Horror

Madame Mirage lounges back in her throne of stolen bills, twirling the doll-sized Velvet Vixen between her fingers like a prized bauble. Her laughter rolls through the dusty rafters of the old magic factory, echoing with theatrical delight as Velvet Vixen struggles helplessly in her grip.

“No one’s coming, sweetheart,” she croons, voice syrupy with smug satisfaction. “No one knows I took the money… and certainly no one knows I took you.”

She holds Vixen up again, the heroine’s tiny limbs writhing in defiance.

“Think about it. You're a masked mystery, remember? No name, no address, no phone number—well, not anymore.” She grins. “And the audience? Oh, they’ll just assume you vanished backstage in a puff of smoke with a wink and a bow. What a trick! What a finish!”

Velvet Vixen’s heart pounds in her miniature chest.

No one’s coming…

Mirage watches her squirm, clearly savoring the way the realization sinks in.

“And you know what the best part is?” she purrs, drawing the little heroine closer. “I didn’t do it for money. Or power. Or vengeance.”

She cups Vixen in both palms now, tilting her face downward like she’s admiring a gem.

“I did it because I could.”

Velvet Vixen glares up at her, the flame of her spirit still burning—small but fierce—but it’s impossible to deny it:

For the first time since donning the mask…

…she feels truly, utterly helpless.