Carlton blinked, his breath hitching as he stared at Morgana in sheer horror. He lowered his gaze to the dagger still clutched in his trembling hand, then at his own body. He felt nothing—no weight, no heat, not a single bone in his frame seemed to belong to him anymore. He was a statue of flesh, frozen in place by an invisible, suffocating will.
"You?! Why! Why can't I move?!!" he shrieked, his voice cracking.
"Come and untie us," a voice commanded. It was soft, but it carried the weight of an absolute decree.
"...?!"
Like a man under deep hypnosis, Carlton's back snapped straight. His eyes glazed over, losing their spark of malice and replacing it with a hollow, rhythmic obedience. He walked towards the two women with jerky, mechanical strides and began fumbling with the thick ropes.
"What are you doing, Son!!" Malcom yelled, his face contorting in shock as he watched his heir turn into a servant for the captives.
