Chapter 62: The Fish Bites the Hook

Looking at the tiny doll before her, Audrey remembered her childhood.

That was ten years ago, shortly after her first stage performance and the onset of her social anxiety—perhaps the darkest period of her life—during which she locked herself at home, refusing to see or speak with anyone except her two mothers and her sister.

It was during this time that her aunt Noerose happened to visit her home and showed her the possibilities of puppets.

Audrey clearly remembered it was a sunny day; outside, sunlight streamed brightly, but she had shut all windows and drawn the curtains, hiding alone in a dark room, trembling.

Even then, alone, she still felt the illusion of countless eyes watching her—she was certain that in every corner, beneath the bed, in every crevice, eyes were opening, staring at her with greedy hunger, as if they would devour her whole the moment she let her guard down.

Too young to do anything, all she could do was curl up inside her beloved quilt, imagining its angelic down feathers were an invincible defense barrier, shielding her from those hateful gazes.

But the quilt’s invincibility was only fantasy; that psychological barrier was eventually breached. When she felt something crawl into her quilt, little Audrey screamed and leapt from the bed, her already immense magic of tens of thousands of mana erupting uncontrollably, overturning the entire room and exposing the intruder.

It was a tiny spider-woman doll.

Yes, one of those monsters with a beautiful woman’s upper body and a grotesque spider’s lower half.

“Oh? Sorry I scared you—I just wanted to play a joke. Let me introduce myself: I’m your paternal mother’s cousin, Noerose. You can call me Auntie Two.”

The tiny puppet was slapped against the wall by magic, slid down, then staggered upright, introducing itself to Audrey like that.

This was her first meeting with Auntie Two.

Audrey’s social anxiety stemmed from the audience’s overly greedy stares—those eyes brimming with naked desire.

Someone less sensitive to emotion might not have noticed, but Audrey inherited part of a succubus’s ability—and no one needs to be told how keen demons are at sensing desire.

Perhaps those desires in their gazes were merely fantasies in the audience’s minds; people say fantasies are harmless, as long as they’re not acted upon—just thinking about them isn’t wrong.

You see a beautiful woman on the street, and from the first glance, you’ve already named your future children—but you’re too cowardly to even speak to her. Your fantasies mean nothing; the woman has no idea that, in another timeline, she married you and bore your children.

Normally, yes—but for Audrey, it was different.

The succubus’s core talent is called Source of Desire (SSR), an ability to perceive and understand every desire directed at oneself.

With this talent, succubi see their prey’s preferences crystal clear—they instantly know if the target is a dominatrix lover, a little girl enthusiast, a big-breasted fan, a flat-chested admirer, prefers black stockings or white, and so on—and then tailor their hunting posture accordingly.

That’s why the legend says succubi always appear in the form people desire most.

Audrey didn’t know whether it was luck or misfortune, but she inherited this talent from her paternal mother—so the audience’s desires in their stares were, to her, crystal-clear movies starring herself, and the content of those movies needed no elaboration.

True succubi might dismiss such filthy desires as proof of their charm, even delight in them—but Audrey was just a witch, not a succubus with their licentious nature.

As a cataclysmic race evolved from humans, witches may lead humans by countless generations in power and talent, but in the realm of the soul, they’ve barely advanced.

Naturally, little Audrey, who encountered the world’s ugliness so young, couldn’t endure it—her social anxiety and autism took root then.

But Audrey feared only people—or more precisely, fellow witches—whose filthy desires targeted her; after all, she couldn’t just fly into a rage over someone’s private fantasies.

The Eastern immortals once said: judge by deeds, not intentions; judge by intentions, and no one is holy.

Even ordinary members of powerful races like witches cannot fully control their own minds—she couldn’t pull out her wand and duel someone just because they imagined something, or she’d be the one appearing insane.

And as a witch who pursues art, could she really fight her audience every day?

Precisely because she understood this, Audrey felt powerless—since she couldn’t control others’ thoughts, she could only hide away, refusing to see.

But if she hid, how could she pursue her dream of art?

That was the source of little Audrey’s pain and confusion.

But on that day, in the rubble of her room—roof torn open by wild magic—looking at the lifelike spider-woman puppet before her, Audrey’s shadowed heart, like the room now bathed in sunlight, was suddenly illuminated.

To others, this spider-woman puppet might still seem terrifying, triggering the uncanny valley effect—many people fear overly realistic dolls.

But as a witch, Audrey wasn’t frightened—and perhaps because it was a puppet, her talent didn’t activate; after all, this soulless doll couldn’t harbor any desire for her.

So if I can’t go on stage myself, why not stay behind the scenes and let my puppet perform instead?

Though as the puppet’s magical conduit, she still sensed others’ desires toward it, but watching movies starring the puppet was far easier to bear than those starring herself—and most normal people wouldn’t develop strange desires toward a puppet anyway.

This also solved her problem of finding partners to collaborate with; after all, dance and song rarely exist as solo acts—they need backup dancers or musicians—but given her condition, she could only possibly work with her two mothers.

But with her mother’s fame, who would be the star and who the supporting act? Though her mothers believed Audrey would surpass them someday, Audrey knew clearly that right now, she was merely green leaves highlighting their brilliance.

After all, dancers and singers aren’t just about looks—even if Audrey was beautiful, in professional skill, she was still vastly inferior to her two mothers.

But if everything were puppets, this problem vanished: if she could control enough puppets, Audrey herself could become an entire dance and song troupe.

With this thought, from then on, she embarked on the path of creating a puppet theater.

Unfortunately, this path proved far harder than she’d imagined.

Rigid puppets have limits—some witch dances simply can’t be replicated by puppets; the artistry of living beings versus inanimate objects is entirely different, and puppet theater is inherently niche, mostly appealing to children and so on.

In short, over the years, Audrey faced far more difficulties and setbacks than she’d expected—if she hadn’t developed social anxiety, following her mothers’ original plan, at sixteen she’d already be standing on the grand stage of the Venus Theater, the holy ground of witch performers and the artistic center of the witch world, basking in global admiration.

But reality was that after all her efforts, the puppet theater she’d poured her heart into couldn’t even secure a basic official stage—she was reduced to being a minor online streamer on the magic web, with only a few hundred thousand fans.

Realizing how hard this path was, Audrey didn’t plan to give up—so she came to the Witch Academy to learn puppetry further from Auntie Two, determined to create the perfect puppet capable of carrying her artistic dream.

But reality slapped her hard again.

Her once-proud talents and knowledge had been shattered by some random classmate, and even Auntie Two, her trusted relative, had suddenly taken a new interest—she felt as if the whole world had abandoned her.

A person’s collapse often happens in an instant—right now, the little fox’s mind teetered on the edge of breakdown; she began doubting whether she was just a clown.

Hmm, maybe she shouldn’t have formed a dance troupe at all—circus was her true destiny; she’d be perfect as a clown.

Before, Audrey was merely socially anxious—now she was nearly autistic.

Tired. So tired. I’m no genius, my talent’s poor, my mindset’s terrible—why bother? Might as well lie down and wait to die.

That’s what she thought.

But just as this despairing darkness was about to engulf her again, as it had ten years ago, another tiny puppet stood before her.

And perhaps due to her exhaustion, Audrey felt this puppet was extraordinarily exquisite—as if it were the very perfect puppet she’d been desperately seeking, capable of carrying her artistic dream.

The tiny puppet stood before her now, lifelike, vivid—lifeless, yet radiating vitality.

“Hey, awake yet, Miss Audrey?”

The tiny golden-haired, blue-eyed witch puppet waved at her, cupping her palms to her mouth like a megaphone and shouting.

This time, its voice wasn’t the dull metallic synthesis—it was a clear, sweet little girl’s tone.

“Hmm...”

Since it was a puppet, Audrey wasn’t overly frightened—she nodded instinctively, even making a sound.

The tiny puppet immediately beamed with joy.

Audrey rubbed her eyes, certain she hadn’t imagined it—she’d actually seen expression on the puppet’s face, and it was so natural.

Oh my god, puppets can be this detailed?

The little fox was stunned.

“Miss Audrey, do you know where the school holds faction evaluations? My master wants to go.”

The tiny puppet stepped forward, tugged Audrey’s pant leg, and swayed gently, pouting.

In that moment, the little fox felt she wasn’t facing a cold doll, but a lively, adorable little sister.

But when she finally couldn’t resist and reached out to grab the puppet, the hard, cold touch dragged her back to reality.

Simultaneously, another hand darted over and snatched the tiny puppet away.

“Hey, just look, don’t touch.”

Dorothy retrieved the puppet modeled after her sister Alice, then said coolly—while the tiny puppet Alice, hidden behind her hand, stuck out her tongue at Audrey.

Saying that, Dorothy ignored the junior’s reaction and walked on ahead.

Well, from her years of social anxiety experience, she knew that to communicate with another socially anxious person, you must start from their interests.

She’d noticed this junior seemed interested in puppets—perfect entry point.

And from the junior’s reaction—she’d almost reached out to grab the puppet—Dorothy knew her bait had worked.

Hmm, today’s goal achieved. With socially anxious people, too much enthusiasm makes them uncomfortable—so now, retreat and advance.

Sure enough, before Dorothy had taken a few steps, she sharply sensed a small tail following behind.

She stopped again, turning to face the timid junior.

“Miss Audrey, do you need something from my master?”

On her shoulder, the tiny Alice puppet abandoned teasing the cat and turned to look at Audrey, asking the same.

“........”

The little fox opened her mouth again, struggling to speak—but no words came. She paced anxiously, until finally, unable to bear it, she pulled out her own Q-version puppet from her tail.

“I—I know where the faction evaluations are.”

The fox puppet, clearly far cruder than Dorothy’s Alice, spoke in a cold metallic synthesis.

After speaking, Audrey stared at her former rival—now her senior—with her alluring fox-like eyes, waiting for a reply.

Dorothy’s lips curled slightly.

Heh, the fish is hooked.

Tsk, bullying this innocent kid makes me feel guilty—like I’m luring a little girl.

.....Shameful witch feels remorseful......