Daniel goes over to the wax dolls of his friends and finds they can be dismantled into pieces. He hesitates for a moment, carefully pulling apart an arm, then a leg—each segment coming away with an unsettling ease, as if they were never meant to be whole. He grimaces. Veronica isn’t going to like that.
Setting his jaw, he turns his attention to the stage, scanning for something—anything—that might help. His eyes land on a large, metal structure on the far side, the unmistakable shape of a smelter. Of course there would be one.
Without wasting time, he gathers the wax pieces—Veronica, Elizabeth, and the eerie doll that had taken Elizabeth’s place. Piece by piece, he carries them over, placing every part into the smelter’s open chamber. He takes a steadying breath, then presses the button.
With a low hum, the machine whirs to life. Heat radiates from its core as the wax figures begin to melt, limbs and torsos liquefying into a thick, swirling goop. The colours blend together at first, but Daniel knows better than to let them mix completely.
He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, here’s what we’re going to do," he announces to no one in particular, his voice carrying the energy of a man determined to save his friends through sheer willpower alone. "Each of them has a different melting point—Veronica, Elizabeth, and the doll. If I can separate them out at the right moment, I can pour them into their respective moulds and bring them back."
As if responding to his declaration, a new set of shapes rises from the floor beside the smelter—three moulds, perfectly formed. One for Veronica. One for Elizabeth. One for the doll.
Daniel exhales sharply. Showtime.
Daniel takes a deep breath, steadying himself as he watches the molten wax swirl in the smelter. The process is delicate—one wrong move, and he could mix them incorrectly, trapping his friends in the wrong forms.
He focuses on Elizabeth first. She’s high energy, he thinks. Always moving, always burning bright. He adjusts the temperature, increasing the heat slightly, watching as the wax shifts, separating out. The energy within the mix seems to respond, becoming more fluid, more restless—just like Elizabeth herself.
"Alright, Liz," he mutters, grabbing the first mould. He tilts the smelter’s spout carefully, and a stream of liquid wax, glowing with residual warmth, pours into the waiting shape. The mould accepts the substance eagerly, as if recognizing her essence.
He lets out a slow exhale. One down.
Next is Veronica. He lowers the heat, cooling the remaining wax. As the temperature drops, he sees the change—less movement, more control. The liquid becomes smoother, more refined, settling into itself with an air of quiet confidence.
"That’s you, Vee," he murmurs. With steady hands, he pours the second stream into Veronica’s mould, watching as it fills with her signature poise and composure. Even in molten form, she carries an undeniable presence.
Finally, the doll. Unlike the others, its mould isn’t a single form but a collection of pieces—the dancer’s body Elizabeth had inhabited and the doll’s eerie performing head. The remaining wax shifts unnaturally, as if still infused with the mechanical precision of the dancer, its movements deliberate, almost rehearsed.
Daniel watches, fascinated and unnerved, as he pours the last of the wax into the segmented moulds, each piece filling separately, taking its intended shape. The head. The limbs. The body.
He sets the container down, wiping sweat from his brow. The moulds sit before him, cooling.
Solidifying. Waiting.
Now, all he has to do is see if he’s done it right.
Daniel peers into the smelter, expecting it to be empty, but instead, he spots something unexpected—small traces of wax residue clinging to the interior walls. At first, he dismisses it as leftover material, but then he realizes… it’s fabric. Their clothes.
Their outfits hadn’t reformed with their bodies—they had melted away, leaving only the essence of his friends behind.
"Well, that would have been awkward," he mutters, shaking his head. He turns, scanning the storage room for something appropriate. His eyes land on a stack of folded robes nearby—practical, simple, enough to cover them up once they step out of their moulds.
He grabs two and drapes them over a nearby surface, ready for when Elizabeth and Veronica wake up. But as he moves to step away, his fingers brush against a third robe. This one is different.
Deep crimson with gold embroidery, it looks ancient yet untouched by time. The moment his hands make contact, a faint pulse runs through the fabric, sending a tingle up his arms. He hesitates but then, almost without thinking, he pulls it over his shoulders.
The moment it settles around him, the sensation deepens—it’s not just a robe; it’s something more. The fabric shifts, molding perfectly to his form, fitting as if it had always been his. A warmth spreads through him, not just physical but something deeper, something enchanted.
It feels like it was waiting for him.
Daniel steadies himself, the robe pulsing gently against his skin, as if resonating with the magic he’s just wielded. It doesn’t just warm him—it fuels him, feeding off the thrill of the impossible feat he’s just performed. It feels right. Natural. As though it belongs to him as much as the stage does.
He turns his focus back to the molds. The wax has solidified, the final traces of heat dissipating into the air. With a deep breath, he grips the handles of Veronica’s and Elizabeth’s molds and slowly tips them upright.
For a moment, everything is still. He waits, watching the faint glimmer of cooling wax set into the perfect forms within. Then, with a quiet click, the doors on the molds begin to unlock, releasing the seals with a soft hiss.
The stage lights flicker overhead, casting dramatic shadows over the scene.
And then, the molds swing open.
As the doors fully swing open, Elizabeth and Veronica step forward, their bodies whole once more. No longer wax figures, no longer dolls—they are themselves again, flesh and blood.
Elizabeth stretches her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders. "Wow," she breathes, running her hands down her sides, checking every inch of herself. "That was... something."
Veronica, always the skeptic, looks down at her hands and then at Daniel. "Okay. That was—” she stops, pressing her fingers to her temple as if shaking off a lingering sensation. “I don’t even have words for that one.”
Daniel lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He’d done it. He’d actually done it. The smelting, the molding, the magic.
Elizabeth suddenly grins, eyes sparkling. "Okay, but you—" she points at Daniel, stepping forward. "That robe. That’s new."
Daniel glances down at himself, at the deep, rich fabric draped over him. The moment Elizabeth mentions it, he realizes: it still feels alive, thrumming with residual energy, like a stage curtain that’s just been lifted for a grand performance.
Daniel hands each of them a robe, nodding toward the molds. "Found these while I was looking for something for you two to wear."
Veronica pulls the robe on but quickly checks underneath, relieved to see her catsuit completely intact. “Well, at least this survived,” she mutters, running a hand over the fabric.
Elizabeth, however, is already distracted. She turns back toward the stage, her gaze settling on the dancer doll body she had used before. Something stirs inside her—curiosity, maybe even longing. She flexes her fingers, then raises her arms and spins experimentally.
The movement is effortless.
She stops mid-spin, eyes widening. “Whoa… I still have it.” She lifts a leg into a graceful arabesque, then lowers it smoothly. “I can still feel it—like the balance, the control. It’s still in me.”
Daniel and Veronica exchange a glance.
Elizabeth grins. “This is so cool.”
Daniel watches Elizabeth as she tests her newfound grace, then tilts his head. “So… what was it like? Y’know, being a plastic doll?”
Elizabeth pauses mid-step, lowering her arms. She considers the question for a moment before answering.
“It was… weird,” she admits. “I felt weightless, like I wasn’t really moving myself, more like I was being guided. Every motion was smooth, perfect—like there was no resistance, no strain.” She flexes her fingers, as if expecting them to still be stiff, but they move freely.
She glances at the dancer doll body again. “The strangest part, though? I wanted to be played with. Like, standing still wasn’t an option. I felt like I was just waiting for someone to wind me up or put me through a routine.”
Daniel raises an eyebrow. “So you weren’t in control?”
Elizabeth shakes her head. “Not exactly. I could move, but it was like… instinct, not thought. And when the clockwork stopped, I just existed, frozen in place, watching—until someone made me move again.”
Veronica smirks. “Sounds like a dream for a dancer. Always perfect, never tired.”
Elizabeth laughs. “Yeah, except I wasn’t me, not entirely. More like an imitation of me—like a performance that never stopped.” She shivers slightly, then smiles. “But I have to admit… it was kind of thrilling.”
As they step back into the doll room, the air feels still, as if the space itself is waiting for them to finish what they started. The shelves are lined with pristine doll parts, each neatly arranged in their respective places. Daniel and Veronica help Elizabeth carefully return the dancer’s body, slotting the limbs into place like pieces of an elaborate puzzle.
Finally, Elizabeth lifts the performer’s head, cradling it for a moment before setting it gently on the shelf. As her fingers leave the smooth surface, a thought drifts through her mind—an impulse, a line.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow… that I shall say good night till it be morrow."
The words flow effortlessly from her lips, her voice rich with emotion, perfectly measured. She blinks in surprise. That had felt… too natural. Her posture shifts instinctively, her hands moving with an unconscious grace. She wasn’t just speaking the words—she was performing them.
She places a hand to her chest, as if to steady herself. A quiet thrill runs through her. The performer had left something behind, woven into her movements, her voice. She could feel it—not a possession, but an imprint, an echo of the performer’s skill.
Elizabeth turns to the others with a wide-eyed look. “I think she left a little something in me,” she says, a smile creeping onto her lips.
Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Something good?”
Elizabeth lets the words hang in the air for a moment before flashing a knowing grin. “Oh, definitely.”
As the three step out of the doll room, the air shifts back to normal, the eerie stillness fading as if the room itself has gone back to sleep. Elizabeth glances back one last time, a thoughtful look on her face, before shutting the door with a quiet click.
For a moment, all is still.
Then, ever so slightly, the performer’s head—resting neatly on its shelf—curves into a faint, knowing smile.
Chapter Thirty: The Dollmakers Baptism
Chapter Twenty Nine: The Swinging Spy's final mission
Chapter Twenty Eight: Who was Kashmir again?
Chapter Twenty Seven: This is getting weird, even for us.
Chapter Twenty Six: Elizabeth Needs a Key
Chapter Twenty Five: Assembling Elizabeth the Doll
Chapter Twenty Four: Veronica vs the Guillotine
Chapter Twenty Three: Return to the Lockup
Chapter Twenty Two: Now what did Daniel do?
Chapter Twenty One: What did the ladies do this week?
Chapter Twenty: The Captured Cat gets wet.
Chapter Nineteen: Veronica becomes the Captured Cat.
Chapter Eighteen: The Living Dummy
Chapter Seventeen: Spilt switch and back again.
Chapter Sixteen: The Heist goes wrong, oh my.
Chapter Fifteen: Preparing for the Heist
Chapter Fourteen: Introducing The Transposition Trick
Chapter Thirteen: Stretching, Spikes and Shackles.
Chapter Twelve: Blades and Misalignment
Chapter Eleven: Veronica finds her suit
Chapter Ten: The Lockup. Veronica gets a glow up
Chapter Nine: Compacting Veronica
Chapter Eight: Pancakes and inflating balloons
Chapter Seven: But wait, there's more!
Chapter Four: One becomes two, two become one