The stage of the Blockhouse was bathed in a deep, bruising violet light. The air smelled of ozone and stage smoke, thick with anticipation.

Hannah stood center stage, but tonight, the professional analyst was entirely gone. In her place stood The Great Hanavari, fully embracing the role of the "Evil Villainess Queen."

Her costume was a masterpiece of dark fantasy. A strapless, floor-length gown of midnight black hugged her form, seemingly woven from shadows and starlight. Veins of electric blue luminescence pulsed through the fabric like a heartbeat, highlighting the corsetry. Her blonde hair was gone, replaced by a cascading mane of vibrant, electric purple that glowed under the stage lights, framing a face painted in severe, imperious beauty. She wore a choker of dark lace and blue gems that looked like captured souls.

To her left stood the prop: a towering, wooden guillotine, its timber stained dark, the heavy steel blade gleaming with a menacing, polished shine.

And locked within it was Milly.

Milly was dressed as the "Peasant Princess," in a simple, earth-toned tunic that exposed her neck and shoulders. Her auburn hair was loose, spilling over the wooden lunette. She looked up at the audience, her hazel eyes wide, conveying a perfect, heartbreaking mix of terror and innocence—the "Delectable Damsel" role she had perfected over years.

"So," Hanavari purred, her voice amplified, a rich, velvety sound that vibrated in the chests of the audience. She trailed a hand along the rope of the guillotine. "The 'People's Princess' thought she could defy the Queen?"

Milly whimpered, a sound that was theatrically perfect but rooted in their shared magical reality. "Please... Your Majesty..."

Hanavari laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "Pleas are for those who have a future, my dear. You have only... a deadline."

Hanavari gripped the rope. She didn't look at Milly; she looked at the crowd, her eyes blazing with that intense violet light.

"Let us see if her silence is as golden as her reputation."

She yanked the rope.

WHOOSH.

The heavy blade plummeted.

Milly didn't flinch away; she leaned into the performance. She felt the rush of air, the cold promise of the steel.

THUD.

The sound was sickeningly solid—metal hitting wood with a final, bone-jarring impact.

The audience gasped, a collective intake of breath that sucked the air from the room.

The blade was down. It rested flush against the bottom of the stock. Milly's head was visible on one side, her body on the other, the steel occupying the space where her neck had to be.

Silence stretched.

Hanavari let go of the rope and dusted off her hands, turning her back to the guillotine with a casual, bored elegance. She walked to the front of the stage, beaming at the horrified crowd.

"And that," she declared, smoothing her glowing gown, "is how we handle dissent in the kingdom!"

She waited for applause. There was none. Just stunned silence.

Hanavari frowned, tapping her chin with a long, manicured fingernail. She tilted her head, feigning confusion. " tough crowd. Was the lighting wrong? Perhaps the monologue was too wordy?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the guillotine, looking over Milly, as if she were invisible.

"Usually, this is the part where the prisoner begs for mercy before the drop," Hanavari mused aloud to the front row. "She went quiet rather quickly, didn't she?"

From the stocks, Milly’s head blinked. Her face was frozen in a look of shock, her mouth slightly open. She couldn't feel her body, but she could see Hanavari strutting about.

‘Oh, she is really milking this,’ Milly thought, her disembodied consciousness buzzing. ‘Check the basket, you drama queen!’

Hanavari turned fully back to the machine. She approached it slowly, peering at the blade.

"Hello?" she called out, knocking on the wooden frame. "Princess? Are we sulking?"

She leaned down, putting her face dangerously close to Milly’s "severed" head.

"You know, it’s very rude to ignore your Queen," Hanavari whispered loudly.

Milly rolled her eyes—a gesture that looked incredibly grotesque and hilarious given her current state.

Hanavari gasped, jumping back with a hand to her chest. "It moves! It lives! Or..." she paused, looking at the body on the other side of the blade, which was twitching its fingers. "...mostly lives."

She turned back to the audience, a wicked, conspiratorial grin breaking the "Evil Queen" mask.

"It seems I may have... disconnected the call."

Hannah’s magic—her Financial Sorcery—was humming beneath the surface. She hadn't just used a trick blade. She had audited the space-time of Milly’s neck.

* Asset: Milly's Neck.

* Status: Temporarily Intangible / Displaced.

* Transaction: Hold.

Hanavari placed one hand on Milly’s head and one on her shoulder (on the other side of the blade).

"Well," she sighed, "I suppose good help is hard to find. We can't have a princess falling to pieces on opening night."

She snapped her fingers. "Audit complete. Transaction reversed."

She grabbed the rope and hauled the blade back up with a grinding screech.

Milly took a massive, gasping breath, her hand flying to her neck. It was whole. Not a scratch.

Hanavari offered her hand. "Up you get, your Highness. Next time, try not to lose your head over a little politics."

Milly stumbled out of the stocks, rubbing her neck, and then—breaking character—flashed a wide, beaming smile at the audience. She grabbed Hanavari’s hand, and together, the Evil Queen and the Peasant Princess took a deep, sweeping bow as the stunned silence finally broke into thunderous applause.