You Draw your Rapier and Fight! ... sort of...

You walk out until you stand opposite her and your beautiful porcelain face curls into a scowl. With a melodic growl, you draw your rapier and take a dramatic stance. Your journal falls to the ground with a resounding thud. The glow of the sword increases, and you can't help but feel that this stance is practiced and familiar, despite not touching anything like a sword since you were a child playing with sticks. Your shoulders are back and you hold the rapier at head height, yet let it rest delicately at the wrist so the blade is pointing slightly down. You've turned your body to give yourself a smaller profile as you face the demoness, and whatever discomfort you felt with your heels is gone, as you perch on the balls of your feet with perfect balance.

The demon woman tuts softly. "My lovely Arvilla, cold feet can be forgiven... But rebellion," Her expression turns sour, and she spits her final words "Receives no such mercy." With a snap of her fingers, tinsel of shimmering silver erupts from your lacy choker, and whips through the air to her outstretched hand. She yanks on the strand violently, causing you to break your stance, and tumble forward. You barely keep your feet under you as she begins chanting in some unknown language. She twirls the strand, as if manipulating a lasso, and wraps the strand around your sword hand. She tugs again, but this time, rather than pulling tight, the strand splits into two distinct cords, one connecting to your neck, and the other connecting to your wrist.

"Did you really think you could fight me? ME?" She spits loudly. "And a sword fight, no less!" She shakes her head. "Perhaps I've grossly overestimated you." She twirls the silver strands another time, this time lassoing your other wrist, and your ankles. With another tug, you now have a silver strand racing from each of your limbs to her hands. She opens her fist, and you see each of the strands traces to each of her five fingers, then with a point of her finger, you throw the sword to the ground, and bow mechanically before her. The sudden movement causes you to shout out in surprise. At first you feel as though you're losing your balance and tumbling forward and try to stand back upright... But you don't move. Then you realize your sword is right there in front of you! You try to bend further down, and take it up once again... But you don't move. Realization of what the demoness has done begins to settle upon you and instinctively you try to turn and run... But again, you don't move. You cry out in distress.

The demoness sighs. "Really, Arvilla, did you expect this to go any differently?" With a twirl of her fingers, you begin to spin and dance and twirl before her. A bored and contemptuous expression grows on her face as she continues. "Or was this a foolish flight of passion, the last vestige of that terrible human soul plaguing your consciousness?" You continue to prance and twirl enthusiastically, your body performing with all the vigor and skill of a professional dancer. You do still seem to have control over your voice, but presently all you can do is cry out in distress as you ride the roller coaster of your own body. The demoness watches you for a few moments, allowing you to make your way back and forth across the grand hall Your dress billows out dramatically, and the ribbons of your bonnet trace the path of your head smoothly. Despite your body being controlled, you move with a remarkable grace... But quite suddenly, the demoness makes a fist once again and you find yourself mechanically marching back to the stone door where you come to stand perfectly still before her. Standing so close, you now realize that she's a daunting woman. Despite her slender curves, she truly is a giant, standing a head and a half over you. The horns curled to heaven only compound that powerful daunting effect.

She releases the puppet strings from your body, and immediately, you stagger forward and begin taking **** gasping breaths. Apparently despite the action being controlled your body is still suffering the exhausting effects of your manic dancing. Now you do feel the confinement of the corset as it prevents you from doing any more than take shallow burning breaths of air. You tug at your corset with one hand, hoping to free up just a little more. The demoness grabs your chin and cheek firmly with those spidery fingers, and forces you to look directly into her eyes. "But broken toys have to be repaired... modified." A smirk flicks on her face. "Isn't that right, Nealie?" She glances to the blond woman who mechanically responds. "Yes Mistress..."

You continue to meet her gaze, and you continue to pant, and tug at your corset, when you feel something you'd almost forgotten... The derringer... You gulp as you make a split second decision on how to proceed.