14551/Searching for Pandora's keys

Searching for Pandora's keys
Date of Scene:	29 March 2023
Location:	The Raft: Panopticon
Synopsis:	June Moone is taken into the Panopticon of the Raft. What is intended as therapy is revealed to be something far more sinister and secretive. The Cosmic chitinous mastermind and his plans to create the ultimate Kodoku from magically gifted inmates fails to account for Enchantress playing the long game. His magical knowledge and psychic abilities attempt to challenge the revealed Enchantress but fail to rise up against the ancient magic that has had to suffer the indignities and insults aboard the Raft. The Enchantress has the Venusian cosmic insect in the palm of her hands, moments from extinction, and delivers a coup de grace that's worse: She allows him to live a bit longer, and stew in his failure. And with the sounds of the Raft's structural failure in this section imminent, it's hard to say how long anyone's future may stretch out. The Enchantress has come.
Cast of Characters:	Mary McPherran, June Moone

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Mary McPherran has posed:
June is temporarily separated from her fellow inmates. Having been marched to their separate cells, some of which can be handily stacked, shuffled and arranged like a deranged version of lego, she's brought before a chair set upon the floor. This is in full view of what seems like an auditorium of reinforced balconies and platforms. Here as well, no expense seems to have been spared to be oppressive. The ground floor is circular, and the edges that join with the supporting walls and structure are ~curved~. Where there's an opportunity to prevent a hard edge, measures have been introduced via rubber or sound-dampening foam. Floor lighting provides a land-strip for a prisoner to be marched along, and a series of LED's most certainly provide a red carpet for June, the guest of honour.

The guards to either side allow the Inmate to walk, though the shackles about her ankles would prevent anything faster than a trot. Not as heavy some of the others that are incarcerated, and more of an annoyance. One size does not fit all. These armed personnel wear a mix of tactical gear heavily geared towards means of melee supression. No rifles or pistols on their person. Though the chest, thigh and shoulder armour look like it could take a shot. Their faces are half-obscured by helmets that contain no visor, but have horizontal slits like someone was in love with chivalric helmets.

The chair ahead is bathed in a sterile bright white light from above, like they were trying to showcase this year's newest Fjord Explored 2023 in a commerical.

June Moone has posed:
While some may see the unassuming June Moone and thinks that she was pulled directly from a research facility, those smart enough, or well informed enough, know she is probably the most dangerous captive here. Not specifically for what she can herself... not for any crimes the woman standing before them has ever commit willing... but for what has attached itself to her. The magical entity that calls itself the Enchantress. A twisted malevolent monster that wants to reshape the world, if not reality itself, into her own image.

June shuffles. Dressed in the garb of a prisoner. She wears her shackles willingly. She'd turned herself after nearly killing that boy in the resteurant. She was too dangerous, too unstable, to be left out in the world. Whether she was terrified of the prospect of losing her freedom or not?

It was necessary.

So she moves along with her guards, following the runner lights with a furrowed brow. A halo around her forehead to keep ehr sensors dulled enough that she cannot see further than directly around her, but without blinding her. Dampening fields to keep her from hearing the call of the witch.

She sees that chair and looks to one of the guards... sighs.. and knows what this is.

RThey're going to try and reason with it.

"Please don't do this.."

It's not going to end the way they think it will.

Mary McPherran has posed:
The Guards to either side may change their gait to properly escort, but are disciplined enough not to answer June. Beneath their helmets there may just be a wary sliding of their eyes, a tilt of their heads to recognize that something has been said. While not in sync, it's rather close, that two separate sets of gloved hands reach out to grip June around the biceps. Whether she's still shuffling forward or not, in sight of the chair, they're determined to bring her there.

Closer to the chair, it's quite like the sort one would recline on for dental work. The steel and cushions of the fabric are not new. There have been ~others~. Discolouration in the supportive material, stains that simply cannot be removed by mundane solvents. Scoring on the alloys that compose much of the chair's strength. Small, faint suggestive scratches in the paint near the armrests. There are things etched there. Something important, such as a last attempt to leave behind a message, or futile gesture. If only one had the time to study it.

A chime from the edge of the Panopticon and a door slides open. More Guards, flanking two individuals in white lab coats worn atop a blazer for one, and a dress for another. They carry clipboards. The security that are about to disgorge with them from the elevator are held back with a hand and a raised pass by the female Doctor. And those two medical-looking professionals approach the chair as well. "Good evening." It's the blonde female, tight smile and straight posture, feet ~clok clok~ing on the ground dully. "Take a seat."

Her companion, a nervous sort with a receding hairline and a hunched manner, follows like a lapdog, lips moving constantly as he silently speaks off the list on the clipboard before him.

June Moone has posed:
June peers around the small space that looks entirely too sterile and settles her stare upon that uncomfortable chair in the center where she's being ushered. This has all the appearance of an interrogation chamber. While she's never taken part in one, she's familiar enough with the concept to know those dark stains probably represent questions answered incorrectly. The human in her finds it extremely unsettling. Because nothing she can do will stop them from hurting her...

The entity in her is grinning.

They want to play... and it's going to be delightful to break them.

Her head tilts, fighting the thought. That voice demanding she just say the word. Call her name and she'll rend these humans to pieces.. June trembles and watches, ignoring those rogue, terrible thoughts, as the two individuals in lab coats arrive with more guards. Wrinkles curl her chin, almost certainly looking scared... because she is scared.

Terrified.

Brown eyes moving from the blonde haired woman to the chair, focusing on the markings until that voice tells her to have a seat. Compliance is the only way to make them stop... to shut up the entity who definitely doesn't want her to comply. It also brings her closer to those carvings.

It feels important. The last words of someone, perhaps... maybe they will be her last words too.

God she hopes so.

Mary McPherran has posed:
The voice of the male Doctor becomes more audible. "The threshold is capped... The 2 become...1 is the one...If we maintain containment..." he babbles in a high-tone, obsessively licking at a finger and dabbing at each section of his little list. When he raises his eyes, they are pale grey, like that of a cadaver left on the slab too long. Clammy skin, unhealthy palour, lips always trying to purse. "She looks like my daughter." And the way he says it, there's no warmth. There's cognitive dissonance in his eyes, seeing something different than a living woman, or an entity for that matter.

The woman doctor gestures to the chair helpfully. "Inmate." she clips and stays to one side of the chair while the guards helpfully handle June into the chair. Her eyes turn towards her colleage with some exasperation. "Doctor Alaunus, would you apply the questionnaire?" She fishes a blister pack from her coat pocket and pushes two tabs out past the foil. But these go into her own mouth and she dry swallows them.

The male Doctor nods. "Certainly Doctor Airmed. Would you prepare the Custodian? I...I...I believe we can avoid Mode 4. I..I...I believe we won't require those attachments today. Unless...Unless, Subject Beldam requires a display for enhance obedience. But I'd rather...I'd rather not hear the screams until the dome is dropped."

"Of course Doctor. I'll be ready shortly."

The Guards exchange a glance, and are a little more swift in their assistance in getting June into that chair so they can GTFO.

Doctor Alaunus doesn't clear his throat before he begins, and he really should. The phlegmn, combined with his high pitched done of voice, isn't warm or charismatic. It's abrasive and annoying to most. "Inmate, have you ever experienced feelings of terror or hopelessness in situations of...Isolation, sleep deprivation, and unexplainable auditory stimulus? Inmate, have you ever felt dread in the presence of darkness, unfamiliar landscapes extreme ranges of temperature? Inmate, did you have a loving and devoted father figure who only wanted the best for you?"

June Moone has posed:
There is something off-putting about all of this, but could it be any worse than the Hell she aleady lives in? Avoiding eye contact with her own reflection? Remembering events from her childhood in ways that are dark and twisted because of the evil that lives within her? This is palpable, certainly. This is tangible and real, as far as she can tell, but it could all be a ploy by the Enchantress. She could be asleep... she could be curled up in a bathtub soaking under the cold spray of water that had long gone tepid.

The only way she can know for sure is to play along.

With the dark voice whispering in her ear 'Say my name and It'll go away. They'll all go away.' How many times has she fallen for this? No, shut up. I won't. The entity knows a lie when she hears it.

June, however, only barely hears the questions.

Definitely isn't sure whether what's happening is real... and shakes her head to peer up at guards lashing her down before looking to the odd gray skinned man firing off inquiries as if reading them off a teleprompt.

"Yes. Yes... yes..." THe last question is the most odd. She narrows her eyes at him.

Then looks down, turning her hand to try and read the scribbling. Is it the way out of this nightmare? Her chin curls, trembles, and June stares up at the two doctors. "You're making a mistake."

Mary McPherran has posed:
The odd Doctor with the clipboard nods, licking his fingers and dabbing at the sheet of paper. His lips never fully close, and each application of flesh on lips, along with his fidgeting tongue, makes for moist damp sounds. This close to the chair, sound is strange, focused and enchanced. While farther and near the edges, things are much fuzzier and in a sense, nerfed. "Oh. Oh dear." his voice quavers. He looks over to June. He flinches at the narrowing of those eyes and looks down to his clipboard.

The Guards back off once their restraints have been applied. They take a few steps even further when an automaton is ushered up by the female Doctor. The robot is tall, like an elongated humanoid, stretched. It bears no embellishments, more like an anatomy figurine for learning drawing poses than anything else. Doctor Airmed speaks to the Guards, "Thank you, you may go. Lower the Matryoshka. We'll be using the entire suite of layers tonight. No sense in taking things slowly when there's so much to be done. Inmate?" She approaches. "A mistake? Explain?" She leans over and her breath acidic, her tongue powdery from chewed and swallowed pharmaceuticals.

June Moone has posed:
June can call upon the Enchantress, speak her name and allow her to assume control. It mutes some of the violence she can cause, or at least some of what she's WILLING to cause, because it means June gave it over intentionally. A bargain, perhaps. A twisted pact.

Brown eyes watch the odd doctor dabbing his lips and turns to regard the guards backing away from her once the restraints are connected and secure. Her chin is curled and quivering, fear evident. She is, truly, frightened. Swallowing a lump in her throat she watches that droid come forward. She watches it silently, then looks to the blonde woman who's name she's already forgotten..

If, however, something happens and the Enchantress takes control.. All bets are off. There are multitude of ways this is possible. Almost all of them seem to be likely with a glance around this room.

June rubs her fingers on the scratches in the arm of the chair. She can't read them... but some how they're comforting. Even if it was the clawing words of a prisoner being tortured. It's a physical connection to the world.

"What you're doing. Just put my in a cell... put me as far away from anyone as you can.. and forget that I'm there... don't. do. this." Brown eyes stare at the doctor. "You only think it's a good idea. It isn't... she will hurt you."

Mary McPherran has posed:
Things have taken a turn.

Where there once were two Doctors, only one stands now. The jittery, dry Dr. Klim Alaunus having recently just struck his supposed peer Dr. Airmed. Her body, limp and unconscious, is now floating in the dark waters that flow into the chamber. Waters that rise into the Panopticon seeping up to the height of the restraining chair where June Moone is secured.

The robotic assistant, a rubix-cube of honeycomb hidden interiors, stands nearby. Every so often, a glimpse inside suggesting escher-like clockwork whose gears are greased by foul lubricants. A golem with a secret name, echoed by some previous patient's frantic scratchings into the paint of the restraint arm-rests. The automaton bears tools and accessories to ensure a ~patient~ remains open to the stimuli about to be inflicted upon them.

The Doctor and Robot don't flinch at the cold waters rising up, soaking into their legs. Klim comes to stand over June, and there's something travelling under his skin, long and thin and segmented. His mouth opens to speak, and it's like someone hasn't synced up the audio with the video. An error in dubbing. "I can't put you back in your Cell. I cannot forget you are here. I want ~her~. I have a White Witch, and I have a Star Witch...Eventually I may possess a Scarlet one, because she will be brought within this place too one day...but, b-but...I think...you...The-one-inside-you...I think she is superior in every metric. Mister Mind will have his cursed cauldron complete. Don't you want to be part of something so large?"

June Moone has posed:
June is trying to wrap her mind around everything that's happening. The sudden betrayal of the off kilter Doctor speaking to her as if straight out of a dubbed foreign movie, the woman floating in the water rising up over her ankles, and the oddity of her entire existance since becoming the host of the Enchantress. Her toes flex and curl, trying to get away from the cold fluid soaking her orange jumpsuit as it rises to just below her knees where she's fastened into the secure chair. While brown eyes stare sightlessly at the doctor who is inviting her to become part of a cauldron of mystics for Mister Mind.

She shivers at the implications, but more than anything, she's terrified by how the entity that has upturned her world has not taken a direct hand in freeing them. It's unlike her... as if the Enchantress is leaving June to deal with something well outside the archaeologists scope. Something that is definitely more in the perview of the mystic...

It's sapping her earlier confidence dramatically.

"Please..." her lip quivers, not entirely sure who she's pleading TO... the doctor or the Entity. To Death itself? Free her... Free her... or /free/ her..

Mary McPherran has posed:
The Doctor with the ~thing~ running roughshod just beneath the surface of his skin, twitches his ear towards June's mouth, to better hear her response. The eyes of the human host roll about like a pinball machine, reseting after their revolutions into an astygmatic alignment. "The Kodoku will be complete with you. All I needed was you. These others..."

From the ceiling shapes detach and are lowered by scintillating strands of silk. Bound bodies, the strange threads binding them up like human spools, over-accentuating shapes where bones provide resistence. Pink and purple flesh squeezed like puddy through gaps so they're more like tied and bound rump roasts. Lank hair, blonde, brunette, gray and red, drifts as they descend, dripping moisture. Japanese symbols applied in hard pigments decorate along their backs, like stamps or brands of particular pieces of beef for market. They are dropped down into the waters.

"A tea must be steeped. I learned this. With the correct ingredient and herbs. They think this a chamber for study and interrogation. It is a tea pot."

Klim's hand drops into the liquid and gathers up a small amount in his palm. He raises it up and ladels it over June's stomach, over her navel. "I'm going to submerge you now, ancient crone. I am going to drown you, and my brew will be complete, and I can leave this place. You may now speak your last words. Let them lift up to the ceiling where the others now come down to greet you. They had many last words if you'd like me to repeat them. Some shrill, some angry, all fearful but hardly memorable."

June Moone has posed:
The appearance of this terrible, dangling, creatures from bound silk in the ceiling do very little to sway June that this isn't somehow the end... but something inside her says that the end is only the beginning. That whatever happens to her, it doesn't simply stop because she's died. In a way, something far worse is to happen, even if she doesn't understand fully yet what that might be.

Only that her educated mind is telling her that there's a ritual being preformed and she is only the ornament for the true ingrediant he speaks of. He doesn't care a lick about her. He wants to brew out the entity and add it to his collection.. create something truly terrible.

Would the husk die?

Would it be so bad if that were true?

Her torment would be over. The evil inside her would be gone.. she would be gone... and the nightmare would end. So her eyes harden, unaware of the surge of power welling in her muscles. Unaware of the palor of her skin or the pooling black devouring her brown eyes as the Enchantress slides into the forefront to assume control of the runaway vehicle.

It says nothing.

It says nothing as black lips pull back into a tight grin of teeth oozing dingy green fluid from the black gums.

Mary McPherran has posed:
The thing inhabiting the puppet Klim, recoils. The hand playing out the cold waters of the room jerks, spilling the stuff in a chaotic dappling. It was not expecting this. Shock would register on the Doctor's face if there was complete control. A palsy of emotions inhabits one perfect half of that dry elderly face, and the other is a mask frozen with that previously confident expression.

"No."

The statement does not change what is occurring, and the bodies being dipped into the waters alter their velocity. Some splash with slack lines of silk, some jerk to a halt to become a bouncing child's mobile, their unity of descent interrupted.

"You were contained within the Host! The Host was cowed! You were cowed! The measures...the measures will contain you!"

But they ~don't~. Something within June Moone denies the safety protocols put in place. Perhaps something consumed previously, but more probably something far older than even the thing playing puppetmaster and Alchemist knows how to deal with. The Doctor backs away, splashing, moving away from the chair. "Secure her! Secure her! Maxivermis commands you! Do not make me speak your name! Do as I command!" he screams in a two-toned unharmonized voice to the robot.

The automaton's limbs slowly raise like a praying mantis.

June Moone has posed:
Enchantress is a practitioner of the long game. She can dangle crumbs and lay out a path leading directly into her traps. It's how she'd secured her current host, leading the young June to the burial site that ultimately led to her inhabitance insice her. It's how she'd fooled the doctor, letting him believe that the entity was dorment... and in a way she was.

She has been drawing necessary power.

She has been leaching energy from another source while her host was cowed.

One eyes is black as pitch, the other brown, and her smile is wicked and twisted. June remains in control, for the most part, but now she can feel it. That surging power... that raging fear. The Encantress is making her appearance.

With a finger tracing the carved word in the arm of the chair she'd been secured, that lone brown eye closes.. black lips form into a single word upon them...

"Enchantress..."

When the eye opens, it's cast into the abyss. The buckles snap with a tug of her wrists, her clothes tatter and tear as she peels herself off from the chair.. orange jump-suit bleeding color. Leaving a puddle of orange ink as the clothing becomes white, tears in long strips, and resembles her burial dress until the inky black hair is dangling across her pale, imaciated face.

"Let... me.. in..."

They thought she was trapped?

No... they are.

Her grin grows wide and wicked.

Mary McPherran has posed:
Tracing the word upon the chair, following those letters that spell out ~Yossele~ stays the automaton from striking. It stands, shaking as if subjected to a very localized earthquake. Rings of water radiate from the frame of the inhuman construct as it vibrates. Deadly looking jagged pieces have emerged from the underside of it's raised limbs, making it more insectile, poised as it is. Things within the machine churn and click.

The Doctor flails through the water, pinwheeling backwards in the worst backstroke. The head of the human it inhabits stays locked on the Enchantress materializing while the body is turned towards the edge of the room, flailing for an exit or access hatch that's already half-flooded and closed. An eye pokes out after a flurry of activity, and a glistening insect of green and black chitin peers out from the socket. From the cavity, the miniscule creature starts summoning power, trying to draw into itself energy from other sources. The hair of it's host lights like the head of a match, illuminating that section of the Panopticon. Strands of wispy silk stream from the ears and nostrils of the host like spaghetti from a pasta press. The words spoken from the creature's human host wail out something in an alien language, impossible for a human mouth to speak, followed by an attempt to use a word of power for the Automaton. In it's fear, it can only produce the 'Yoss' with only one side of its mouth working properly.

June Moone has posed:
No stranger to the power of a name, Enchantress flings her hand backwards towards the chair where one had been carved. The realities of what happened, the series of events that created this monster in a doctor's flesh, occur to her easily when the half a mouth tries to form the word of power that might summon forth it's internal puppet-master.

From the depths of the raising water, black tendrils of shadowy mass grip the chair and crush it easily. Rending metal and tear it from the brackets on the floor that she may hurl it like a softball at the atomaton. The palm of her other hand opens, poionts outwards, then clench into a fist. Attempting to crush the creature as she had the chair.

If only to leave her alone with her would be capture. "She warned, DOCTOR..." Seething, grinning, almost teasing... passing through the water closer to the puppet with her dress pulling backwards in the cold water rising up around her chest.

Mary McPherran has posed:
The mangled chair strikes the golem squarely, with enough force to rock it backwards. Even as the thing attempts to right itself, legs altering, shifting jerkily configuring into digitigrade postures. But the impact of the chair is forceful enough to send it teetering into the water with a splash, and a torrent of frothing bubbles beneath the surface. it's internal clockwork shows again briefly simmering with un-light. Springs like a multiverse of cuckoo clocks all striking the hour at the same time. And it's temporarily within the dark water, thrashing and sending sprays of liquid this way and that.

The creature and the Host feel the force closing around them, and there is an answer in a force that pushes back. It all originates from the miniscule little menace peeking from the eye socket. Flesh chars the orbit, and sloughs and flakes off the skull while a bubble of protection pushes back against the Enchantress. Both unfettered, the Panopticon contains all these energies. But it does so under duress.

Groans come from the walls, as if the deceased Witches of the Koduku were given a second chance to wail. Rivets and braces try to contend with the growing opposing forces of eldritch insect and Ancient Witch.

The insect hisses, spitting strands of silk that silly-string against the inside of its own protective magical barrier. It and its host cannot back up any further, pressed up against the edge of the room, the metal developing advanced fatigue. A nimbus of light surrounds the corpse the insect inhabits. "You are in...MY...nest! The others taught me their tricks! I am The Mind, I will learn all the Magic. I am Older than their printed word! I have seen stars explode and made civilizations rise! My great works!"

June Moone has posed:
The enchantress seeths, steam rising off her body that rises above the surface of the rising water pouring into the chamber where they had attempted to drown out her host. Her arms wade, side to side as she walks, closing off more of the distance between where she had been sequestered and where the insect and it's host was pressing against the wall. "Your are a tick." Her voice is dozens of voice, not drawing on the drowned witches hanging or floating around her, but embodying them as she exerts her substantial control with an otherworldly like force drawn from the outlet she'd found beyond the boundries of this paultry form.

"you feed where none might see you, slipping where few would look.." She grows ever closer, still pressing etherial force upon the automaton summoned to terrify and subvert as it disappears beneath the rising waterline.

"But I am eternal. I am forever... and I do not care what tiny magic you think you possess.. Your nest? This reality means nothing to me.. You, mean, nothing, to, me..." Her hand strikes out as if to grab the doctor by his throat.

"Let. Me. In."

Mary McPherran has posed:
There is a violent displacement of air, pockets of oxygen combusting, moisture in the air fast-frying into light as its molecules become too energized. A battle between projected magic and psionics sending chaotic whipping tendrils to chastise the rounded interior chamber. The laws of reality start to suffer as Enchantress' hands pushes against Maxivermis' own barrier.

Water is thrust away from the two figures, and the pressure peels the paint and an inch of metal away like an orange rind. The Alien's Host buckles and flutters like a storm-tosed plastic bag caught on the limb of a tree. Mister Mind remains, his little body shaking with effort and fury. His carapace extends by his thorax, his small wings a blur that spark off arcs of blue lightning that lick along the inside of the socket. He's pushing out so much power, but it's tenuously holding some of Enchantress' power at bay. He isn't powered by that anger, having to feast on fear instead. "Stop! Cease! A bargain a truce!"

The hand is pushing closer, almost around the throat of the BBQ'd cadaver whose bones glow through what remains of its skin. "Stay your hand!" Half a jaw gets the words across, if not the point, the mortal body soon to be blown away. "I WRITE REALITY!"

A shutter-bulb manifestation of a huge larva superimposes itself, taking up half the Panopticon like a hologram or transmission from God. A fanged maw on the the thing clacks and chirps. It writhes and rears itself up like an alien FingFangFoom.

June Moone has posed:
Enchantress surges forward against the barrier keeping her at bay, baring teeth and gnashing physically as her hands collid with the field and shove back against it trying to shove against her. She will not be held back. Not by the pale immitation of a practitioner who, through some trickery, has decieved her sisters into giving up their power to become husks dangling from the ceiling above.

The water boils, steam rising from every popped bubble, as the heat around them intensifies. Her hand creeping closer, nearly touching the flesh of a husk when words fill her ears. Unfettered, unable to stop her now that she's been fried... "Your reality is of no concern to me." She hisses. Ready to chose what life remains from the creature and the host it had taken to walk around this world.

"You used this prison to cast my sisters into oblivion and I will not see myself counted among them... You wish to brew tea?" Her fingers cut against the barrier, teeth grinding as she summons more power and presses it forward into the act, "It will be a bloody beverage and I will drink deep in your death... Let... me... In..."

Mary McPherran has posed:
It had to happen sooner than later. Maybe it did the moment there was a breach detected, but other sounds were far more powerful. The klaxons hoot long warbling howls. The walls of this place must be thick as hell, reinforced up the wazoo. They're clamoring now, church bells tolling an unthinkable doom being unleashed deep under the ocean. The structure of the Raft shudders within its expensive resolute foundations. The bound bodies in silk sway in the random winds that spiral off the confrontation. Remnants of old affectations of the victims, details which could lend a means for identifications of both heroes, villains and those that fall into the gray between, exist a little longer. Hints of those that experienced horrors at the proxy hands of the Doctor. Individuals with powers neither paltry or minor. One thing is for certain, the potion being brewed is being stirred beyond the recipe. There are two cooks in this cauldron.

The pop of protective barrier is the sound of a skyscraper busting each of its window panes. A multi-layered noise that could shred the ear drums of a mortal in attendance. The final act of bluff and bravado of the alien calling itself MaxiVermis flares with a brilliant green light, and its attempt to make Enchantress blink fails. The hand is around the throat of its Host and Mister Mind squirts brilliant white strands of cosmic silk as if it was an eye that had burst. The insect is a blur of motion and light, cocooning itself, wrapping up into a larval bundle, squealing as it is captured. The Host is a pitiful ghoul, twisted and mutated by the enormous energies at play. Random protrusions, probably from the alien, growing strange bone formations, arteries that blossom from the body like stems of blooming gore flowers, dancing a grotesque jig.

The alien thing's hold on anything within the chamber is snuffed, all is drawn within itself, into that silken pearl that is entirely now within Enchantresses possession. The insect is in there, trying to curl itself into a tighter and tighter ball. The edges of its mind are fiercely compacted, a fortress, and to one with senses beyond mortal ken...It is trying to diminish and leave through some ~hole~. Spiralling not just down a drain, but into a singularity. The thing is beyond fear. Unseen strands of control and power over this reality are being snipped like someone sawing through safety tethers. Shedding stolen mantles of power over all it thinks it has acquired. "Let me go! Let me go!"

It fits so easily within the palm of the hand.

June Moone has posed:
Enchantress shatters the barrier with a hiss and grips the throat of the host as the klaxon alarms sound all around her. With the cacoon errecting before her eyes, in the eyesocket of the being it had embodied, she hoists the doctor up from the water and hurls him backwards. So little regard for the loss of that life now that she's something far more precious in the palm of her hand.

A small bundle in her palm.

She peers down at it, rolling against the grain of her palms wrinkled surface, nudged by the tip of her finger. "So much power..." She speaks in a soothing, cooing voice down at it. With black eyes rolling outward to stare around at the circular room the thought would be her prison.

She closes her fist and holds the bead of cosmic silk inside it..

When she rises it again, it's held up on a pedestal of her thumb and fingers. "You killed so many of my sisters, it would be worth their blood to destroy you.." Her grin is cruel, wide, and spreading across blackened dingy teeth.

"Fortunate for you, they weren't my friends."

It rolls up against her index nail, propped with her thumb, so she can flick the cacooned ball towards the oposite side of the room and begin to wade towards the exit. Hands turned out so her palms point in that direction. She'd warned them... lock her away somewhere and forget her...

That was no threat.

The Enchantress has come.