curtain across Rhyce’s window had been drawn back, casting pale moonlight over the room. The would-be warlock was sitting cross-legged on the floor, mystical ephemera arranged around them. Small piles of various herbs and ground-up plants, among them elm, mustard seed, blackthorn, mountain ash and (of course) rosemary, as well as a couple of small stone totems and silver charms, formed a semi-circle, at the centre of which the possessed doll lay. Rhyce gazed down at it in silence, mentally galvanising themself and trying to conceal their trepidation. Although they could no longer hear their new friend’s voice, they were perfectly aware that she could still see them, and they didn’t want to give her reason to think they weren’t capable of doing this.

They had read the page in their newly-purchased spellbook at least eight times, committing the incantation to memory and ensuring they had all the right ritual ingredients in sufficient amounts. Everything was prepared, except for Rhyce themself.

It had been hours since they had left Thezon’s store, the time having flown past as Rhyce had listened to the half-mad exposition of the poppet’s prisoner, whose name was Sinda. They had heard her describe her growing infatuation with the local Lord’s beautiful stepdaughter Zallia over the course of a couple of years, of how Zallia had gradually made it clear that she reciprocated Sinda’s affections, and of how they had carried out a surreptitious affair that they successfully hid from Lord Fennrak, or so they’d thought. More than once, Sinda got distracted describing passionate moments she’d spent with her lover in vivid detail, forcing Rhyce to divert her back to the story - rather reluctantly, as the celibate student of sorcery couldn’t help getting a little caught up in the steamy anecdotes.

Inevitably, things had all gone very wrong for the young couple. Intent on quelling his daughter’s dissent and making her marriageable, Fennrak had called upon the Magus to purge her mind and spirit of all resistance. Effectively lobotomised, Zallia had become as meek and obedient as her stepfather had always wished, and had been duly wed to one of his wealthy friends. Not content to leave her beloved in such a predicament, Sinda had broken into Thezon’s store with the intention of retrieving the removed part of her consciousness - no part of the soul could be truly destroyed, so the Magus had to trap it in an enchanted container of some kind.

The stablehand’s foolhardy actions had been the end of her - she had fallen victim to a magical booby trap and met the same fate as Zallia, becoming Thezon’s willing shop girl and sex slave. The removed chunk of her consciousness had been imprisoned in the wooden doll and left on display on that shelf, forced to watch her other self happily serving, and sexually gratifying, her captor day after day. Sinda had been powerless, unable to move, speak aloud, or even close her ‘eyes’ (as they were mere grooves etched into the doll’s face), for longer than she was able to accurately track, growing increasingly insane, trapped in a living hell... until now.

Rhyce felt desperately sorry for the poor girl. But, they reasoned, Sinda’s luck had finally turned - because she’d fallen into the hands of one of the few people in the world who was both willing to help her and potentially capable of doing so.

You really think you can? Sinda had said hesitantly. It was difficult to distinguish emotions from the series of thoughts that she spoke in, but they sensed she was trying very hard not to get her hopes up, her ‘tone’ barely concealing her huge excitement at the prospect of freedom, in case those hopes were dashed.

Rhyce had glanced across the room at their spellbook and plentiful phials of ritual ingredients, and had then looked back down at the doll in their lap with an undaunted expression that was only partly feigned. “How hard can it be?” they said boldly.

Oh, that fills me with confidence.

“Yeah, I can still hear you, Sinda...”

I know.

Truth be told, Rhyce was fairly sure they could free Sinda. Browsing the book, they’d soon found precisely what they needed - a simple spell to restore a dislocated soul, or a part of one, to its earthly vessel. It was an advanced ritual in the latter pages of the volume, clearly complex and beyond the abilities of a beginner. But Rhyce was optimistic about their chances. They recognised their own great potential, and the actual spellcasting didn’t seem too difficult - it was more to do with the mental discipline of the magician, and their reserves of power.

They figured it was worth a try. Sinda had suffered in this nightmarish purgatory for too long, regardless of how long it had actually been. If they could free her, they should. The worst eventualities, they figured, were that either she’d be reduced to an incorporeal ghost aimlessly wandering the mortal plane (in which case she’d at least have more freedom of movement than she had now), she’d expire and pass on to the afterlife (where the Gods would most likely take pity on her for her ordeal and welcome her into their garden), or absolutely nothing would happen and she’d be no worse off.

Altruism aside, Rhyce just really wanted to give it a go. They finally had their hands on an honest-to-Gods spellbook, bought from a real-life (loathsome, but undeniably proficient) Magus, and they were itching to try their hands at proper, advanced magic, and test their limits. They tended to be more cautious, and there were certainly doubts in the mind warning that they were being reckless, but for once they ignored them, their sheer excitement prevailing over their usual restraint.

Taking a deep breath, Rhyce began to chant in a low voice, reciting words in an ancient dialect only spoken nowadays in these exact circumstances, while beginning to slowly move their arms in the air before them, entwining and undulating them in a graceful dance. As they uttered the incantation, they drew from the well deep inside their soul for the second time that day, this time summoning up a much greater amount than they’d required in order to beguile Sinda the simple-minded slavegirl.

They felt tremors run through their body, but not from nerves - no, they recognised the source of these quivers. This was power, vibrating throughout them, barely contained by their mortal form. Power the likes of which they’d rarely harnessed before, and never so deliberately, in such a controlled, focused manner. They’d unleashed some of their innermost intensity on a handful of past occasions, but only instinctively, in the heat of the moment, blindly wielding it to defend themself from attackers, or in the throes of passion (which was part of the reason they’d sworn a personal vow of chastity ever since). They’d never used it for a specific purpose such as this, as part of a spell.

Now, though, as they kept repeating the magic words, they felt their skin humming, their eyes blazing, their body lifting and floating inches off the floor, hovering in mid-air. Their heart sped up, their mouth twitching into a triumphant smile. It was working! They were tapping the rich veins of power buried in the furthest depths of their self, wielding their magic the way they were meant to - the way they were destined to. They had finally unlocked their potential, and taken a huge leap forward along their path to becoming a true Magus!

The doll, too, rose from the floor and drifted upwards, hanging suspended before Rhyce’s gesticulating arms, rotating as if dangling from a string. Their movement and chanting sped up, faster and faster, the power burning within them stronger and stronger by the second, until, at last, they felt themself reach the peak, the opportune moment, the precise instant to let it loose... Their arms froze in position, and a split second later they released the accumulation of magical energy with a snap of their fingers.

There was a blinding flash of light, and both Rhyce and the Sinda doll dropped to the floor, their invisible strings cut. The magical Mx lay sprawled across the hard wooden floor, the underside of their thigh coated in mustard seed from the pile it had inadvertently landed in.

Though they gave all external appearances of being unconscious, Rhyce was in fact awake - but they couldn’t move. As the seconds ticked by, and their efforts to lift either eyelid, twitch a toe or make the slightest sound met with failure, panic began to set in. What had they done? How could they have botched the spell so badly they’d been paralysed? Was the effect temporary - or would they remain in this state for the rest of their life, as trapped in their own body as Sinda was in the wooden doll...?

After what felt like an eternity of struggling, their eyes finally flickered open. Their pounding heart leapt - they’d succeeded! They weren’t completely immobilised! But their slight relief faded quickly when they found themself lurching upright, blinking blearily and groaning - none of which they had done of their own volition. They had been focused on trying to move another small part, believing they would have to work to regain motion incrementally throughout their body, when it’d moved of its own accord.

“What the fuck?” Rhyce heard themself groan - again, entirely against their own will. “What - did it work? Am I...” Their eyes flicked down towards the doll, and went wide, their mouth gaping open in a broad, euphoric, slightly demented smile. They wished they knew why.

“Oh my Gods,” their voice almost sobbed. “I’m... I’m free! I got out... but... but I’m not - I’m not me - so who...”

Rhyce deduced what had happened a moment before their body’s new occupant, their shoulders slumping as realisation dawned upon her. Clambering up from the floor, they crossed the room towards the basin in the corner, gazing into the just-about-clean-enough mirror that hung from the wall above it.

“Hmm. Not ideal,” Sinda murmured, intently studying her reflection. Then her borrowed mouth slowly spread into a smile once more. “But... I can work with this.”