95 The Essence of the Dead

"That's…" Orwell leaned his back to the sofa, still perplexed and surprised. He massaged his temples and then readjusted his spectacles. It was a gesture he had when he was confused—it developed when he was researching back at the academy; he could never imagine he would be so perplexed at things that aren't pertaining to research.

"It's what happened," Faustina says. "The marionette pretended to be Eula to lure me, and it also wanted me to step to the magic circle. It didn't want to hurt me—the puppet said He's waiting for me,"

"He?" Orwell scowled. "And it didn't hurt you? A creature made for inflicting damage did not hurt its captive?"

"It did hurt Owen, though."

"Well, he technically hurt himself. The hurt was from his attacks returned twofold, like me," Orwell says. "And you defeated the marionette with what? With you talking? How is that possible?"

Faustina sighed.

"I don't know."