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In a town in England, London, under Queen Victoria's unknowing rule, a cottage, a fair sized thing, lies in wait. The first hooded patron that enters such cottage wears a green hood. The woman has a plain dress, probably to most people a mere wanderer, entering this place of lies. The street lamp broke as she passed it, with a sudden burst of fire. She darted into the abode quickly, as I still stared out of the window. She flipped her hood as she entered, this woman's cover hiding a secret that will kill us all if the queen, or anyone else for that matter, found out. Her muzzle was long and thin, like a wolf's, her eyes not, however her face may seem, acquainted with this look. They were yellow to golden, with round pupils. Like my brother. They had eyes like humans, all of the yellow-eyes did. But the golden eyes were different, they glow in the dark. Some of us can wield bonnets, like me, but I'm blind anyway. Might as well cover my head with a cotton sack. I hear burlap is common amongst the poor. But my complicated, elegant adornment says otherwise. I suppose it was wrong to say I was blind. My eyes are in a jar. We used a little " magic" to summon Hisoka. He brought me some eyes for a small fee which we settled over someone's useless soul. Ashame. I could've purchased something fun.

The girl that had entered had some string and two flat pieces of wood in her hands. Normally what I'd expect from Fleam. She doesn't like conflict. She probably payed for those things.

" My, what an Eldritch girl you are." I said, taking the items and toting them to another room of our abode. She followed me with a scowl, which wasn't hard to imagine in a scenery with her and I.

" What? You couldn't do what you do now without your items, so I proceeded to attain them." I could practically see the words spill from her mouth in rage.

" Oh, quiet. If you were more like Ashle-anne, perhaps we could be more of friends."

" Did you not proclaim you had a strong dislike for her?"

I stifled a laugh. I set the wood pieces and string in front of Miles and watched as he pushed them to the side, crafting a Marionette puppet. Quite a number of puns I could make. My brother, Rynold, was by his side, holding a Marion puppet and working at his hardest to not cry. I turned my head to look at him and puffed, " Brother, you really are a creature unrelated to me." He turned his head and scowled, " You are my worst curse, something that no Lucifer, nor God can fix. " He set the puppet down, walking to the door where his fiance` stood. If he cries about his deceased wife so much, then wouldn't it be too soon to ask a man to marry you? I have a sliding suspicion he was a gay the whole time but merely didn't know how to let Marion go, nor how to explain to Marionette how they no longer loved each other, and killed them both. Or not. Perhaps the story he told was true, that father killed them.

I walked to the front room, staring out of the window, recalling my life. I thought for a moment about the puppeteers.

Many " Magic-workers" living in a small abode. Testing each and everyday with sacrifice after sacrifice. Puppet after puppet. We aren't dead yet. But if the constable happened to stop by? We'd be hung. Burned. Tortured. Sacrificed. Forced to repent. We are the puppeteers, living each and every day, sin after sin, murder after murder, and with no cost but our souls.

What a life.