Threads of Vengeance (Fnaf + Ghost! Reader Insert)

Shackled Souls

Y/n stumbled back, her mind reeling. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps—except it wasn't breath at all. There was no warmth, no real rise and fall of her chest. It was just... a habit, a phantom sensation of being alive.

The figure in the shadows stepped forward, its movements eerily fluid yet unnatural, like a puppet with its strings gently pulled. As it emerged into the dim light, Y/n could see it more clearly—a tall, slender form draped in black and white, its blank, mask-like face marked with streaks of deep purple, like dried tears.

The Marionette.

She knew of it. She saw a few scattered children's drawings on the walls. The Marionette was inside a present box in them, handing toys and gifts to the stick figure kids. Little music notes decorated the worn pages. It had unsettled her, but now—standing before it, feeling something foreign and cold pulsing in her core—she was terrified.

But something shifted.

Her mind wavered, her vision blurring for a split second, and suddenly—she wasn't looking at just the Marionette anymore.

For the briefest moment, she saw it as it truly was.

Its body was thin, wiry—unnatural. Its limbs stretched too long, its fingers bony and claw-like, curling ever so slightly. The mask that covered its face wasn't just a mask—it was cracked porcelain, fractured in places, revealing the ghostly hints of something beneath. Its eyes, once empty voids, shimmered with something deep, something watching.

A flicker of movement—were those strings above its shoulders? Were they attached to something?

But then she blinked, and it was gone.

The Marionette stood as it had before, its smooth, featureless face unreadable, its arms hanging limply at its sides. Y/n swallowed hard, her hands curling into trembling fists.

"You... you're lying," she whispered, shaking her head violently. "This is a dream. A nightmare. I can't be—"

"Dead?" The Puppet's head tilted slightly. "Yet you are."

The finality of those words made her stomach churn. Y/n clutched at her arms, pressing her fingers into her skin—except her skin wasn't quite right. Too smooth in places, too rigid in others.

She felt wrong.

"Let me go," she demanded, her voice sharper now, edged with panic. "I—I have to find Kai. I have to get back to him."

The Marionette remained motionless, its hollow eyes locked onto hers. "You cannot leave. Your thread has already been cut."

Y/n's body tensed. "No. I don't accept that."

With newfound desperation, she turned, stumbling through the room, pushing past broken toys and forgotten remnants of a world that once held warmth. Her legs carried her faster than she expected, too light, too smooth, like they weren't entirely her own.

She reached the door, gripping the handle—only for it to pass through her fingers.

Y/n froze.

Her chest rose and fell with panic, but again—it wasn't real.

Slowly, she tried again. This time, she focused, willing her fingers to close around the handle. For a moment, resistance met her touch, but then—her hand phased through the metal as though she were nothing but air.

She stumbled back, horror washing over her.

"No," she choked. "No, no, no—"

"You are not like them anymore," the Marionette's voice murmured, closer now.