city_limits The Doll
Recent events had... Taken an amusing turn, although not necessarily one for the worst.

Personalities had shifted. Matters found themselves reprioritised. Chaos might be in direct opposition to the rigid imposition of strict and unfettered order, but it could be taken advantage of. Negotiated with. Exploited.

One mind, in particular, had proven itself vulnerable to lacking in its usual enthusiasm for compassion. A mind which was still in need of teaching certain lessons.

Those smoky portals of black mist Elfleda favoured seemed unconstrained by geography. One appeared, just above a wardrobe in the target's room and, from it, extended that familiar hand of pale complexion. A porcelain doll being held within the hand, glass eyes unblinking, in a perfect child's representation of the Corruptress, herself, even down to the ebony bridal gown. A normal doll, indeed, in almost every respect... Almost every... But the subtle gift had been corrupted and, like some irradiated bar of metal, would start to permeate the atmosphere, affecting anyone who stayed there for a prolonged period of time.

Such as the one who would sleep in the bed, over whom the Elfleda's toy-like self would now look over, extending that recent change of personality, well past its proverbial sell-by date.

Sleep well, Captain Forbes...