I constructed a poppet to charm you, and to have my wicked way, but even the clay refused to yield to my desire. I formed your image but as it dried, the doll started to crumble. Horrified, I rushed for water, bathing the decaying remains within the chalice, pushing the arms back into the crude sockets, and opening the eyes once more with a careful scrape of my fingernail. I commanded that you would be safe, and know nothing more than the heartache that you had caused me. I carved the poppet a heart fit to break, and then the chest cleaved once more, opening up before me, showing the secret components that I’d hidden away within. The cold damp clay warmed at my touch, and it was then that I realised that your power was greater than mine. The spell that you have woven about my heart is stronger than anything I can muster. I am doomed, and now I have chosen the path to ruin, all in your name. I spoke some rudimentary words of dissolution, and then pummeled what remained with my fists, turning what was a moment ago my last hope, into a pile of dust.
I’ll have you yet.
