Skeptism at the situation

Velvet Vixen's muffled protests echo from the rim of the oversized hat as she twists and squirms, her cheeks flushed with rage and humiliation. Madame Mirage tilts her head with mock sympathy.

“Aww, my poor little rabbit can’t speak.”

With a flick of her wand, the gag vanishes in a shimmer of glittering sparks, falling away from Vixen’s lips like smoke caught in moonlight.

The moment it’s gone, Kendrick snaps:

“What the hell is going on?! Where am I? What did you—?!”

Mirage only giggles.

“Darling… it’s magic.”

Velvet Vixen scoffs, narrowing her eyes. “There’s no such thing as real magic. You’re just another showboating—”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Mirage raises one brow, lips curling.

Before Vixen can finish, the magician lifts her hand and taps Velvet Vixen’s forehead with her wand. A flash of purple sparks—and in a blink, the superheroine is gone.

The top hat quivers.

Then, with dramatic flair, Mirage reaches inside once again and slowly pulls out the tiny, squirming figure of Velvet Vixen—now no larger than a Barbie doll, still fully dressed in her gala outfit, fists pounding at the air in protest.

“You were saying?” Mirage purrs, holding the little Vixen up between thumb and forefinger like a toy. Her red hair tumbles in perfect miniature curls, her tiny heels kicking furiously.

“Now tell me, my petite pet… what do you think about my magic now?”

She twirls the shrunken heroine once between her fingers, clearly enjoying every second.