#plandere

The vibrant tapestries and hand-carved trinkets that once adorned it now felt like a mockery of life. Loneliness, that insidious predator, had begun to gnaw at the edges of her sanity. Tilly, was her only solace. Tilly didn’t judge, didn't leave, didn't choose another. Tilly just was.

The hurt had festered, turning cold and sharp. Scott’s rejection wasn’t just a simple preference; it was a cosmic betrayal. The game had chosen them. It was destiny, immutable. How could he deny destiny? And Cleo… Cleo was a viper, stealing what was rightfully hers. Stealing her future. Stealing her connection.

Days bled into weeks. The sun rose and set, but Pearl barely noticed. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of fractured memories and twisted logic. Scott wasn’t rejecting her; he was simply confused. He was naïve, foolish, easily led astray by the likes of Cleo. Cleo, with her knowing smiles and her possessive gaze, acting like Scott’s protector, his keeper, his mother.

Mother. The word snagged in Pearl’s mind, a snagged thread in the unraveling tapestry. Cleo was trying to be his mother. But Cleo wasn’t his soulmate. Pearl was. And a soulmate’s bond was deeper, more fundamental. A soulmate knew how to truly take care of someone. A soulmate knew what was best.

The howling of wolves outside her window became a chorus, whispering new truths. A pack protected its young. A mother wolf nurtured her pups, kept them safe, taught them how to survive in a dangerous world. Scott was out there, vulnerable, easily swayed, a lamb amongst wolves. He needed her. Not as a lover, no. He had spurned that. But as something more profound. Something he couldn't reject.

He needed a mother.

The idea, once terrifying in its absurdity, began to blossom in her mind, fragrant and beautiful. He was lost. He didn’t know how to navigate the complexities of Double Life, the treachery of other players, the subtle dangers. He needed guidance. He needed protection. He needed her. And if Cleo was trying to be his mother, Pearl would be the real one. The only one.

The delusion solidified, hard and unyielding as granite. Scott wasn’t a man who had rejected her; he was a child who had strayed. A child who needed to be brought home, cherished, and sheltered from the cruel outside world. 

The night she came for him was moonless, shrouded in an oppressive fog that clung to the trees like funeral shrouds. Scott was alone in his small, shared cabin, Cleo having gone to scout for supplies. He’d drifted off, lulled by the distant drone of the forest.

He woke to a faint scratching at the door, then a soft thud. A waft of something sweet, cloying, invaded his senses. His head swam. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked him. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, weighted.

Then he saw her. Pearl, a silhouette against the barely discernible moonlight filtering through the window. Tilly stood beside her, a silent, furry shadow. Pearl moved with an unsettling grace, her eyes were glittering an manic intensity he’d never seen.

"Shhh, little one," she cooed, her voice a strange, high-pitched lullaby. "It's all right. Mommy's here."

Scott tried to call out, but his throat was thick, his tongue numb. He watched, helpless, as Pearl draped a heavy, hand-knitted blanket over him, tucking him in with an unsettling tenderness. Her hands, calloused from crafting, brushed his forehead.

"You've been so brave, my sweet boy," she whispered, stroking his hair. "But it's time to come home. Time for Mommy to keep you safe."

The last thing Scott saw before darkness claimed him entirely was the wolf’s head embroidered onto the blanket, its eyes staring blankly into the void.

When Scott awoke, the world was soft. Too soft. He blinked, disoriented. He was in a small, unfamiliar room. The air smelled of lavender and something vaguely medicinal. Sunlight, filtered through lace curtains, cast a gentle glow on floral wallpaper.

He sat up, his head still fuzzy. He was wearing… a onesie? A soft, pale blue garment with tiny silver stars sewn onto it. His clothes were gone. A sinking dread began to pool in his stomach.

"You're awake, pup!" Pearl's voice, bright and falsely cheerful, made him flinch. She entered the room carrying a tray with a bowl of something creamy and a sippy cup. Tilly padded in behind her, tail wagging, seemingly oblivious to the horror unfolding.

Pearl was dressed in a long, flowing dress, her hair braided with wildflowers. She looked like a figure from a children's storybook, an unsettlingly serene picture.

"Mommy made you breakfast!" she announced, her smile wide and unblinking. "Good, warm oatmeal. Just how you like it!"

Scott stared at the bowl. Oatmeal. He hated oatmeal. "Pearl, what… what is this?" he croaked, his voice rough.

Her smile faltered, a flicker of something dark crossing her face. "Now, now, we don't use that tone with Mommy, do we, sweetie? You're still a bit sleepy, I understand. But you need to eat your food to grow big and strong." She spooned a dollop of oatmeal and brought it to his lips.

Scott instinctively recoiled. "Get away from me, Pearl! What are you doing? Let me out of here!" He tried to scramble off the bed, but his legs felt heavy, uncooperative.

Pearl’s eyes widened, a hurt expression replacing the cheerful one. "Oh, my poor baby, you're still so confused. It's that awful Cleo, isn't it? Putting ideas in your head. Trying to turn you against your own mother. Don't worry, she can't get to you here. Mommy will keep you safe." She gently but firmly pushed him back onto the bed. "Now, open wide."

He twisted his head away. "I am not your baby! I'm literally older than you! You're… you're insane!"

Her face hardened, a mask of wounded parental authority. "That's not a nice word to say, little one. Mommy knows what's best. You've forgotten, haven't you? All the bad people out there, trying to hurt you. Mommy's just protecting her precious boy." She picked up the sippy cup. "Drink your juice. It'll make you feel better."

He slapped the cup away, sending orange liquid splattering across the floral duvet. "No! I'm not drinking that! I want to go home! I want Cleo!"

Pearl’s eyes narrowed. The playful sweetness vanished, replaced by a chillingly calm resolve. "Well, that's it, then." She sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. "If you're going to be a naughty little boy, Mommy will have to teach you. You wouldn't want Mommy to be sad, would you?"

She produced a small, silver bell from her pocket, shaped like a wolf’s head. She rang it once, a bright, clear chime that echoed in the small room. Tilly, ever obedient, nudged open a closet door Scott hadn't noticed. Inside, stacked neatly, were dozens of cloth diapers.

"You... Pearl, no, you can't be serious-"

Scott didn't even get to finish his sentence before he saw the look in her eye, and realised she was.

"Don't worry, baby, once we get you a clean diaper, I'm sure you'll feel much less fussy~"