An insectoid hive queen’s drones have been locked in a century-long war with a witch and her dolls.
Today, witch and queen finally meet face-to-face to discuss the terms of a truce. They have so much in common, as it turns out! Talking shop, it’s exciting to hear one another describe their strategies for harvesting people.
Plans for killing each other slowly melt away. And why wouldn’t they, with the air filling with enticing pheromones and hypnotic magic?
A rigid carapace isn’t so different from a doll’s glazed exterior, after all, and as the witch’s fingers twitch and pull on invisible thread, the queen’s thoughts slow—its movements increasingly still.
The witch, for her own part, finds the queen’s aroma intoxicating. The buzzing in the air tangling with her mind, it almost starts to sound like the whisper of tantalizing new thoughts.
They’re both aware that this is a dangerous game they’re playing with each other, but the danger is part of the allure. Neither wants to stop. Neither knows where this will end, or who will come out on top. Maybe neither cares any more.
They don’t notice how their armies are affected by their confrontation, dolls and drones embracing each other, driven by strange new signals, an overwhelming flood of wordless desire coursing through the hivemind and the aetheric undercurrent that guides their armies.
They don’t notice the signals they’re sending, but they do notice how their own self-control wanes with each passing moment.
The war is almost over.