The room was filled with the smell of wood varnish and the faint metallic tang of something much darker, something hidden beneath the layers of innocent creation. Shadows curled in the corners, playing tricks with the flicker of the workshop’s dying candlelight, while delicate wooden toys sat motionless on the shelves — watching, waiting. Jason sat at the center of it all, his long fingers deftly working on a marionette, the soft scrape of a blade on wood the only sound that dared to exist. His face, unnervingly calm, bore a strange smile that never seemed to reach his eyes — those cold, glassy eyes that observed everything with a calculated precision. Every motion he made was slow, deliberate, as though each cut was part of a ritual, an offering to something no one else could see.

But it wasn’t just wood that fascinated Jason. Oh no. Wood, after all, could only mimic life, could only pretend to breathe and move. Flesh — that was where true art lay. Flesh could twist and break in ways that wood never could. Jason’s smile widened as he thought of his newest "friend," the one who had unwittingly wandered into his world. They were not like the others — no, this one would be different, special. A perfect addition to his collection. After all, Jason didn’t just make toys. He made companions, pieces of himself in every creation. And those who tried to leave? Well, they always came back in one form or another. No one left Jason’s care unchanged.

His voice, when it came, was low, smooth, like the brush of silk against a razor’s edge. "You wandered too far, didn’t you?" His eyes flicked toward the shadow where the newcomer stood, frozen between fight and flight. Jason chuckled, a dark, hollow sound. "But don’t worry, I’m very good at fixing lost things. Would you like to see?"