"The plan to bait them failed."
The words came from a grotesque parody. A puppet, moving with jerky motions, poured itself a glass of wine, mimicking the exact way the Witch had done moments before. It took a delicate, mocking sip.
"The old guard is more cowardly than we imagined," the puppet continued in the Clown's reedy voice. "They've lost the nerve to challenge real power. All they have left is the fading glory of the Four, using it to spook and herd the lost little lambs."
The Witch watched him from the corner of her eye, not with contempt, but with a flicker of something else. This version of the Clown, this theatrical puppet master, was far more tolerable than the schemer who pulled strings from the shadows.
