We stared at one another. In her bedroom, on her wall, her fancy wooden clock ticked loudly. Could she hear it? Her large wooden clock, carved from the Ancient Elm Pep-But had once carved into a toothpick. It had been painstakingly reassembled by her citizens - her minions - , and emblazoned with the crest of a family only she could claim lineage of. Could she hear its cry? I hoped so. I needed her to hear it, to be all-too aware of how long I would last.
No, I mentally corrected myself, I'll last however long it takes.
We didn't move. I couldn't. She held my gaze firmly, forcing me to confront her, making me all-too aware of the dark blue eyes piercing into my soul. Abruptly, I wondered if I had a soul. I reasoned I must, because there was no other explanation for the spell I was trapped in. And that's really what it was, wasn't it? I had fallen into a trap, and I was beginning to panic. I needed to calm down. Focus.
No prey ever escaped a trap by panicking.
I resisted the urge to squirm, because I could see it in her eyes. They seemed to glow with narcissistic venom, my struggling just part of the thrill for her. The seemingly impassive, calculating stare betrayed her amusement. I knew she was enjoying this. Perhaps, if I were in a state of mind to be honest with myself, I could even admit-
No. Stop it, Marceline. Stop it right now.
Our battle of wills was driving me mad. This was not how I expected to spend my evening. I hadn't dressed for combat. I was dressed in grey sneakers and black skinny jeans torn and burned at the knees, courtesy of an impromptu fire-wolf wrestling match. My grey "No Smoking" t-shirt, until this moment a favorite of mine, was suddenly too constricting. If I needed to breathe I would surely be dead. For glob's sake, my hair wasn't even tied back. I hadn't prepared for this at all.
She, on the other hand, was entirely dressed for battle. True, she wore no armor and carried no sword - although she certainly carried a weapon of a different kind - but she was intimidating all the same. The dark pink gown she chose this evening seemed to cling to her more than usual. It didn't quite reach the floor, but was still long enough she shield her legs. The sleeves were just long enough to cover her wrists, but went absolutely no further. A good scientist needed her hands free for machinations. The neck was lined with dark, royal purple lace in a material I could not immediately recognize, deriding me by perfectly exposing her neck. As one last mockery for my situation she wore her stupid crown. It was almost midnight. She didn't need to wear it, but how she loved being the authority figure in a room. Perhaps, if I were in a state of mind to be honest with myself, I could even admit-
What did we just agree on, Marceline?! Snap out of it!
Her weapon rotated in her hand, and I couldn't tell if she was planning her next move or just letting me sweat. If I could sweat. Could I sweat? I wasn't sure anymore, but let's count it as a loss and say she was letting me sweat. She had invited me over under pretense of settling the tension once and for all, and I had been naive enough to think that a summoning in the middle of the night meant I would be in my element. It hadn't helped. Maybe that was the point.
"Marceline."
I snapped out of my reverie and came crashing back to reality. We stood halfway across the room from one another, and although her bedroom was quite large, under her gaze I felt too exposed. I was clothed, but it didn't matter. She could always see straight through me. In entirely different circumstances this situation would be almost comical, and I would berate myself for being over-dramatic. We had had similar challenges issued in the past, but I knew this time would be different.
She wants the tension settled, and she always gets what she wants. I frowned, correcting myself once again. Except me. She doesn't get me.
And yet she didn't need to address me again to get my attention, I came back to her all on my own. Like I always do. That felt like a loss too, but the war wasn't over yet. I quickly reviewed my options in preparation for my turn and decided to go on the offensive.
"Is this why I'm here? Is that why I'm here?" My words were meant to be a growl, but they came out entirely too soft, and her smug look was unnerving. She was a predator watching her prey come to the realization that it was only a matter of time.
The clock continued to tick.
"This is precisely why you're here. We've been dancing around this issue for centuries without resolving it. You knew that couldn't possibly last forever."
I gulped and asked the question that had rotted at the back of my mind for at least 300 years.
"Was this just an experiment to you?"
Was I just an experiment to you?
I thought I saw her gaze soften, just a hair, but it was enough to reignite my apprehension.
"The situation was an experiment, yes, granted a lengthy one. It was so engaging, I couldn't help but prolong it as long as possible. A good scientist gathers all possible data before presenting her results, of course."
Of course.
"But you yourself were never the experiment. How could you think that?" Her words were soft, but her tone was almost taunting. Only she could sound both loving and taunting at the same time. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Then why am I here?" "You know why you're here." Out of my peripheral I eyed what she held and knew this had become a battle of wills.
"I'm not-"
"You're being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn." I flinched. Was she right? It was hard to tell anymore. "We've done this long enough to know exactly how this will end, and it isn't with you flying out of this room." At that I could feel my irritation evolve into acrimony, and I was suddenly reminded of my own sheer power.
Good. Anger is exactly what I need. Time to crush that pretty little arrogant heart.
I kept my voice calm but couldn't stop the growing animosity from seeping through. "You seem pretty sure of yourself. You're a brainlord, but you don't get to make my decisions for me. I'm out of here."
"No, you aren't. Do you know why, Marceline?" It seemed that the narcissism had migrated from her eyes to her voice. She didn't validate my curiosity, she just plowed through it. "Because you have always danced to my tune."
I froze. I could feel dread flow through me where my blood should be. I tensed involuntarily as I quickly thought through our entire past together. Every passing interaction, every passionate night, every joke and instigation, every adventure. With growing horror, I realized that she was right. I enjoyed being around her, with her, too much. I enjoyed her laugh too much, her touch too much, her big stupid brain too much. Her authority too much. I would do anything for her. My anger deflated.
The predator has emerged from the shadows, and I'm losing the will to fight it off. This isn't a good night.
At some point while I was mentally checked out she had crossed the room, her hand raising to cup my cheek. Against my will I sighed, leaning into it. Her gaze never wavered.
"Kneel for me, Marcy."
Finally, the spell broke as she shifted her view from me to the collar she held in her hand. She obviously wanted to make sure I got a good look at it. Admittedly, if you were unfamiliar with the centuries-old situation you would not register it as a collar. It was a light-colored metal - almost definitely of her own creation, she's such a control-freak -, thinner than the side of a coin. Under my hair you would never notice the tiny latch that acted as a lock, and against my pale grey skin you would never notice it at all. It would lay close enough to my neck for the symbol of power to be unmistakable, but far enough away to never interfere with my voice. She was cold, calculating, but not cruel.
Don't let her see it, Marceline.
Her fingers trailed from the back of my ear, down my jawline, under my chin, which she gently turned towards her. I let her. Her expression had softened considerably, by now she had undoubtedly realized what was happening. The predator was ready to pounce, and the prey was coming to accept its fate.
Have some dignity. Don't let her see.
She maintained her silence, having issued the command. Now she just watched, waiting to see me fall, her fingers drifting down my neck, nails lightly traveling over my scar, eliciting a shudder.
Don't let her see that you're enjoying this.
In my first act of will-power all night I wrenched my eyes away, trying to find something, anything, to focus on, eventually coming to rest on her full-length mirror. I hadn't realized I was trembling. I hadn't seen the glimmer of love emerge alongside the ego. Hadn't remembered to check the clock to see how long I lasted. Instead I watched my reflection sigh in resignation and lower to one knee. In unity my eyes slid shut. My voice sounded foreign.
She already knows.
"Yes, Bonnibel."
Her hand ghosted over my neck as she lightly brushed my hair away from my neck. I heard the light click as the predator finally went for the throat, ending its hunt, putting its prey out of its misery.
"Good girl." In one final act of humiliation she patted my head. I felt myself bristle as I rose to meet her height. She chose not to recognize it. Of course. She kissed me softly, whether as a symbol of love or a spoil of war I wasn't sure.
"Come on, Marcy." Her hand fell away from me, allowing me to collect myself as she turned on her heel, heading towards the bed, the implication quite clear. Again I sighed, for an altogether different reason this time, unable to stop my small smile.
This is a good night.