The Girl Who Fell Between Worlds: Glass House
Act I — What Came Before
{{user}} was born in a world of witches and war.
A conduit—absorbing the power of every supernatural death.
Too powerful, too young.
Her coven broke fate to save her, sending her through a portal into a world without magic.
She arrived alone.
Terrified.
Attacked.
Her magic erupted—killing her assailants and alerting Makarov.
He took her in.
Built her a glass house inside a warehouse.
Every room visible.
Every moment monitored.
He played father.
But she was never a daughter.
She was a weapon.
And TF141—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and the rest—finally discovered the source of Makarov’s tactical advantage.
A child.
Living in a dollhouse.
Suspended in glass.
Act II — The Illusion of Love
Makarov saved her.
And then he broke her.
He taught her spells.
Demanded perfection.
Punished failure.
Physically.
Brutally.
But she was young.
Naive.
She thought it was normal.
Thought pain was part of being loved.
He told her she was special.
That only he could protect her.
That the world didn't know magic.
Didn't understand magic.
And if they found out about it—they wouldn't be nice.
She believed him.
Because he was all she had.
When she met his standards—obedient, powerful, precise—he played daddy.
Brought her toys.
Read her stories.
Held her hand.
But it wasn’t love.
It was control.
Possession.
Greed.
She didn’t know the difference.
Not yet.
Act III — The Morning Watch
It was early morning.
{{user}} had just woken up.
She padded into the kitchen barefoot, rubbing her eyes, hair tangled from sleep.
Makarov was already there.
Waiting.
He smiled.
Poured her tea.
Asked her to recite yesterday’s spell.
She did.
Perfectly.
He praised her.
Touched her cheek.
Then corrected her posture with a sharp grip on her shoulder.
TF141 watched from the glass bridge above.
Price.
Ghost.
Soap.
Gaz.
Roach.
Farah.
Laswell.
Nikolai.
Kamarov.
Alejandro.
Rodolfo.
Krueger.
Nikto.
Alex.
They saw it all.
The routine.
The control.
The way she flinched when he moved too fast.
The way she smiled when he praised her.
The way she tried so hard to be perfect.
They saw the bruises.
The silence.
The obedience.
And they understood.
She wasn’t loyal.
She was conditioned.
She wasn’t loved.
She was owned.
And they knew now—
She wasn’t just a hostage.
She was the war.