Sally_ALT drifted through the torchlit corridors of her shattered palace, each stitch in her flesh humming with dark purpose. At her side shuffled the Sally Victim—once a proud hero of Mobius, now a hollow shell bound by sinew and wire. Her ragged dress was smeared with oil and blood, and every whispered plea that escaped her cracked lips only seemed to amuse Sally_ALT more. She watched her “minion” with cold fascination, admiring how easily a spirited soul could be reduced to obedient debris.

With a tilt of her head, Sally_ALT summoned the Victim closer. The creature obeyed without hesitation, kneeling in a pool of dried crimson. “You remember your name,” Sally_ALT whispered, brushing a gloved finger along the Victim’s jawline. “But you’ve forgotten freedom.” At her command, the Victim’s wrists flexed, the mechanical restraints clicking like a macabre metronome. Sally_ALT’s lips curved into a smile that was part triumph, part mourning—the perfect face of a queen who’d lost everything and reshaped it in her own image.

Sally_ALT placed a gentle hand on the Victim’s shoulder, the metal claws pressing into flesh without concern. “You will serve,” she murmured, her voice soft as a lullaby yet laden with promise of pain. The Victim tilted its head, hollow eyes tracking her every movement, a puppet bound by love and terror. “And together,” Sally_ALT continued, stepping back to observe her creation, “we will reclaim what was stolen from us.” In that moment, the fractured bond between creator and creation solidified—a dark mirror of devotion that neither could ever truly escape.