Page 177 of The Doll and The Domination

She found us.

“Sophia’s heart broke the day she thought you died in her arms after birth. She sobbed in her birthing bed, trying to breathe life into a child that was swapped with you. Begging God to give her baby back to her.” Skylenna takes three steps forward, coming into my sight. “That was your mother, Kaspias. The same mother who used to tell bedtime stories to Kane and Arthur about the man you would have become. The same mother who cried at your grave every Sunday, leaving yellow tulips on your small grave in hopes it would brighten your day wherever you were in the afterlife.”

Kaspias is on his feet now, gawking at her like someone has just dumped cold water over his head. “How the fuck did you find us?”

“Sophia and Arthur were murdered in the house you were supposed to grow up in.”

Kaspias’s veins bulge from his hands and forearms, though he doesn’t move.

“Enough of this,” Masten scoffs, rising to his feet with the support of his cane. “Maybe she won’t be so mushy if she knew what you’re doing to your precious brother.”

Skylenna’s head turns to Dessin, taking in the horrendous view of the way his body reacts to the gruesome images the Mind Phantoms have given him.

“Masten.” She acknowledges the traitor with little surprise. “What have you done?” Her upper lip peels back.

“I’m fixing him,” he declares proudly. “Now, he’ll never look at you the same way again. He’ll forever associate you with loss, pain, and hatred. Without the weakness of loving you, he’ll be the perfect soldier. The world’s greatest assassin. And you’re next.”

46. Into Dessin’s Mind

Skylenna

I stop hearing Masten’s words, stop trying to make sense of his inhumane cruelty.

My eyes are fixated on Dessin. I watch his abdominal muscles coil tightly together, flexing and unflexing. He grinds his teeth with his eyes darting around under his closed lids.

Whatever you’re going through, you won’t go through it alone, Dessin.

My feet move to him like magnets, like a gravitational force pulling me in. Placing my hands over his clenched jaw, I allow the bizarre phenomenon happening in the void to swallow me like a collapsing ocean wave. And the fall is far more aggressive than I’ve experienced to date. It’s a riptide, so strong, so forceful, I have to hold my breath.

Fog, chilled winds, and darkness storm past me, through me, around me as I finally part the seas of the void’s strong borders. I stand upright in a room that strikes me with bad memory after bad memory.

Electroconvulsive therapy in the Emerald Lake Asylum.

My heart races in the doorway of the unventilated room, finding Dessin strapped down, practically levitating at the pulses of electricity zooming through his body. He’s in his white patient’s uniform, reminding me of our first meeting, the thirteenth room, my daily sessions with him that I so looked forward to.

As I take a step forward, I finally take note of who is operating the machine that’s torturing him.

“No…” I breathe.

Long, honey-golden hair streams down her navy-blue conformist’s dress. She fidgets with the remote excitedly, practically bouncing on her heels.

Three more steps, and I see her face.

Emerald eyes filled with poison and malice. Long, wispy eyelashes. High cheekbones.

Me.

I’m the one torturing him.

They’re conditioning him to associate me with pain, with hatred. The way he saw Meridei or Suseas. Absinthe or Albatross.

My stomach shrivels, and I find that I don’t want to fight the sudden (but welcome) downpour of rage feasting on my insides. Walking up to her, I snap her neck, quick with a loud crack, and the other Skylenna’s body is dumped to the floor. I flip off the machine and unstrap Dessin.

“It’s me, Dessin. The real me.” Running my hands through his hair, I kiss his cheek. “I’ve come for you. The way you’ve always shown up for me. I love you. I love you so much.”

His eyes slowly open and close, then open again. He focuses on my face, searching my eyes for answers. A look that says he recognizes me. An expression that softens my heart. His pupils turn the size of saucers at first, then shrink to tiny pinholes.

The thrust of his body into mine is so abruptly powerful, I can’t even scream as we’re thrown off the table, pelting through the air. My back slams into the tiled floor, knocking the wind from my lungs. I’m certain I’ve broken something after hearing a snap. But I can’t breathe, can’t scream, can’t beg him to see me clearly.

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