The Strings Between Us

A Mortal Vow

His voice cracked.

"And I won't let it die here."

~~~

Slappy carried Belinda back to the old ritual chamber which was located deep within the castle — hidden beneath layers of horror and shadow.

The air was thick with dust and time. The ceiling arched like a ribcage overhead. Candles flared in the dark, igniting at his command, circling the stone dais in flickering gold.

He placed Belinda down gently in the center.

He looked out the window; a half moon.

Belinda noticed the anxious look in his eyes.

"What is it?" She asked, concerned.

"It's not a full moon; the spell works best and is most powerful when it's a full moon. I'm worried it won't—" He immediately stopped.

He suddenly remembered something.

Something sacrificial.

"No.. It can work. I will make it work."

Her eyes were barely open now. Her voice was faint.

"Please don't do this," she whispered. "I don't want to live without you."

"No," he said softly. "I'd do anything in my power if it meant keeping you alive."

He pulled the old grimoire from beneath his coat and opened it to the page he had long hidden — the one spell he swore he'd never use.

A reversal.

A sacrifice.

To make the puppet man flesh again.

"To anchor her soul, I give my own..." he began.

Candles surged higher.

"...to bind her life, I break the shell I once made."

The center beneath Belinda glowed as her body shimmered, flickering between porcelain and light.

Her chest rose once, then faltered.

Slappy stood still; determined.

"I give this form, this vessel, this curse. Take it from me," he whispered, voice full of trembling rage, "and make her whole."

He unbuttoned his tattered black cloak and let it fall to the floor.

His wooden hands shimmered with red-gold light.

Then — with a final breath — he placed one hand on her chest and the other over his own.

"I bind myself to her."

A violent wind rushed through the room, howling like a scream.

His body exploded in light — green and gold and violet.

Cracks ran across his puppet form, not of decay, but of release. His carved skin split, peeled away, and beneath it — warm, real flesh emerged.

Muscles. Blood. Skin.

He staggered back, gasping, lungs filling with breath for the first time in a hundred years.

He collapsed to his knees beside her.

Belinda blinked.

The cracks on her face were gone.

She looked at her hands.

Real.

Human.

Alive.

"Slappy?" she whispered.

He lifted his head.

He was stunning.

Tall. Lean. Dark hair falling over one brow. His white button shirt was open, revealing his toned chest. His sharp features now real, angular, handsome in the way of tragic heroes.

His eyes—still green—met hers, but there was something deeper in them now.

Something vulnerable.

"Hey, dollface," he said with a soft, crooked smile.

She gasped and crawled toward him. "You—you're—"

He caught her hand. Pressed it to his cheek. "I'm here."

Tears filled her eyes.

"I thought I'd forget everything..."

"Do you?" he asked gently.

She laughed through her tears.

"No. I remember it all."

~~~

They stayed there, sitting together under the flickering candles, wrapped in each other's arms.

No longer puppet and doll.

Just man and woman; both reborn by love, sacrifice, and magic older than time.

Belinda rested her head against his chest.

She could feel his heartbeat.

Slappy stared down at her, entranced by her beauty once again.

He brushed his fingers up and down her arm, taking in how soft her skin felt.

Taking in the fact that he could actually touch something and feel it again.

For the first time in a hundred years... he was warm.