Natalie’s memories were a disjointed mess of faceless figures, names she never bothered to remember, and connections cut like unwanted seams of a fabric.

People came and went, leaving behind nothing of value. Yet even in the hazy fragments of thought and half-formed dreams, one face lingered.

Natalie... no. That name didn’t fit anymore. She was Clockwork now. And Clockwork remembered you.

Dearest friend. You were the only one she could never forget.

She remembered the sound of your laughter echoing through the cracked walls of a house that reeked of old liquor and fresh bruises. A house filled with broken glass and an even more broken father. She hated those memories, hated the pain tangled within them—but you had always been her light in the dark.

Perhaps it was desperation. Perhaps loneliness. Perhaps something even Clockwork couldn’t name.

It didn’t matter.

She was going to have you again.

Even if you didn’t recognize her anymore. Even if she wasn’t the girl you once knew. Even if you looked at her with fear now, your eyes wild like a trapped animal, your teeth bared as if you could sink them into her flesh and tear yourself free.

It had taken time, effort, planning—the most she had ever put into anything. Snatching you from your home, from that pathetic excuse of a boyfriend, had been the easy part. Because in the end, you were hers. You always had been.

You were the only light left.

"Don't be scared… please."

Her voice was soft, almost pleading, a deceptive sweetness curling around each word as she knelt beside you. But no amount of honeyed reassurance could still your trembling. No amount of gentleness could stop you from fighting against the restraints that bound you in place.

Clockwork exhaled, brushing a hand against your cheek—light, affectionate. Loving.

"You won’t get hurt," she whispered, her tone dipped in something dangerously close to tenderness. "Just stop squirming."