Team Pinetree Productions
Actor: Pine Gonzalez
Sound Design: Pine Gonzalez
Director: Pine Gonzalez
Writer: Pine Gonzalez
Producer: Pine Gonzalez
Characters
Narrator
Early twenties, American accent. Mid-high range, intense. Telling the story as it unfolds.
Ariadne (she/her)
Early twenties, American accent. High, soft, vaguely sweet. A cleric of the goddess Sylk who heeds a call best left unfollowed.
Castor (it/its)
American accent. Low, gravely, flirtatious. An unseen figure in the night.
High Priestess Imelda (she/her)
60+, (bad) Scottish accent. Wise, firm, concerned. High Priestess of the temple of Sylk.
Content warnings
- Lack of control/forced actions
- Discussions of kidnapping
- Nonconsensual touching (non-sexual)
- Brief mentions of strangulation
- Ambiguous character death
NARRATOR
A dragon had razed the village on the outskirts of her city and they desperately needed healers. Sylk could only lend Ariadne so much power, but every bit helped. She knew that she was making a difference, knew her goddess was making a difference, and yet…
And yet it was so easy to wish for more in her life. Ariadne had always been alone; orphaned and forgotten, the priestesses of Sylk took her in but they weren’t her family, weren’t her friends. They were her keeper, her captor, her ‘savior’ who only existed to keep her caged.
Crunch of gravel, sudden before stopping immediately.
CASTOR
My, my, little flower. You’re a long way from home aren’t you?
Sound of footsteps on leaves, the faint crunt of twigs occasionally popping up.
ARIADNE
I live in the city. Not far from here at all.
NARRATOR
It was only after she spoke that Ariadne realized there was no one else around.
Footsteps stop briefly before continuing
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
The sun had long since set and she was simply meant to do one last perimeter sweep before heading to her allotted tent for the night. A drunk or someone riding the adrenaline of fear and despair was something she expected, but empty air calling to her…
CASTOR
Who said the air was empty?
Footsteps stop.
NARRATOR
She whipped around, searching for who– or what– could’ve spoken to her.
Clink of plastic poker-like chips, short, repeated three times before stopping.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
On the wind, she thought she heard the soft click of spellerman’s chips, though she highly doubted anyone in the town would be up for gambling after a night like this. Phantom voices, phantom noises–
Phantom hands on her shoulders.
CASTOR
There’s a temple in the woods, you know.
NARRATOR
The voice soothed as it turned her body with surprising force.
CASTOR
Much more comfortable than a dingy little tent. Why don’t you come with me?
Footsteps begin again, still walking on leaves and twigs.
NARRATOR
She hadn’t intended to, and yet her feet carried her on their own.
Every time she tried to turn her head, Ariadne would feel the touch of something steering it straight ahead. There was a light in the distance, probably coming from the temple it had told her about. Every movement of her head sent her pointing straight back at the light.
CASTOR
Keep your eyes on the light for me, petal. You do trust me, right?
ARIADNE
I just met you. And you forced me away from my work. What right do you have to ask me to trust you?
CASTOR
You followed me, didn’t you? You could’ve chosen to ignore the call, sweetheart, but you’re here instead.
NARRATOR
Had she followed, or had something else followed for her? It was hard for her to say, all she knew was that she kept walking, kept following the light, kept listening to this… Person? It sounded and felt like a man, and yet it melted into the shadows with such ease that she couldn’t help but question it. She shouldn’t have followed it, she knew that, but what else was she to do?
It wasn’t her choice to make. The further into the woods she walked, the more Ariadne was certain of that.
Footsteps stop.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
The being hadn’t been lying to her, though. There was a temple in the woods, old and crumbling on the outside but remarkably homey once she stepped through the door. That light that had been calling her here filled the space, and yet she found she still couldn’t turn around to face her… Her captor? Her companion? Her friend?
CASTOR
It’s best if you keep those eyes elsewhere, darling. Some things aren’t meant to be seen.
NARRATOR
The tension in her neck and feeling of hands on her face told her that she couldn’t turn even if she wanted to. But the hands felt human, warm and rough and oddly easy to relax into.
ARIADNE
Fine. I won’t turn around, but at least give me something to call you.
CASTOR
You… Names are a two way street, sweetheart. I should hardly have to give mine up when I don’t know yours.
ARIADNE
Ariadne.
NARRATOR
She had been dealing with the priestesses for long enough that she knew how to leverage herself to get what she wanted.
ARIADNE
That’s my name. So what’s yours? Or should I just refer to you as my captor?
CASTOR
You can leave whenever you want, Ariadne. I’m no captor of yours, not like those women at the temple.
NARRATOR
Before she could ask its name again or demand an explanation as to how it knew she lived in the temple, it spoke again.
CASTOR
You can call me Castor. It’s as close to a name as I have.
ARIADNE
Castor.
NARRATOR
The name felt slightly odd against her tongue, and yet slightly right in the same vein.
ARIADNE
Well, Castor, is there a reason you brought me out here?
The clack of chips is heard again.
CASTOR
Fancy a game of spellermans?
ARIADNE
If you know I’m from the temple, then you know that my goddess doesn’t allow gambling.
CASTOR
Your goddess sounds like a bit of a buzzkill.
NARRATOR
She wanted to argue, but there was part of her that couldn’t help but feel like it had been right. Sylk wasn’t a goddess she chose to worship, and yet here she was, following the rules laid out to her by a goddess she didn’t even care for.
Ice filled her veins at the thought. She had never even dreamed of thinking something so disrespectful, so outlandish, so–
So not her own.
ARIADNE
I should leave.
CASTOR
But–
ARIADNE
You’re not my captor, right? So I can leave?
CASTOR
…You are welcome here whenever you’d like, Ariadne. Whenever.
ARIADNE
Goodnight, Castor.
Footsteps on leaves.
NARRATOR
She marched out of the temple back into the darkness. The urge to turn around, to see if it was watching her leave, screamed in her mind. But the desire to put the entire incident out of her mind screamed louder, so she gave into that temptation and swore off seeing that damned temple ever again.
Footsteps stop
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about the way the light shone from its door or the feel of foreign hands on her skin or the rumble of a voice coming from nowhere. Sylk’s teachings warned of monsters and Ariadne had seen her fair share, so why was she so enticed by this monster?
IMELDA
The thing you have to fear most is the thing you can’t see. Sylk can protect us from many of the things we know, but even she’s not powerful enough to protect us from the things we don’t.
NARRATOR
That’s what High Priestess Imelda always said. This thing– Castor, as it had told her to call it– was, in that way, more powerful than Sylk.
And what a thought that was.
Her goddess gave her strength, this was true. But was there something out there that could give her more? Give her power beyond the meager offerings that came with being a part of the temple?
IMELDA
You shouldn’t go messing around with things like power. The gods hold it for a reason, Adne. You don’t need to be holding that in your hands.
NARRATOR
Imelda wasn’t the one who heard the call, though. She hadn’t felt the touch of something familiar and yet foreign, hadn’t felt something control her steps and call her to it, beckon her and not accept refusal.
It wasn’t shocking to find herself outside of the temple again, but for the life of her she wasn’t sure how this happened. The light from inside the temple was fainter this time, the building looking somewhat more decrepit, and yet she still entered to that homey feeling once more. She started to look around for Castor, only to feel those hands cupping her the top of her neck once more.
CASTOR
What did we say about looking, petal?
ARIADNE
Some things aren’t meant to be seen.
NARRATOR
She could still hear the words so clearly in her mind, could feel them pulling at something, as if desperately trying to break free.
ARIADNE
You’ll forgive me for trying to look around before talking to the empty air.
CASTOR
Well, the air isn’t empty, now is it?
NARRATOR
Castor’s hands felt… Different this time. Still human but… Rougher, almost like they had been scarred since they last saw each other a few days prior. What had happened to it? Had it tried to entice another girl into its home?
CASTOR
You wound me, petal. I’m not a serial kidnapper.
ARIADNE
That honor is reserved solely for me then?
CASTOR
Back for that game of spellermans?
Rough, gravely footsteps. Low and heavy.
NARRATOR
She could hear something moving, but the footsteps fell just a touch heavier than she was expecting.
Footsteps stop.
CASTOR
Or did something else call you here? Last we spoke, you weren’t a gambler.
ARIADNE
Last we spoke, your hands didn’t feel like you ran them through glass.
CASTOR
It’s nothing for you to worry about darling. Come, sit, play a game with me.
Chips clack against each other.
ARIADNE
We’re forbidden to gamble.
NARRATOR
Couldn’t gamble, couldn’t look, couldn’t question.
ARIADNE
Perhaps this was a mistake.
CASTOR
Ariadne–
ARIADNE
Goodbye, Castor.
NARRATOR
When she returned from the woods this time, High Priestess Imelda was waiting for her.
IMELDA
Where have you been?
ARIADNE
I was walking in the woods.”
NARRATOR
Not an entire lie.
ARIADNE
I needed to clear my head a bit, it’s gotten to be a bit… Much in here lately.
NARRATOR
She thought this would be enough to appease Imelda, but it wasn’t. The old woman grabbed her by the wrist, holding it tightly before dropping it as if it had burnt her.
IMELDA
Whatever you’re doing, child, you should stop now. This is not the path the goddess wants you to walk. You’re such a bright star, Adne. Don’t let the light dim it.
NARRATOR
Before Ariadne could question it, Imelda was off, muttering prayers to the goddess as she went. There was a small mirror by her bedside when she turned in for the night, small enough to hide up her sleeve if she wanted to. If she needed to.
Whether or not she would need to was something she tried very hard not to think about.
It was easy to tell herself that she was going to stop, that she had no interest in going back to see the temple and to hear Castor. Imelda’s reaction had startled her, almost enough to get her to give this up entirely.
Almost.
CASTOR
You’re back.
NARRATOR
Castor’s hands graced her neck once more as it made sure she wasn’t looking where it was. Its fingers felt too long and its skin too rough– like stone against her skin. And yet there was warmth to its hands and to its words as it spoke.
CASTOR
I didn’t expect you to return.
ARIADNE
I didn’t expect to return.
NARRATOR
They both knew she was lying.
CASTOR
What did she do to you?
Rough, gravely footsteps.
NARRATOR
Castor pulled its hands away, heavy steps heard as it rooted through a room that Ariadne had never dared try to see.
Footsteps stop.
ARIADNE
What are you talking about?
CASTOR
Those goddess types are always… It hardly matters. Spellermans?
NARRATOR
There was a casualness to its words, a casualness that Castor held every time they had spoken. And yet Imelda had done something to her, something that unsettled him. Something that caused the slightest hint of fear to edge its way into its voice.
Imelda was worried she would be hurt. Knowing that that could hurt Castor–
ARIADNE
You could have at least lied to me, you know.
CASTOR
Ariadne–
ARIADNE
‘It hardly matters’, as if that could possibly slake any of my curiosity. ‘Some things aren’t meant to be seen’, but I’m supposed to trust you–
CASTOR
You keep coming back!
ARIADNE
And you keep making me!
Deep, rough sound of something like gravel being crushed and squeezed.
NARRATOR
The hands on her neck tightened, fingers more like gravel digging into her skin as she gasped for breath, trying to cast an aura of protection around herself. If the goddess could hear, she ignored Ariadne’s calls.
CASTOR
Now, petal, are we calm again?
NARRATOR
The fingers shifted against her skin, cutting into the flesh as the rock-like appendages grew and squeezed until she nodded.
Gravely sound stops.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
Almost instantly they returned to that human-like feel they had originally taken with her.
CASTOR
Good. I’m so sorry, darling. But accusing me of forcing you here… Now that hardly seems fair.
ARIADNE
What are you?
CASTOR
Something that is meant to be unseen. Oh, but you wanted a lie, didn’t you? A pretty little lie so you could pretend that the reason you’re here is truly beyond your control. That I’m a god, a monster, a cursed being forcing you into my home to kill you. Is that what you want, Ariadne? Is that what you need?
ARIADNE
I–
NARRATOR
The words locked in her throat as the hands shifted again– sharp as glass, smooth as silk.
ARIADNE
Why am I here?
CASTOR
You’re the one who came here, sweetheart. I can’t tell you your own motivations.
ARIADNE
What called me here if not you?
NARRATOR
Tears were beginning to well up in Ariadne’s eyes. She should’ve just stayed home, stayed in the temple where she was safe. Bored and lonely and disbelieving, but safe.
She could almost hear Castor’s grin as it spoke.
CASTOR
Now that, petal, is a much better question. I suppose you’re right, I did call you here. I wanted to see what it would taste like, turning those small doubts into large doubts, into fear, into devotion. But whatever she did rattled you. And that isn’t quite playing fair, is it.
NARRATOR
Ariadne slipped the mirror down her sleeve to her palm, angling it to see Castor.
Deep, rough sound of something like gravel being crushed and squeezed.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
It was, indeed, grinning. Sharp teeth like needles stretched into the facsimile of a smile as it watched held her neck in place. Its body was long, serpent like and black as the night sky and yet clearly made of rocks and gravel and dirt. Feet like that of a bird, large and awkward on its body, almost too small to support the weight. The hands that held her neck looked wrong compared to the rest of the body; too human against the rocky surface of the rest of Castor.
Its eyes are what scared her the most though; large and bright and yet for the life of her she couldn’t remember what they looked like even as she stared into them.
All she knew was that it caught her eyes in the mirror, head shaking.
Sounds stop.
CASTOR
Now, Ariadne. What did we say about looking?