Poppy felt her insides freeze. She could be manipulated so easily, so readily. She wouldn’t even notice it. This was her worst fear realized. The fear of not having control of herself…except, the whole time, she’ll think she has control of herself and that was somehow worse. To be miserable without knowing your miserable just sucks. Poppy looked down at her hands and tried to swallow down the fear creeping up her spine. She peeked up at Henrietta through her blonde bangs, analyzing her, inspecting her.

But what was the point. She could have already gotten underneath Poppy’s skin, she could even know Poppy’s thoughts, she could be _planting _Poppy’s thoughts.

“How do I know you’re not manipulating me?” Poppy blurted before she could help it, the fear itching at the back of her mind. “You say that people are scared of you because that’s what they’re afraid of. And, well, how do you get them to know that you aren’t manipulating them? ‘Playing them like a fiddle’?”

And yet, despite the fear rushing through her body, there was something laying at the bottom of it, sifting like sand underneath water. An undeniable respect. The power Henrietta has, why, Poppy wish she could have it. Even if she had to be lonely, that would be such an amazing power to have. Poppy squeezed her fists together. Even though she was scary beyond hell, Poppy would have joined her if she had to join a side. Before she could think more on the amazement she had for this being, the fear rushed back with one thought: _what if this wasn’t her respect to give?_ What if she was being manipulated? It didn’t _feel_ like she was being manipulated.