Hands slip over child-like lips, firmly shut as their owner knelt before him. She doesn't speak; she pledged her alliance with silence.
Speak no Evil.
Hands slip past short black hair in a bun, covering elfin ears. She couldn't hear, he never told her his secrets or his plans.
Hear no Evil.
Hands move over chocolate eyes, devoid of anything. He's blind, for he can't remember his past.
See no Evil.
No.
He's the master, the only one talking in this ventriloquist dummy routine, his spider-like hands twirling their way into the slaves' very being.
But they are not slaves, they are monkeys.
Three Monkeys.