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As Alador sits in silence in his multicolored bedroom, he wonders if The Collector would grant him a kindness and make him into a mindless puppet like all of the others so that maybe he can find peace from his chaotic thoughts. The gnawing fear over his children's whereabouts consumes his every waking hour as his dreams are dread-filled visions of Amity and the twins' dead bodies at the feet of a victorious Belos or the childlike god who imprisons him.
After he told Amity and her friends to flee, Alador fought hard to keep the Coven scouts and Abomatons at bay. He pushed through the searing pain emanating from his sigil as glowing veins cut deep paths across his skin. Running low on magic, he fled deeper into the woods to hide.
That is when everything changed.
The pain in his arm suddenly stopped and the sky no longer glowed with a menacing aura. Alador let out a breath, thinking that the others were successful and the worst was now over.
He was proven wrong seconds later when glowing neon stars started plummeting from the sky. They left scorching, smoking craters when they landed. Loud explosions echoed from every direction. A wave of swirling rainbow lights flooded most of Bonesborough, twisting the landscape into a pastel wonderland. Alador ducked into a cave before the wave could engulf him but the Coven scouts pursuing him were not so lucky. They were transformed into puppets, evident by their ball-jointed limbs and lifeless expressions; even their uniforms changed from bland to whimsy. They hung limply in the air until a horde of large stars with sinister eyes spirited them away.
A million thoughts ran through Alador's head -- what was that foreign magic, what happened at The Head -- but one rang loud and clear above the rest: are his children okay?
(A voice whispers from the back of his mind, 'Is Darius okay?')
Once the coast was clear, Alador hurried to town in the hopes of finding answers (and his family) only to find it wrought with panic and destruction. He watched as the sinister stars captured anyone who fought back -- the Parks, Perry, Warden Wrath -- and transformed them into puppets to be carried off. Alador attempted to help the remaining citizens despite his weakened state but it was all for naught and they suffered the same fate like all the rest.
When it came time for his inevitable turn, a commanding shout made the stars freeze and a child Alador would soon know as The Collector floated down in front of him with a sullen King Clawthorne in tow.
"King says you make the best toys!"
Alador never felt such powerful magic before (his body cannot stop shaking) and mutely nods at the celestial youngster.
"Great~! You're comin' with us and you're gonna make us a whole bunch of stuff to play with!"
And that was that.
Alador was stashed in a prison suite with an adjoining workshop in The Collector's palace after pinky-promising to never-ever-ever leave.
Three weeks, almost coming up on a month, since his so-called capture, the inventor crafted Abomaton after Abomaton for the tiny god's games and each one would return as an unrecognizable heap. The only time he interacts with The Collector is when the child stops by and cheerfully suggests improvements to his creations so they do not break so easily. Alador attempts to talk to King during those visits, so he can find out what happened to the kids, but The Collector always whisks the young demon away for playtime before he can get a word out.
A pastel cuckoo clock hanging above the doorway chimes six o'clock: time for dinner. Groaning, Alador braces himself for a visit from his ex-wife. Odalia wasted no time pledging her loyalty to The Collector, believing she would finally be treated like the royalty she always dreamed of. Instead, she became an overworked babysitter for the whimsical god, cleaning up messes and cooking odd meals; witnessing Odalia's poor attempts at manual labor manages to brighten Alador's spirit in these hopeless times.
However, as much as he enjoys watching Odalia squirm, Alador is in no mood today to deal with her attitude and her constant boasting about how she has freedom while he remains locked up in his suite day in and day out.
When the double doors swing open, the mechanic sits up from his reclined position on the bed. "Odalia, can you please skip your petty barbs and just--"
Whatever else Alador wants to say is cut short because it is not the Oracle witch delivering his dinner right now, it is Darius.
Overlooking Darius' puppet form, his old lover rival still looks the same and Alador's heart aches. It has been over two decades since they were in the same room together. The last time they were was when Odalia announced the engagement at a gala hosted by the Emperor's Coven. Alador will never forget the heartbroken look on Darius' face; the sharp, bitter words they exchanged in a cloak closet far from the party; the heated lovemaking that left them feeling empty after; the hollowness of their last kiss; Darius' clenched fists when he walked away.
Darius shuffles toward Alador, pushing a cart ladden with a food called pizza bagels, a new favorite of The Collector. His puppet limbs rattle as he presents the mechanic his dinner with a flourish and a blank face. Just as the witch-turned-puppet steps away to leave, Alador rushes off the bed and grasps a gloved hand. Darius ceases moving and does not react to the sudden grab. If he was his normal self, the Abomination witch would viciously tear into whoever touched him without his permission.
"Darius," the brunet starts, "I...I wanted to..."
Alador knows it is futile, talking to someone who cannot respond back, but there is so much he wants, no, needs to say. He moves around to face the other man and tentatively reaches up with his free hand to caress Darius' smooth, polished cheek.
"At least you can't complain about unsightly blemishes now," he jokes.
Darius just stares at the brunet with unblinking green eyes.
Alador sighs, "I thought a dig at your vanity might break you out of this spell but I guess not."
He hates this.
He hates that the Isles are a playground for a child god. He hates not knowing where his children are and if they are safe. He hates he is now confined to another life of captivity.
But the one thing Alador hates the most is seeing Darius devoid of everything that makes him him.
"I'm sorry," the inventor whispers, "for everything that happened. For shutting you out and ending our relationship the way I did. Marrying Odalia. Choosing obligation instead of happiness."
Silence answers him back. Alador moves closer to rest his head on Darius' shoulder. Instead lavender and expensive cologne, the dark-skinned witch smells like wood polish and wrongness. His once warm body is cooled with lacquer. The soothing beat of his heart is nonexistent.
"I guess it's stupid to apologize since you can't yell at me or call me a hack," he halfheartedly laughs. Looking up, he hoped to see some reaction but a stoic face stares back.
"I love you, Dar," Alador confesses to the puppet, "and I don't think I ever stopped."
He does not know if it is loneliness or desperation that spurs the brunet to lean closer and kiss Darius. Disappointment floods his body once his pliant lips touch the hard, wooden slits.
"I don't know what I expected," he murmurs.
Just as Alador pulls away, he finds he cannot go any further. Darius' hand, the one Alador kept holding during their one-sided conversation, tightens around purple-tipped fingers. Golden eyes snap toward the puppet, searching for something.
"Darius?"
In a blink, said witch leans forward and touches his forehead to the brunet's with a soft 'thunk'. Alador holds his breath and dares not move. As hopeful as the gesture is, it is just as fleeting when Darius releases Alador's hand and walks toward the doors on unsteady feet.
Alador does not attempt to stop the puppet from leaving. Once the doors slam shut and lock, it is then the tears he refused to shed since this madness began finally start to fall.
Unbeknownst to the sorrowful brunet, standing right outside the suite, Darius' wooden body trembles as a stray tear slides down the cheek that still holds some of Alador's warmth.