The Puppeteer didn’t scare her, as he sometimes did the other puppets. He didn’t amaze and fascinate her like the others. They all loved him and danced around him. He repulsed her with his charm, his wit, his power. She tried walking away, and that’s when he offered her his hand. A with a promise. A promise to pull her out of her world, to show her beauty as she had never experienced, yet always known to exist, to explore, to understand, to be herself.
Suddenly she felt herself drawn to him, not because he willed her, but because she willed herself. She would sit with him and talk for hours. She observed him, she learnt from him. She began to see the translucent strings on everyone around her. She learnt to appreciate the beauty of emotions, or the lack thereof. She let herself into his world, and dreamt of their worlds ahead. She began to understand why she was different from the other puppets.
She was never meant to be a puppet.
Soon they became inseparable. Growing and feeding on each others thoughts and emotions. Something about them scared all the other puppets around them. They warned her of the changes, of the path she seemed to be taking, but she was already too far away to hear them.
With the Puppeteer there were no boundaries. Every day meant pushing the limits, learning more, understanding more, experimenting more. It was a competition. It was a feast. They paraded their puppets around, and the puppets smiled up at them, in adoration and awe. The translucent web of strings, invisible to their innocent eyes.
Neither dared play around with the others strings, not worried about entrapment, fearing the ensuing catastrophe.
And one day, the Puppeteer decided to push his limits even farther.
“What would happen”, he wondered aloud, “if I try attaching these strings to myself?”
And he smiled.