Chapter 1: Good Old-Fashioned Theatre
Marionette. Marionette Harlequin. That's my name. My real one, at least. My alias is Marley Arktrost. I don't know how I came up with it. But I did.
Why would I need an alias in the first place, might you ask?
Very good question.
Now what's the answer?
I'm not sure I know myself.
Not
Quite
Sure.
But it's in there somewhere. When I find it I promise I'll tell you. Pinkie swear.
Oh, there it is. Four words. Or four letters, rather, if you're into abbreviating. D-W-M-A. That's it.
Death Weapon Meister Academy. Though I'm not a weapon. Or a meister. No, I'm neither of those. Instead I'm a witch.
Witch.
If you understand my situation, I pray you never have to face it. It is certainly an intimidating one.
But I'm here for a reason. And it's not a death wish.
Okay, maybe it is.
Just a little.
But the main reason is that it's an escape. From the world of witchcraft.
It's dark and twisted and full of unpleasant surprises. And it's messed me up in the brain.
My brain is a maze. Twisted.
But who's really pulling the strings here?
That's an expression. It means, "Who's in charge?"
It comes from the days of what I consider to be good old-fashioned theatre, with marionette puppets on strings. The person pulling those strings is the one in charge.
The one in control.
You see, it's a pun if sorts. But I'll get further into that later.
For now I'll continue down the crowded hallway by myself, hugging my books to my chest timidly and avoiding eye contact.
Of course avoiding eye contact doesn't mean the same as not watching where I'm going, and I'm doing plenty of both.
I collide into a thin, slouched body from behind and almost knock it over. But then I quickly reach out to grab an arm, and the body dangles from my grasp limply.
"Are you alright..." The way I phrase it isn't quite like a question. It's soft and whispered, just barely audible over the noisy crowd bustling around us.
"Y-yes..." A voice even quieter than mine responds. I look up to see a frail boy with uneven pink hair and saddened eyes the shade of what I imagine to be a raincloud.
His tight-ish fitting dress (is it a dress?) hugs his thin figure like a cloak of comfort to abide his otherwise gloomy aura. He seems worse than me.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." I think that's my record for most words ever said in a single day. Do I always sound this monotone?
"N-no... i-it's fine... I should have been watching too."
He glances up at me with wide eyes. The poor thing. He looks like he'd be afraid of his own shadow.
Suddenly, a black blob of some sort of liquid bursts out from his back. It shocks me, but I don't display it.
"What're ya doin' idiot?!" A small voice complains as the liquid begins to take form. Oh... This isn't the black blooded child that the infamous witch Medusa created, is it? Somehow I imagined him to be more demon like. I watch as the boy cringes, while still holding him up by the arm.
"I'm sorry, she just ran into me..." He responds. Did he just blame me?
"So what?!"
"Well if I let go I'll fall... and if I fall I might get hurt. I don't know how to deal with pain..."
"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH ANYTHING, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!" The little black midget begins to pound on the boys head.
"What foul language." I comment involuntarily. They both look to me.
"Huh?"
"That's not a very nice way to treat your host. If it weren't for him, you wouldn't be alive. Please try not to use such crude words against him." I continue, sustaining my blank expression.
"How the hell would you know that?" The black midget asks.
"I know a lot of things, actually. Like how that little midget thing poking out of your back is made of black blood, which can also harden into a weapon." The two stare at me as if I had just sprouted extra legs and danced around the hallway in a tutu.
"If you'll excuse me," I pull the boy back up on his feet and begin to make my exit.
"Marley!"
I blink and slowly turn around, confused.
"You... you're name is Marley! Right...?" The boy continues as I face him once more.
"I'm Crona."