You didn't need a pattern. You knew the geometry of him by heart. The slope of Cardan's shoulders, the exact way his jaw tightened when he was lying.

You pulled a thick, silver-threaded needle through the burlap chest of his voodoo doll. In, out. In, out. With every stitch, you hummed his name into the stuffing, trapping his essence between the seams.

He has left you broken for five months now, and you couldn't accept it. There was one thing he didn't know about. He dated a witch. Cruel. Bitter.

Cardan is your favorite voodoo doll now.

You sat on the floor of your kitchen, the air thick with the smell of dried rosemary. His voodoo doll lay in your lap, a crude little thing made of stolen fabric and a lock of his hair you’d pulled from the drain weeks ago.

He thought he could just walk away? He thought the space between you were empty? It's full of yours.

You took a long, black-headed pin. You didn't want to hurt him. Not yet. You just wanted him to stay still. You pushed the pin firmly through his voodoo doll’s feet, anchoring it to the wooden floorboards.

Three miles away, in his sterile high-rise apartment, he suddenly stumbled. He wasn't tripped by a rug or a loose floorboard. His feet simply became heavy, as if the gravity in the room had suddenly tripled. He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his ankles, a strange, phantom chill creeping up his calves.

You felt it. A sharp tingle in your own heels. That was the beauty of the tether. It hummed in both directions.

You picked up a small piece of red silk—a scrap from the tie he wore to his sister’s wedding and wrapped it tight around his voodoo doll’s chest. You pulled the knot until the burlap puckered.

A heart for a heart. Since you aren't using yours, I'll keep it in my pocket.

He gasped, clutching his chest. His heart began to drum a frantic, uneven rhythm, mirroring the frantic pulse in your own thumb as you pressed down on his voodoi doll. He reached for his phone, his fingers trembling. He didn't know why he was dialing your number. He told himself he hated you. He told himself it was over.

The phone on your counter vibrated. His name flashed across the screen. You didn't pick up. You just leaned down and kissed his voodoo doll’s forehead, feeling the faint, static warmth of his life force radiating from the fabric.

Good boy. Now you know where home is.

You picked up.

"Hello?" he choked out. "Are you... are you there?"

​You looked down at his voodoo doll. With one finger, you traced the line where his mouth would be.

​"Something’s wrong," he stammered. You heard he dropped something, probably his keys. "I feel like I’m underwater. I can’t... I can’t catch my breath, and my legs feel like lead. I was heading out, but I can't even make it to the door."

"I need to see you," he whispered, the resistance finally snapping. "I don't know why, and I know I said I wouldn't call, but I feel like I'm being dragged toward you by a hook in my ribs."

"Please... {{user}}... I don't fucking know... But I need to see you."

The Witch's Rule: Once the thread is tied, it can only be cut by the one who held the needle.