Work Text:
The workshop had fallen into a peaceful silence, broken only by the sound of oil dripping onto the floorboards. Sandrone remained frozen at her workbench, her spine stiff and unyielding as her fingers tightened around her soldering iron.
She didn't need to turn around to know the atmosphere was changing. The air behind her began to warp, growing unnaturally cold as the familiar, acrid stench of scorched oil was drowned out by something far more cloying.
It was the funeral scent of lilies mingled with the metallic tang of dried blood, a signature that told her exactly who had just stepped out of the dark.
"Get out," Sandrone hissed, her voice trembling with fury and genuine, sharp-edged hatred. "Can’t you see I’m busy? One mistake and the entire core melts. I don't have time for your games, you freak."
A pair of pale, slender arms slid over Sandrone’s shoulders, the silk of Columbina’s sleeves dragging through the grease on the workbench. Columbina leaned in, her cheek pressing against Sandrone’s, her closed eyes hidden behind that lace blindfold that always seemed to be watching.
"It’s so quiet in here, Sandrone," Columbina whispered, her voice was like silk, tightening with every word. She reached out, her finger tracing Sandrone's jaw. "Just you and your toys. Do you love them more than me?"
"They’re useful," Sandrone snapped, trying to pull away, but Columbina’s grip was firm and deceptive. It was a gentle touch backed by the strength of something hungry. "They listen. They don't make noise. They don't rot. They are perfect."
Columbina giggled, a sound that made Sandrone’s skin crawl. "Perfect? No...they’re just hollow." She grabbed Sandrone’s hand, the one holding the iron; and forced it toward the prototype’s exposed wiring.
"Do you know what I hate about machines, Sandrone?"
"WHAT THE?!- I don't care about your philosophical drivel! Let go of me!" Sandrone snarled, her breath coming in short, angry huffs.
Columbina leaned closer, her lips brushing Sandrone’s ear, her voice dropping to a terrifying, flat monotone.
"It’s that they don’t bleed when you hurt them. That’s boring, isn't it?"
Sandrone froze. The anger in her chest felt like it was going to burst. She twisted in Columbina’s arms, shoving the slightly taller woman back with a burst of strength.
She turned back to her masterpiece. At first glance, it looked fine. But then she saw it. Deep within the central gear housing, the very core of the machine’s logic center, something was wrong.
The oil wasn't clear. It was thick, dark, and smelled of iron.
And there, tangled inextricably in the main drive-shaft, was a long, shimmering braid of Columbina’s hair, soaked in fresh blood and tied in a neat, mocking bow.
"You...you filth!" Sandrone screamed, her face flushing an angry red. She lunged for Columbina, her small hands balled into fists, ready to strike the serene face of the woman who had just destroyed months of work.
"I’ll kill you! I’ll dismantle you piece by piece and throw you into the fire. I hate you! I hate you so much!"
Columbina didn't move. She let Sandrone collide with her, let the slightly smaller woman grab her collar and shake her with desperate rage. Columbina’s hands came up, moving with a speed that blurred, catching Sandrone’s wrists and pinning them against the workbench behind her.
The sound of expensive glass shattering under Sandrone’s weight punctuated the silence.
"There you are," Columbina cooed, leaning down until her nose brushed against Sandrone’s. Her dominance was heavy and suffocating.
"I missed how angry you’d get. I missed this heat. I missed the way you hate me. It’s so much better than the way you love your machines."
"I don't love you! I hate you!" Sandrone spat, struggling against the grip, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and a dark, shameful thrill she couldn't suppress. "You’re a monster! You ruined it! You ruined everything!"
"I saved you," Columbina corrected, her voice sounding like a possessive growl. She pressed her body flush against Sandrone’s, forcing her to feel the terrifying thrum of her heart.
"The machine was taking you away from me. I won't allow that. You can build a thousand more, and I will bleed into every single one of them until you realize that the only thing allowed to occupy your mind...is me."
"Be my guest. It saves me the effort of killing you myself. Why don’t you just sit there and bleed to death for all I care?"
"Oh, Sandrone... you’re talking to a god. Do you really think I’m kept together by something as messy as blood?"
Sandrone let out a frustrated sound. It was half-sob, half-snarl. She hated how Columbina’s touch felt like homecoming. She hated that she wanted to bite Columbina’s lip until it bled.
"You’re a monster! You think everything is a game! You think my work is just something for you to play with because you’re bored and lonely!"
Sandrone stood up, knocking her chair over, her face flushed a dark, humiliated red. She grabbed a heavy brass casing and threw it at Columbina’s feet.
"I hate you! I wish the Tsaritsa would send you to the abyss and leave me in peace! You’re nothing but a glitch in my life!"
Columbina didn't flinch as the brass shattered on the floor. She just stood there, her head tilted at an unnatural angle, looking absolutely delighted by Sandrone’s meltdown.
"Look at you," Columbina cooed, stepping over the wreckage, her wings unfurling just enough to block the exit. She pressed Sandrone back against the workbench.
"So much temper for such a little puppet. You say you hate me, but your heart is beating so fast I can hear it clicking like one of your broken clocks."
Columbina reached out and gripped Sandrone’s chin, her thumb digging into the soft skin of her throat. "The machines don't give you this feeling, do they? The fear? The rage? The filth?"
Sandrone’s eyes welled with tears of pure, unadulterated fury. She wanted to bite Columbina’s hand off; she wanted to sink into the floor. "I’ll kill you," Sandrone whispered, her voice cracking. "I swear to the Tsaritsa, I will find a way to turn you into a doll that can't speak."
"Oh, Sandrone..." Columbina’s smile was wide and terrifying. She leaned down, forcing Sandrone to look up at her.
"But you’re already my doll. You just haven't realized that I’m the one pulling your strings."
"You're disgusting," Sandrone whispered, her temper simmering into a yielding desperation.
Columbina’s hand slammed into Sandrone’s shoulder. With a sickening crunch, Sandrone was hoisted off her feet and shoved backward. Her spine hit the edge of her primary workbench, and the reinforced, expensive glass surface shattered beneath her weight, shards of crystal biting into her coat.
"Shhh," Columbina whispered. It wasn't a comfort; it was a command.
Columbina pinned Sandrone’s wrists to the ruined table, leaning over her until their noses touched. The sheer, overwhelming power radiating from her turned the air into lead. Sandrone struggled, her legs kicking out, her breath hitching in a panicked, bratty snarl.
"Let go! You’re hurting me, you freak"
"You’re making so much noise," Columbina cooed, her voice eerily calm, a sharp contrast to the carnage around them. She leaned her weight into Sandrone’s chest, effectively crushing the air out of her.
"All this screaming. All this breaking. You’re like a music box with a snapped spring. Do you need me to wind you back up? Or do I need to take you apart to find where the glitch is?"
Sandrone’s cold facade disintegrated. She hated being handled like the very puppets she made. But as Columbina’s grip tightened, bruising the delicate skin of her wrists, a dark, disgusting heat flooded Sandrone’s veins.
"You're mine," Columbina replied, her teeth grazing Sandrone’s earlobe. "Now...tell me again how much you hate me while I show you exactly what happens to little girls who ignore their owners."
Sandrone’s rage shifted. The walls crumbled into a desperate, hateful vulnerability. She looked up at Columbina, her eyes glassy with a mix of fury and a sick, addictive submission.
"I hate you," Sandrone choked out, even as her body involuntarily arched toward the contact. "I hate you more than anything in this world."
"I know," Columbina smiled, her teeth grazing Sandrone’s lower lip, drawing a tiny bead of red. "That’s why I love you. You’re so much more fun when you’re broken. No more toys today, Sandrone. Just me, okay?"
Columbina’s fingers wandered from Sandrone’s pulse to the hollow of her throat. It was a touch too light to be a choke, yet too heavy to be a caress.
It was the silent ultimatum of a collector reminding a doll who truly held the strings. Like a promise of what happened to dolls that didn't know their place.
Sandrone’s defiance finally snapped, she let out a broken, pathetic whimper, as her rage dissolved into the suffocating weight of their shared ruin.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The tension was thick in the Harbinger’s meeting hall, but it wasn't the political maneuvering that held Columbina’s focus. It was a hand.
A simple, careless hand belonging to Sandrone’s assistant, resting briefly on Sandrone’s shoulder to whisper a status update. It was a nothing gesture, yet to Columbina, it felt like a serrated blade drawing across her own skin.
She glared from across the long stone table.
Columbina followed the scent of grease and cold pride into a secluded corridor, cornering Sandrone before she could reach the safety of her workshop.
Columbina closed the door. The click of the latch was agonizingly slow, a deliberate punctuation mark at the end of Sandrone’s freedom.
“You’re embarrassing,” Columbina said, her voice like silk over a grave.
Sandrone didn't even look up at first. She rolled her eyes, a sharp huff of breath escaping her.
“You actually dragged me into a storage hallway just to glare at me? I have things to do, Columbina. My time is more valuable than your whims.”
Columbina didn't argue. She simply stepped into Sandrone’s personal space, moving with that eerily smooth gait that made her seem like she was floating rather than walking.
“Who was that?”
“Oh, for the love of the Tsaritsa.” Sandrone let out a bitter laugh, finally meeting that veiled, unreadable stare. “You cannot be serious”
Columbina didn't stop until Sandrone’s spine pressed firmly against the wall. The tension was heavy. “I asked you a question, Sandrone.”
“And I am not giving you the satisfaction of an answer,” Sandrone snapped, though her pulse was beginning to hammer against the base of her throat.
Columbina reached up. Her fingers weren't claws, but they felt just as dangerous as they brushed against Sandrone’s skin. It was a possessive, feather-light touch, tracing the line of her jaw with affection.
“She’s--She’s an assistant. A tool. A means to an end.” Sandrone chocked
“You enjoy this,” Columbina murmured, her head tilting to the side. “You enjoy provoking the parts of me that don't know how to be kind.”
Sandrone’s hand shot up, slapping the touch away with a resounding crack. “I enjoy reminding you that I’m not one of your mindless devotees. You don’t own me, Columbina”
Columbina hummed. Her gaze darkened, the sweetness in her expression curdling into something predatory. “Strange. Everyone else in this palace seems to think you do.”
The air went dead. Sandrone felt a sudden, icy knot tighten in her stomach. The bravado flickered, just for a second.
“...What did you do?” she asked, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper.
Columbina offered a smile that didn't reach her hidden eyes. It was the kind of expression that made people check the shadows behind them.
“I simply made sure that no one forgets who you belong to. A few words in the right ears. A few...demonstrations of what happens to things that touch what’s mine.”
Sandrone’s temper flared. She lunged forward, grabbing the fine fabric of Columbina’s collar and bunching it in her fist. “Say that again. Say it to my face.”
Columbina didn't flinch. She leaned in instead, closing the gap until their foreheads were almost touching, her breath warm against Sandrone’s lips.
“You,” she whispered,
“Belong.” Her voice dropped lower, with distorted hunger.
“To.” She leaned in until her lips brushed Sandrone’s ear.
“Me.”
Sandrone shoved her back with enough force to make her shoulders ache, but Columbina only laughed. It was a soft and delighted sound.
“You hate it,” Columbina murmured, her eyes gleaming with a manic sort of joy. “You loathe the very thought of it. And yet, you stay. you always do. ”
The next day, the sky had finally broken and spilled a cold, relentless rain that hammered against the roof. It was cold outside but Sandrone didn't feel the chill. She was fuming.
The doors to Columbina’s chambers recoiled against the wall. The sound echoed through the vaulted ceiling. Sandrone stood in the threshold, her breath coming in sharp hitches, her coat dripping melted slush onto the pristine floor.
"You threatened my assistant," Sandrone hissed, her voice trembling with rage.
Columbina didn't flinch. She was seated at the grand piano, her back to the door, her fingers resting motionless on the ivory keys. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of the storm against the stained glass.
"I warned her," Columbina corrected softly. She didn't turn around, but the tilt of her head suggested she was listening to the frantic cadence of Sandrone’s heartbeat.
"You told her you’d remove her hands!" Sandrone’s voice rose, cracking under the weight of her disbelief.
"You told a high ranking member of my personal staff that if she so much as brushed my shoulder again, you would ensure she never felt anything with her fingers ever again. Do you have any idea how much work I’ve put into that unit? Do you even care?"
Columbina finally moved. She struck a single, low note on the piano, a mourning sound that vibrated across the room. She turned her head just enough for the light to catch the edge of her veil. "Yes. I believe those were my exact words."
Sandrone let out an incredulous laugh that sounded more like a sob of frustration. She took a step forward. "You’re completely out of your mind. You think you can just dictate every move I make? You can’t control my entire life, Columbina!"
Columbina rose from the bench with grace. She didn't walk so much as glide, her robes whispering against the floor like the wings of a moth.
"You’re right," Columbina murmured, her steps quiet and measured as she closed the distance between them. "I can’t control your life, Sandrone. That would be tedious. It would take the spark out of you."
She stopped just inches away, her presence cold and sweet.
"...But I can certainly ruin it."
Sandrone went perfectly still. The fire in her eyes flickered, caught in the draft of Columbina’s absolute certainty.
"Why do you keep testing me?" Columbina asked, her voice a feather-light caress.
The question made Sandrone pause. Why did she keep pushing against the bars when she already knew Columbina’s cage was built from something she could never break?
Sandrone’s hands were shaking now, clenched into tight fists at her sides. "Because someone needs to remind you that this isn’t normal! This...this obsession, this constant, suffocating shadow you cast over everything I touch. It’s not love, Columbina. It’s madness!"
Columbina reached out. Sandrone flinched, but she didn't pull away as those pale, slender fingers brushed a stray, damp lock of hair back from her forehead.
For a heartbeat, Columbina’s expression softened. It wasn't the sweetness of a lover or the gentleness of a friend. It was something infinitely worse.
"You still think this is about what’s normal," Columbina whispered, her breath ghosting over Sandrone’s skin. "You’re so incredibly intelligent." Her thumb came to rest just under Sandrone’s jaw, tracing the frantic pulse there with intimacy. "And yet, with all that brilliance, you haven't figured it out yet."
Sandrone’s pride flared one last time. She reached and slapped the hand away, the sound of the impact sharp in the quiet room. "Figured what out?"
Columbina didn't look angry. Instead, a smile began to bloom across her face. It was slow and wide.
"That I would burn this world down before I ever let you leave me." Columbina said, her eyes gleaming with a dark, manic light.
"I would destroy every single thing you love until I’m the only thing left. Do you understand now? There is no world for you, without me in it."
The rain outside intensified, a roar of water seemed to isolate the two of them in their own crumbling reality. Sandrone stared into those eyes, her breath hitching in her throat. The realization hit her.
"You’re insane," Sandrone whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm.
Columbina’s eyes softened even further. Like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sandrone was late. Five minutes had passed since the appointed hour, and Columbina sat perfectly still on the couch, her hands folded over her knees.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound was like a needle pricking at the back of Columbina’s mind. It was unrelenting. A small, delicate smile played on her lips as she counted the seconds, her head tilting slightly to match the swing of a nearby pendulum.
"Five minutes," she murmured into the empty air, her voice felt entirely out of place.
When the door finally groaned open, the atmosphere shifted instantly. Sandrone stepped inside, her heavy coat half undone and her expression pulled into a tight mask of irritation.
She looked exhausted, her hair slightly disheveled from the wind, her mind clearly still miles away.
"Why are you here again?" Sandrone asked, her voice flat and weary. She didn't look at Columbina, choosing instead to head straight for her workbench to set down her bags.
Columbina turned her head, her gaze locking onto Sandrone. "Oh, there you are."
There was no warmth in the greeting, no polite inquiry about her day. It was a statement of visceral relief that sounded more like a starving person spotting a meal than a friend welcoming another home.
Sandrone merely rolled her eyes, moving past her to shed her coat.
"You shouldn’t come here unannounced," Sandrone muttered, tossing her outer layers onto a chair with a careless shrug. "I have deadlines. I don’t have time for your games."
Columbina watched her every movement like an apex predator. And then, she caught it. A faint, flowery scent that didn't belong to this place. Someone else’s perfume was clinging to the fabric of Sandrone’s clothes, a soft and powdery intrusion on their shared world.
Columbina’s smile remained fixed, but the air in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "Who was she?" Columbina asked, her voice as light as a feather.
Sandrone froze, her hand hovering over a set of gears. "What?"
"You smell different," Columbina noted, her tone conversational, as if she were simply commenting about the weather.
Sandrone let out a dismissive scoff and turned back to her machine, though her movements were suddenly more frantic and less precise. "You’re imagining things. I’ve been out in the city. I’ve spoken to dozens of people while sourcing parts. I don't keep track of their perfume and neither should you."
Columbina stood up. The movement was fluid and ghostly, a silent rise that brought her across the floor without a single floorboard creaking under her weight. She stopped directly behind Sandrone, stepping so close that the heat from Sandrone’s body began to seep through her robes. She leaned in until her breath was a warm ghost against the back of Sandrone’s neck.
"You promised me," Columbina whispered, her voice haunting
.
Sandrone’s jaw tightened. "I promised you nothing of the sort. I’m allowed to exist and conduct business without your permission."
"Mm."
Columbina didn't argue. Instead, she leaned closer, resting her chin on Sandrone’s shoulder with deceptive softness. To anyone looking through the window, it might have looked like a tender embrace between two lovers sharing a quiet moment.
But Sandrone went rigid, her entire body locking up as if she had been turned to stone.
"You shouldn’t lie to me," Columbina whispered into her ear. "It’s beneath you. And it makes me feel unpleasant things. It makes me want to start breaking things just to see if they can be fixed."
The tension finally snapped. Sandrone shoved her away with a violent burst of strength, spinning around to face her with eyes flashing.
"Stop acting like you own me!"
For a fleeting second, the mask slipped. Something flickered behind Columbina’s eyes, a flash of unadulterated malice. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same sweet, vacant smile that never reached her hidden eyes.
"Oh Sandrone, I don’t act like it," Columbina said.
"...I know I do”
She reached up, her fingers fluttering like moth wings before settling on Sandrone’s collar. She stroked the fabric thoughtfully, her touch lingering on the spot where the unfamiliar scent was strongest.
Sandrone’s hand shot out, grabbing Columbina’s wrist in a crushing grip. "You’re insane," she breathed, her voice shaking with a mixture of rage and fear.
Columbina’s eyes brightened, a genuine sparkle of delight dancing in them. "Yes," she agreed, sounding immensely pleased with the accusation.
Sandrone’s grip tightened "You think this is love? This suffocating, paranoid obsession? You think this is what it means to care for another person?"
Columbina tilted her head to the side, her hair spilling over her shoulder like silk. "No," she said softly. "I think love is just the polite word people use when they’re too afraid to say obsession."
To Columbina, obsession is a prettier word for the same bottomless hunger.
Sandrone let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "You’re pathetic."
Columbina didn't flinch. She simply stepped forward again, closing the gap that Sandrone had tried to create. Each time Sandrone tried to maintain her space, Columbina reclaimed it, forcing Sandrone to step back until her heels hit the edge of her worktable.
Columbina leaned in, her face inches from Sandrone’s, invading every inch of her personal space.
"You still came home to me," Columbina whispered, her eyes searching Sandrone’s face for every flicker of emotion, every sign of breaking. Her smile widened just a fraction. "See? You hate me. But you never leave."
Columbina never raised her voice. her words were far more terrifying than a scream could ever be. "Sit," she commanded.
Sandrone’s eyes flared with a final spark of defiance. "You don’t get to give me orders, Columbina."
Columbina didn't respond with words. She just stood there, watching patiently. The silence stretched between them. Seconds bled into a full, agonizing minute.
Finally, with a defeated sound, Sandrone sat down on the edge of the table. She looked at the floor, hating the fact that her legs had given way to the sheer pressure of Columbina's presence.
Columbina smiled faintly, her expression shifting to something almost nurturing. "There you go."
"Don’t start acting like you’ve trained me," Sandrone snapped, though the bite was gone from her voice, replaced by a ringing exhaustion.
"Oh no," Columbina said softly, her eyes glimmering darkly. "I didn’t train you, Sandrone. I would never be so crude as to treat you like an animal."
She leaned forward, her voice meant only for the two of them. "I simply learned exactly what breaks you. It’s much more efficient than training."
Sandrone’s jaw set in a hard line, her eyes fixed on a distant point on the wall. Columbina’s fingers began to tap a pattern against the wood of the table next to Sandrone’s thigh, mimicking the ticking of the clocks.
"You didn’t answer my question earlier," Columbina reminded her, her voice dropping back into that sweet, dangerous lilt.
"What question?"
"Who were you with?"
Sandrone scoffed, though she still wouldn't meet Columbina’s eyes. "None of your business. It was a contact source for alloys. It certainly has nothing to do with you."
Columbina tilted her head, her smile widening into something truly unsettling that stretched too far across her face.
"You’re right. It is none of my business. Which is why I didn’t bother wasting my time asking you."
Sandrone frowned, bone-deep chill finally beginning to settle in her chest. "What?"
"I asked her friends," Columbina said, her voice airy and light as if she were describing a pleasant walk through a garden. She began to pace a small, tight circle around Sandrone.
"I asked her family. I had to be very thorough, you see. I wanted to know exactly what she offered you that I didn't. I wanted to see what made her so special that you'd bring her scent into your home."
A long, terrible pause followed, filled only by the sound of the rain starting to pick up outside.
"And then," Columbina continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I asked her."
Sandrone stared at her, her face turning pale. "Columbina. What did you do?"
Columbina blinked slowly, looking perfectly innocent and confused by the question. "Nothing at all. I just had a conversation with her. A very long, very detailed conversation about boundaries and the nature of divine ownership."
Her smile softened into something almost pitiful as she reached out to touch Sandrone's cheek. "She cried a lot, though. It was quite noisy for such a small thing."
Sandrone stood up abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor with a sound like a scream. "You’re a monster."
Columbina watched her calmly, her hands once again folding neatly in front of her as she resumed her graceful posture.
"Perhaps," her eyes softened, as if Sandrone had just given her a compliment.
Then her voice dropped into a cold tune. "But now you won’t ever see her again. No one will ever touch what’s mine and expect to keep their peace."
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For three grueling weeks, Sandrone lived a lie that required every ounce of her discipline. She moved through the world like a ghost. She worked until her eyes burned, she sat through dull meetings, and she studiously ignored the way Columbina’s gaze followed her.
It was heavy, searching, and far too perceptive for comfort.
Quietly, Sandrone plotted her own disappearance. She moved in the shadows of the city’s bureaucracy, arranging transport through an isolated northern port where the guards were easily bought and the wind swallowed all sound.
She spent her nights hunched over forged papers. She’d found a weathered, nameless vessel that would slip out into the water long before the first hint of sunrise touched the sky.
Columbina didn't know. The secret sat in Sandrone’s chest, but she kept her breathing steady and her hands still.
For the first time in months, the crushing weight of reality seemed to lift just enough for her to catch her breath. She didn't want to hope, hope was a variable she couldn't control. but as the departure date drew closer, she allowed herself to believe.
She dared to imagine a world where she’d actually succeeded, where the tether was finally cut, and she was gone before anyone even realized that she had left.
The harbor sting of salt and the metallic scent of iron. Dense, milky fog rolled across the wooden planks of the docks, swallowing the world in a haze. Sandrone moved frantically, her boots clicking rapidly as she neared the ship.
No guards stepped out to intercept her. No voices called out for her papers. She allowed herself a fleeting moment of relief.
Her fingers cramped around the handle of her travel bag. She was almost free. She reached the edge of the dock where her vessel should've been moored, but as she stepped forward, she came to a sickening halt.
The ship was gone.
it had vanished. The dark, choppy water where the hull should've been was empty. Sandrone’s stomach performed a violent somersault, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin.
“...What?” she breathed, the word dying in the fog.
Behind her, the sound of footsteps cut through the silence. They were soft and terrifyingly unhurried.
“I was wondering when you’d eventually try the harbor route,” a familiar voice murmured.
Sandrone turned stiffly. Columbina stood just a few paces away, her hands tucked neatly behind her back. She didn't look furious or betrayed. She looked satisfied.
She looked like a predator that had just finished a very entertaining game.
“How did you--” Sandrone’s voice was thin and tight, barely recognizable.
“I bought the ship,” Columbina replied simply.
Sandrone blinked, her mind struggling to process the sheer scale of the absurdity. “You... what?”
Columbina tilted her head to the side with an innocent hum. “The captain was surprisingly cooperative once he saw the amount of gold I was offering.”
Sandrone’s pulse began to hammer against her chest. “You can’t just buy every single ship in the port, Columbina. That’s impossible.”
Columbina offered a chilling smile. “I didn’t have to.” She paused, her eyes locking onto Sandrone’s. “I only bought the ones you attempted to board.”
Sandrone could only stare at her, her breath hitching as the fog swirled between them. “How long have you known?”
Columbina seemed to consider the question for a moment, tap-tapping a finger against her chin. “About your grand escape plan?” she asked lightly. “Oh, about sixteen days.”
A wave of ice-cold dread washed over Sandrone. She felt sick. “You let me believe I was winning. You let me think I could actually leave.”
“Yes,” Columbina said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “I wanted to see exactly how far you’d go to get away from me.”
Sandrone’s hands were shaking so hard she nearly dropped her bag. “You’ve been watching me this entire time.”
Columbina’s eyes softened, though the warmth didn't reach the predatory depths of her gaze. “Always.”
Sandrone let out a weak, hysterical laugh. “You’re sick. You’re truly insane.”
“You packed the mechanical bird,” Columbina said softly, ignoring the insult. Sandrone froze, her heart stopping. “The one you built when you were only fourteen. You always take it when you’re scared, Sandrone. It’s your tell.”
Sandrone’s breathing became shallow. Columbina stepped closer, invading her personal space until the scent of her perfume began to drown out the salt of the harbor.
“You also reached out to three brokers, two smugglers, and one very, very nervous clerk.”
“...How do you know that?” Sandrone whispered, her voice trembling.
Columbina’s smile widened just a fraction. “Because I replaced them.”
The realization hit Sandrone. It was slow and agonizingly painful. “You--”
“Yes,” Columbina interrupted, her tone remaining unnervingly calm. “Every single person who helped you... every bribe you paid... they all worked for me.”
Sandrone stumbled back, shaking her head. “You’re lying. You have to be lying.”
Columbina didn't bother arguing. Instead, she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. Sandrone recognized it instantly.
It was her travel authorization. The forged document she’d spent hours perfecting. Columbina held it out, offering it back with a delicate flick of her wrist.
“You dropped this in the hallway,” she said.
Sandrone didn't reach for it. Her voice was barely audible now, a ghost of its former self. “You orchestrated the entire thing. Every step I took was part of your plan.”
Columbina nodded once, a gesture of quiet pride. “I wanted to see if you’d still run, even when you knew the walls were closing in.”
The fog shifted again, obscuring their feet. Sandrone looked at Columbina and felt a profound sense of horror, as if she were seeing the true face of a monster for the first time.
“You built a cage,” she hissed.
Columbina’s expression turned remarkably tender. “No.” She reached out, her fingers brushing imaginary dust from Sandrone’s coat before she tucked the forged paper into Sandrone’s pocket. “I built a world where it’s simply impossible for you to disappear from me.”
Sandrone’s voice broke. “That’s the same thing. It’s a prison.”
Columbina tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with terrifying devotion. “...Is it?”
The escape failure had left a bitter taste in Sandrone’s mouth. For days, she’d been feeling grumpy, testing the boundaries of Columbina’s patience with her own spite.
She stayed out later than usual. She surrounded herself with other people; subordinates, strangers, even other Harbingers, anything to prove she was still an independent entity.
Anything to show she wasn't just a part of Columbina’s orchestrated world.
But Sandrone finally made a mistake. A careless slip of the tongue.
She’d mentioned another Harbinger’s name. Just a casual remark about a conversation they’d had while she was out avoiding her own home.
Columbina didn't snap, didn't yell or throw a scene. She simply went quiet. It was far more terrifying than any scream.
That night, Sandrone returned to her workshop, her footsteps heavy with a lingering sense of dread. Columbina was there, perched at the workbench like a delicate bird of prey.
Sandrone frowned, her hand hovering over the door handle. “…What is that?”
Columbina looked up, her expression serene. “Oh.” She smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. “I fixed it.”
Sandrone walked closer, drawn by morbid curiosity. Then she stopped. Her breath caught in her throat, turning into a painful lump.
It was the mechanical bird. The one she’d built as a child, the one she’d packed for her failed escape. But it was unrecognizable. Its silver wings had been surgically removed and laid out like feathers in a morgue.
The gears inside, gears Sandrone had spent years perfecting, had been rearranged. Every delicate mechanism had been dismantled and rebuilt. It wasn't broken. It still hummed. But it was wrong. It was a perversion of her own craft.
“...Why did you do that,” Sandrone whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of horror and fury.
Columbina’s fingers traced the edge of a detached metal wing with a hypnotic rhythm. “You love this little thing, don't you? It's your heart in a box.”
Sandrone felt a cold sensation crawl up her spine.
“You’ve had it for years,” Columbina continued, her voice light. She looked up, her gaze locking onto Sandrone’s. “And you tried to take it away from me. You tried to take it to a place where I couldn't see it.”
Sandrone’s voice sharpened, her pride flaring up through her fear. “It’s mine! I built it. It belongs to me!”
Columbina tilted her head. Her smile faded just a fraction, leaving behind something cold and hollow. “Yes.” She paused, the silence stretching like a taut wire. “Exactly.”
Sandrone could only stare, her pulse hammering in her ears. Columbina gently pushed the mangled bird toward her, the metal scraping against the table.
“I wanted to understand something,” Columbina said.
Sandrone didn't touch it. She wouldn't. “What.”
Columbina’s eyes lifted slowly, reflecting the harsh lights. “How it feels.”
“To what?”
“To have something you love taken apart.” Columbina’s voice dropped to an intimate whisper that made the hair on Sandrone's arms stand up.
The room went silent, save for the wrong ticking of the bird’s heart. Sandrone finally realized the truth. Columbina wasn’t throwing a tantrum. She wasn't jealous of a name. She was demonstrating the consequences of betrayal.
Sandrone took a slow, unsteady step back. “You’re trying to scare me. You're trying to make me think you're as broken as that bird.”
Columbina blinked, her expression shifting back to that terrifying sweetness. “No.” Her smile returned, wider this time. “I’m trying to teach you.”
Sandrone’s voice shook, her fingers curling into her palms. “Teach me what.”
Columbina stood up. The legs of her chair scraped softly across the floor, a sound like teeth on bone. She stepped into Sandrone’s personal space, radiating heat that felt like a fever.
“That you can break me as many times as you like,” Columbina murmured, her eyes dark and unreadable. “You can run, you can spite me, you can tear down everything we've built.”
She stepped closer, so close that Sandrone could feel the steady, calm rhythm of her breathing. “But I will always rebuild myself around you.”
Sandrone felt her pulse spike, her breath hitching in her chest. “You’ve gone absolutely mad. that’s not love. that’s an obsession. sickness!”
Columbina leaned in, her lips almost brushing Sandrone’s ear. “ I will dismantle my own world and put it back together with you at the center.” Her voice softened, turning into a purr that was both a promise and a threat. “That’s why it’s better.”
Scaramouche had been passing through on a mundane errand, his mind occupied with the tedious bureaucracy of late-night reports, when he noticed something wrong.
The door to Sandrone’s workspace was ajar. A thin blade of light spilled out into the dark corridor, accompanied by a sound of metal meeting metal, but the cadence was off, like a heart beating out of time.
Driven by a rare spark of genuine curiosity, he stepped closer.
Inside. Columbina was seated on the floor, her posture perfectly composed, almost regal. Her hands rested on Sandrone’s shoulders.
Sandrone herself was kneeling on the ground, her head bowed low, her frame trembling that suggested she was caught in a paralyzing bridge between fear and twisted fascination.
On the table above them lay the mechanical bird. It was the same one Sandrone had clutched like a lifeline for weeks, but now it was a dissected corpse. Every piece was perfectly aligned in a row, yet the reassembly was a nightmare.
Everything about it was wrong, as if Columbina had rebuilt it specifically to serve as a visual aid for trying to break her heart.
Scaramouche froze in the doorway.
“You can’t leave me, Sandrone,” she murmured, her tone tender, almost doting. “Not ever. Not for a stranger. Not for another. Not even for yourself.”
At every word, Sandrone flinched, her shoulders jerking as if she’d been struck, but she didn't speak. She didn't even breathe.
Columbina’s smile softened then, a look of genuine pride crossing her face, like a teacher praising a favorite student for finally grasping a difficult concept.
“I’ll follow you anywhere, my love. across every border, through every storm. And if you decide to run again…” She tilted her head slightly, the movement graceful, letting her last words hang in the air. “...I’ll only enjoy the chase that much more.”
Scaramouche felt his stomach drop. His eyes darted between the two of them, trying to make sense of the power dynamic.
This wasn’t just a bout of jealousy. It wasn't the heat of passion or a simple obsession. It was something far more sinister. It was terrifying.
Suddenly, Columbina’s gaze shifted. She looked up briefly, her eyes meeting Scaramouche’s with an unnervingly innocent smile.
She hadn't been surprised by him; she’d known he was there the entire time.
“Hello,” she said softly, her voice echoing in the rafters. “Did you come to watch us, too?”
Scaramouche’s throat went dry. He tried to summon a mocking retort, a sharp-tongued insult to hide his unease, but the words died in his chest. He could only nod mutely, his body refusing to look away.
Columbina’s head tilted again, a thoughtful, almost curious expression appearing on her face, as if she were weighing his worth on a very small, very delicate scale.
“Don’t worry,” she said gently, her voice like silk over a blade. “This isn’t about you… yet.”
The words chilled him to the bone. It wasn't just a threat; it was a promise of future inclusion.
In her softness, there was a clear warning: she was a black hole of devotion, and she would consume anyone or anything that dared to drift too close to Sandrone.
As Scaramouche backed away into the corridor, he knew with perfect clarity that Sandrone was gone.
Not because she had died, but because she had been claimed. And if anyone, Harbinger or god alike, ever tried to take Sandrone away, Columbina wouldn't just fight them.
She would take them apart, piece by piece, just to see how they ticked.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sandrone had entertained the delusion that she could hide, but the truth was immutable. She just couldn't hide from Columbina.
Columbina always knew exactly where the gears of her mind were turning.
Sandrone’s own pulse was racing. She tried to step lightly, avoiding the creak of the floorboards, desperate to slip out into the night without alerting anyone.
But there was no such thing as an unobserved exit in this house.
"Running away again, my love?" Columbina’s voice was soft and hummed with a pleasant lilt.
Sandrone froze, her hand hovering inches from the door’s cold handle.
Columbina stepped out of the darkness of the corner. She wore a smile that was calm and entirely predatory. Her composure suggested that she’d already seen the end of this.
"You always think running away will save you," she said, her head tilting with grace. "As if a few miles could actually sever what’s between us."
"I--this is insane. You can't just keep me here like one of your toys. I’d rather die than be with someone like you!" Sandrone’s voice came out harshly.
Columbina pressed a slender finger against Sandrone’s lips, silencing the protest before it could fully form. "You’ve got to understand, I’m more than capable of doing exactly that. I’ll do it, too," she murmured, her voice dangerously calm.
"But why would I ever need to raise my voice to prove a point? There’s honestly no point in wasting our energy on these dramatic outbursts, Sandrone. It’s just exhausting for both of us."
Sandrone backed away, her retreat halting only when her hands scraped against the edge of her worktable. Columbina followed her, every step measured and deliberate. She wasn't rushing. She didn't need to.
"You’re clever, Sandrone," Columbina murmured, her eyes dark. "But your cleverness only makes the game more fun for me."
Sandrone’s eyes widened, she gripped the wood behind her. "The game?"
"Yes. This... chase. The elaborate little plans you sketch out in your head. The pathetic, small attempts to vanish" Columbina crouched slightly, bringing herself level with Sandrone’s panicked gaze.
"I’ve watched you for years. I know every quiet habit. Every anxious twitch of your fingers. Every secret you thought was yours alone is actually mine."
Sandrone’s stomach performed a sickening drop. "You’ve been...stalking me? This whole time?"
Columbina’s smile softened into something intimate. "No, love. I’ve been learning you." She rose gracefully and extended a hand, her palm open and inviting.
"Do you know why you can't leave me?"
Sandrone didn't answer. She couldn't find the breath.
"Because you don't actually want to," Columbina whispered, her face inches from Sandrone's.
"And because even if you think you do, you belong to me. In every way that matters."
Sandrone took a stumbling step back, then another, but Columbina circled her like a shark inspecting a cage. Her lips curved into a smile.
"And every time you try to run... every time you defy me and try to prove your independence..." She leaned in closer,
"...I only fall deeper in love with you."
Sandrone’s hands were shaking so hard she had to hide them in her sleeves. "You’re terrifying."
Columbina’s smile deepened. "Good," she whispered. "Terrified is my favorite color on you."
Sandrone tried to look away, searching the dim room for any exit she might have missed, but Columbina’s hand caught her chin. Her grip was gentle, yet it felt firm.
"See? You can't leave. Not really. You never could."
"Because you won't let me!" Sandrone hissed, her anger finally flaring up through the ice of her fear. She shoved Columbina hard. It was a desperate, violent push that sent the other woman stumbling back a few steps.
Something shifted in Columbina’s expression. The warmth vanished, replaced by something colder and sharper.
"You really shouldn't have done that," she said quietly.
Sandrone let out a bitter, hysterical laugh. "Oh? Are you going to break me now? Finally drop the act?"
She stepped forward, her voice trembling but defiant. "Go ahead Columbina, that’s what you want, isn't it? To prove I'm just another toy you own?"
Columbina moved in a blur. Before Sandrone could even blink, she was slammed back against the worktable, the impact knocking the air from her lungs.
Columbina’s hand hit the wood beside her head with a crack, trapping her. Her other hand found Sandrone’s neck. not squeezing, but firm enough to serve as a constant reminder of the power imbalance.
"You think this is a game," Columbina whispered, her voice sounding dangerous.
"Isn't it?" Sandrone gasped for air.
Columbina stared at her for a moment. Then she leaned in until their foreheads were nearly touching. "You push me. You provoke me. You go out of your way to make me angry."
Her fingers tightened just a fraction. "And then you look at me like you’re afraid."
Sandrone choked hard. Being a brat had worked, but now she had to live with the consequences. "Maybe I am," she whispered.
Columbina’s eyes softened. It was infinitely worse than her anger. It was a look of pure, unadulterated possession. "And you still didn’t stop."
Sandrone forced out a laugh. "What do you want from me, Columbina? Submission? Loyalty? Love? What's the end goal?"
Columbina tilted her head slowly. "All of it. I want everything you have to give."
Sandrone’s strength began to falter, her hands trembling against Columbina’s arms. "That's not love. That’s a prison."
"Maybe not," Columbina murmured.
A suffocating pause filled the space between them. Then Sandrone whispered, almost helplessly, "You’re destroying me."
Columbina’s expression changed again. Something raw and primal flickered behind that calm smile. Her grip loosened, but she didn't step away. She didn't give Sandrone an inch of space. "I know," she said softly.
"Then stop."
Columbina shook her head, her voice almost gentle now. "I can't. Because every time you look at me like that...terrified...furious...desperate...I know you’re still mine. I know I’m the only thing in your world."
Sandrone’s strength finally drained away. Her hands slipped from Columbina’s arms, falling uselessly to her sides. The fight was gone, replaced by aching exhaustion. Columbina felt the surrender immediately, and her victorious smile returned.
"You see?" she whispered, her breath brushing against Sandrone’s ear. "You always surrender eventually."
Sandrone closed her eyes, her breathing uneven. "Not because I want to," she muttered.
"I know." Columbina’s voice was a conspiratorial whisper. "That’s why it’s so beautiful. If loving you makes me monstrous, then I will gladly be the worst creature this world has ever seen."
Sandrone shivered. She felt fear, fascination, and pure despair all at once. Columbina was patient. She was obsessive. She was unbreakable.
"I think you misunderstand," Columbina said, her fingers tracing a ghostly path along Sandrone’s jaw. "This isn't about obsession. Every time you resist... every time you try to escape... you only feed me."
Sandrone swallowed. "...Feed you what?"
"Everything. Your fear, your desire, your rage. Everything I need to keep you close."
Sandrone stepped back, shaking her head. "No. I'm not going to– get your filthy hands off me!"
Columbina’s hand clamped over hers, the touch impossibly light yet inescapable. "You already are. Every breath you take against me is mine now. Do you understand?"
Sandrone’s voice was a mere thread of sound. "You’re out of your damn mind."
"Yes. But you knew that when you loved me."
Sandrone’s fingers shook uncontrollably as her thoughts spiraled. The workshop had once been her refuge and was now her prison cell, a brutal truth finally settled into her bones.
Her captivity wasn't a result of Columbina's raw strength or her terrifying influence. She was a prisoner of her own twisted doing.
She was a prisoner because her own soul was just as warped, feeding on the very obsession she claimed to despise.
She was just as dependent and addicted to the weight of the chains as the woman who had forged and locked them.
They were two broken parts of the same twisted logic, an argument that always ended in the same place: back in each other's arms.
A mutual embrace where they were smothered by loyalty that felt less like a safe space and more like a life term.
Columbina smiled, her lips brushing Sandrone’s ear one last time. "I will always be here. and every time you try to fight me... you'll only teach me how to love you even more."
Sandrone was trapped because she needed the intensity of Columbina’s obsession just as much as Columbina needed hers.
And maybe that was the most terrifying thing of all.