“Knowledge without justice ought to be called cunning rather than wisdom.”
-Plato

Dora inhaled slightly, enjoying the vaguely dusty smell of old books as she entered the Professor’s small office. She’d always loved that telltale library smell; if knowledge had a scent, this was it. Even though she didn’t actually want to be in this office, at this hour, with these people, that scent at least offered her some familiar comfort.

Well. Perhaps “these people” was too harsh; she had nothing but respect for Professor Chambers. The old man was the textbook example of a professional academic: late fifties, balding with some gray remaining around the temples, usually clad in some sort of sweater vest. Though a strict academic mentor, he was also quite fair, and Dora knew that he wouldn’t have called her at almost ten in the evening unless it was something quite important.

No, the person she couldn’t stand was Jessie, her fellow TA and all around general snob. Jess was arrogant, moneyed, and constantly looking to appear better at her rival’s expense. What’s worse, at least to Dora, was that Jess was also quite capable, backing up her cold style with some solid substance. Regardless, being called from home this late at night wasn’t going to make the other woman any easier to deal with than normal, and Dora wished one of them might have had the sense to turn the professor down.

(And, really, was it too much to ask that Jessie not show up to this impromptu meeting looking like she just stepped off a catwalk? Dora had been about to go to bed, herself, and had to throw on some jeans and her “Hobbits are Tolkien minorities” t-shirt.)

Yet here they were, in the Professor’s office, in the bowels of the archeology department, watching the older man search through his storage lockers with palpable excitement. “So, so sorry to have called you both so late at night,” he said absently, as he unlocked another drawer. “But I’ve got a special guest visiting this evening, and she’s bringing quite the find with her. We’ll want to catalogue it and begin translating it immediately.”

“Why couldn’t she wait until morning?” Jessie asked bluntly, tactless as ever. Dora frowned at her, even as the professor responded.

“She’s traveling from overseas,” he explained, pulling a small plastic container with a serial number printed upon its label. “And she wanted to meet with me as soon as she arrived. And this,” he opened the container, setting it upon his desk for the two young women to observe. “Is what she wants to discuss.”

Dora peered inside, a bit surprised. The container held a small, dark blue gemstone, about the size of a golf ball. There was a minute, almost illegible inscription upon the side, but not in any language, living or dead, that the girl could immediately recognize. “I haven’t seen this artifact before, Professor,” she admitted, somewhat disturbed by the…odd way light reflected off its surface.

“I have,” Jess noted haughtily. “I tried to classify it last summer. It’s so far the only one known of its kind. Even the language inscribed on its side is completely unknown.”

The Professor nodded eagerly. “It’s been a mystery and a curiosity since its discovery some few years ago. No one has any idea what culture it came from. It was donated to the museum by a private collector, and even he admitted that he’d purchased it with a mixed lot, with no idea of its origin. And just a few days ago, I received word from a woman claiming to have an entire illuminated manuscript in this script. She should be here shortly…”

Even as Chambers finished his thought, the sound of high heels clicking along the linoleum floor of the adjacent hallway validated his estimate. Without waiting to be invited in, the owner of the confident stride swung the door open, surveying the room for a moment before entering.

Dora had to admit, this woman wasn’t at all what she was expecting. She’d expected someone more…academic, perhaps an older professor like Chambers. She hadn’t expected…this. Professor Chambers’ guest cut a striking, almost intimidating figure. She was tall, well over six feet in the black heels that had heralded her approach. She wore a matching black business suit which almost, but not quite, drew attention away from her impressive bust and obviously athletic physique. Her short, dirty blonde hair contrasted with her sapphire-blue eyes. It was those eyes that seemed the most intense, scanning and obviously analyzing the room in an almost mechanical manner.

In a moment, however, she was apparently satisfied with her survey of the room, and turned her attentions to its occupants. “Good evening,” she noted, with an accent that Dora couldn’t quite place. It was almost some strain of English, but different enough that the grad student was certain she’d never heard one quite like it. “Thank you for seeing me so late, Professor.”

“Oh, think nothing of it, ma’am,” Chambers replied, with a moment’s hesitation. It seemed he was as put off by his visitor as Dora herself; even the normally-implacable Jessie was cautious in her presence. “Ms. Merla, correct?”

The amazon nodded. “Marcella Merla,” she replied. “You may call me as you like, provided you have the artifact.” Her eyes darted to the other women in the room. “I was under the impression we’d be undisturbed. Who are they?”

“Oh, they’re my assistants from the local college. I thought it would be useful to have additional hands on deck, if-“

The woman, this Marcella Merla, cut him off curtly. “As you wish. The artifact?”
Chambers bit back his obvious displeasure at her rudeness, and gestured to the box on his desk. “The gem is right here. Now, as for your artifact?”

Without any sense of drama or presentation, Marcella reached into the leather satchel at her hip, removed a large, bound tome, and placed it upon the desk. Chambers let out a small gasp of both wonder and horror: he was clearly as amazed with the book itself as he was with her almost callous disregard of its value. The aged academic moved to get a pair of rubber cloves and other supplies, impatiently gesturing for Jessie to assist him.

Dora was less slighted by the fact that he choose Jessie over her, (in fairness, Jess had worked with the gemstone and had some familiarity with the marks), and more terrified that this division of labor left her to entertain Marcella alone. The stranger’s eyes scanned Dora with an almost predatory look of arrogant detachment, as if she was beneath contempt. The younger woman wanted to be…anywhere but here, right at this moment.

“My…my name’s Dora,” she managed, not quite making eye contact. She proffered a hand, which Marcella ignored.

“Short for ‘Pandora’?” Marcella asked curtly.

“Ah, actually, ‘Isadora’. I don’t think I’d want to be called ‘Pandora’.” Dora forced a laugh. “Not the best namesake, right? Although I guess she gets a bad rap; she gave us Hope, along with the Plagues.”

“That’s one way to look at it. More likely, Hope is the worst plague of all. It gives the other their potency. Without Hope, Despair lacks any context, and loses its venom.” Marcella replied, as her probing gaze fell upon Dora’s t-shirt. “So. You like Tolkien. I found his little stories to be the worst type of propaganda. And vastly inaccurate.”

Dora…had no idea what to make of these (frankly insane) statements, and remained quiet. “Not that he was a stupid man, of course,” the stranger went on. “His analysis of Beowulf was surprisingly profound. Did you read it?”

“I…I might have skimmed it in undergrad,” Dora admitted, feeling embarrassed by not knowing.

“His point was that your academics had become so focused on what the poem could tell them about the culture and times it was created in, that they lost sight of the work as an actual piece of literature. And you people clearly haven’t taken this lesson to heart. Your peers here are scouring over my book for signs of its origin, and to place its language. Not once have you all thought to wonder what its actual purpose is.”

Jessie looked up, eyes hard. “It can’t have any purpose, Ms. Merla,” she said coldly.

Marcella’s expression grew dark. “And why is that, student?”

Professor Chambers stepped between them, trying to be much more gracious. “I’m afraid, Ms. Merla, that you’ve been taken in. This book is clearly a forgery. The language appears to be the same as on the gem, and the book is a traditionally-made illuminate manuscript, but it can’t be more than a few years old. There’s no way it’s anywhere near the same age as the gemstone.”

Marcella gave the older man a look that could wilt a healthy plant. “You’re insulting my intelligence and my integrity,” she snarled. “I never once told you that the book was ancient. I know exactly how old it is; I made it myself.”

“Yourself?” Dora spoke up, clearly confused. “Then why-“

With a lightning-fast motion, Marcella grabbed the gemstone from its perch on the Professor’s desk, retrieving it before the startled academic could properly articulate a protest. She held it up to the light, admiring its unearthly glow. “I can see why you keep this one out of your exhibits,” She noted. “It’s too fine to be wasted on common rabble who won’t appreciate its beauty, or utility.”

Dora had never seen Professor Chambers as enraged as he was in that moment, practically trembling in an attempt to retain his professional demeanor. “Ms. Merla! I’ve had it up to here with your behavior! Return the gemstone and kindly leave, or I’ll have no choice but to alert security.”

Marcella shot him a challenging glance. “Are you quite certain, Professor? You’re not curious as to what this gem’s purpose is?”

“This is your last chance, Ms. Merla,” he said, ignoring her taunts. “Don’t make this any more unpleasant than you already have.”

“Oh, don’t worry, little man,” Marcella chuckled. “It’s going to be vastly more pleasant in a few moments. Well, for me, anyway.”

Dora saw motion out of the corner of her eye; clearly, Jessie had endured enough of this nonsense, and was already advancing upon Marcella, set to take the gem back by force if need be. She wouldn’t get the opportunity, however; Marcella began to whisper…something, in a tongue Dora had never heard before. The light reflecting off of the gem seemed to refract, splitting into a series of smaller beams and showering the room.

The effect was such as to force Dora to close her eyes, even as an almost overwhelming feeling of vertigo passed through her. She stumbled onto her knees, shaking violently until she briefly slipped out of consciousness.
The linoleum tile was still cool to her touch when Dora awoke; she couldn’t have blacked out for more than a few seconds. As she tried to regain herself, however, it became clear that she wasn’t in the Professor’s office anymore. In fact, she couldn’t really tell where she was. The floor certainly felt like linoleum, but the pattern was off...

She looked around, seeing Professor Chambers and Jessie pulling themselves off the floor as well. No sooner had they done so, however, than a series of vibrations sent the trio back to the ground. With an overwhelming sense of dread, she slowly turned around, and suppressed a scream.

Marcella Merla was standing before them. Or rather, she was towering above them, a living, breathing skyscraper of feminine power. It took Dora more time than she was proud to admit to realize the obvious: she and her peers had somehow been reduced in size…shrunken to a few inches in height.

“So,” Marcella spoke, confident those at her feet fully understood the implications of their situation. “You see my point now, little Pandora? You were all so caught up in the details surrounding the gem as to miss the obvious point of its purpose.”

She stomped her left foot for no other reason than to toss the trio off of their feet once more. “Not that I can fully blame you, you know,” she went on. “Your society, nay, your entire realm, seems to have turned its back on the magical arts entirely, relegating it to the worlds of myth and fantasy. Surprise! It’s not. And while I may not be as adept as my mentor, this little bauble gives me more than enough control and energy to reduce you three to a physical status much more appropriate to your relative significance.”

“This…why are you doing this?” Professor Chambers managed, trying to regain some control of the situation.

The shoe’s movement had to have been fast, but it seemed from Dora’s perspective to be moving in slow motion. She saw Marcella lift her left foot about six inches from the ground; it was certainly a meager space, but more than enough to overcome any of the terrorized tinies on the floor. Already realizing the outcome, the Professor lifted his arms above his head in an instinctive (if comically futile) motion to protect himself. Dora saw Jessie run towards the man in an equally futile attempt to push him out of the way, but it was plainly not to be.

For her part, Dora took the opportunity to try and flee while the enormous Marcella’s attentions were temporarily focused elsewhere; as a result of this, she didn’t see the moment of impact which completely obliterated her mentor’s form. She certainly felt it, however, as she was once again thrown off of her feet. The breath was knocked completely out of her upon hitting the ground, and this third time off her feet proved to be the charm. She realized it clearly: she couldn’t escape. Her life and death were entirely in Marcella’s hands. Or rather, at her feet.

Jessie let out an enraged cry of pain as the titanic terrorist moved her foot and revealed the flat red smear that was Professor Chamber’s remains. If Marcella was at all off put by the display, she didn’t show it. Instead, far above them, her eyes gleamed with obvious amusement.

“So, let that be a lesson to you two,” she spoke calmly, her voice completely penetrating Dora’s being. “I trust there will be no further disrespect? You see, insects, we’re going to play a little game, and if you win, I might allow you to survive. If you play a poor hand, your teammate will pay the consequences. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Fuck you!” Jessie screamed at the top of her lungs. “Just kill us and get it over with!”

“Well, I certainly will, if you don’t play along,” Marcella replied. “But you have a chance to live, if you-“

“We’re not idiots, you fucking whore!” Jessie continued to scream, face red with rage. “And we won’t play along for your stupid little thrills!”

Marcella’s expression changed to the exact type of disappointment Dora might have upon finding out that “Castle” was a rerun that night; an unfortunate result, but no big deal. “As you wish. I don’t need anything else from this place, so I may as well end-“

“I’ll play along.”

Dora didn’t feel herself saying it as she said it; she distinctly felt as if she was watching herself react from a distance. But she certainly agreed with the sentiments. She was going to get out of this alive, no matter what she had to do.

Jessie wasn’t nearly so understanding. “You…Dora, don’t-“

Another quick stomp of Marcella’s foot threw both of them off of their feet once more. “Silence, maggot,” she snapped to Jessie. “Pandora and I are speaking.”
Returning her gaze to Dora, Marcella gave a grin which sent shivers down the small girl’s spine. “You’ve made a wise decision, little one. You may walk away from this yet. Here’s the game; it’s like your ‘hangman’, but in reverse. I’m going to give you five opportunities to convince me to spare your thoroughly worthless life. If you can do so, you live. If not, you’ll die. Eventually.”

Dora nodded, forcing herself to think as calmly and rationally as possible. “What about Jessie?” she asked, stealing one last glance at her rival.

“Oh, she has a very important role in this,” Marcella chuckled, kneeling to grab the small student. “She’s the scoreboard.”

Jessie didn’t try to run as the relatively enormous hand reached for her. Rather, she practically leaped into it, trying to bite and scratch and do whatever she could to inflict some measure of pain on her tormentor. If she was at all successful, Marcella certainly wasn’t showing any signs of it.

“So, let’s begin,” Marcella went on, clearly entertained by this turn of events. “Why shouldn’t I end your sad little life, ant?”

Despite her efforts to remain calm, Dora was still shaking all over, focused on the ground in front of her. “I…there’s no reason to. I won’t tell anyone what happened, and you’ll never-“ A tiny but incredibly pained shriek emerged from above her, and Dora looked up despite herself. She instantly regretted it.

Marcella had evidently bitten Jessie’s right leg off. The tiny girl was screaming and swearing uncontrollably, and the smallest hint of blood was visible on the demented titan’s lips. She swallowed slightly, and shook her head.

“Oh, that’s no good, Pandora. Whatever slight bit of amusement I’d get from crushing the life from the fragile little bag of pus that passes for your body is easily worth your life to me. Try again.”

“I…I…I’m a student of archeology,” Dora offered. “I could research for you…find more…”

“Better,” Marcella cut her off. “You’re trying to assign yourself some value, in any case. Unfortunately for your case, I’m an autodidact, and am quite capable of doing my own research. The only field I need tutelage and research in is one you are thoroughly unqualified for.”

Dora should have looked away, but a deathly morbid curiosity compelled her to watch. Jessie was still screaming and writhing and bleeding in Marcella’s grasp, continuing to curse her and Dora’s names and parentage. With almost delicate care, the cruel giantess pried Jessie’s left arm free, and simply bit it off. The bite was so quick and precise that it was almost imperceptible from Dora’s placement on the floor.

Jessie’s screaming continued as her wound gushed blood. Glancing a bit further upwards, Dora could see Marcella’s eyes flutter slightly, as if the experience were one of ecstasy. Which, Dora realized, for her, it probably was.

“You’re running out of chances, little Pandora,” Marcella purred. “Try. Again.”

She wasn’t just running out of chances; Dora was desperately running out of ideas. “I’ll do…anything,” she offered. “Anything you want. Just…just name it…”

“Well, now, that certainly is an ambitious offer,” the giant chuckled. “But I already have a servant, and she’s much more useful that you’ve shown yourself to be.”

Almost casually, Marcella clicked her teeth together, removing Jessie’s remaining leg. At this point, the unexpected happened: the tiny girl’s struggles slowly ceased. Her captor frowned, inspecting her closely.

“Oh,” she said simply. “The little thing’s gone into shock. How disappointing.”
Marcella slipped the girl’s body into her mouth with the same ease that Dora would have dealt with an errant M&M. “Well, we certainly can’t finish the game with her in such a useless state. I suppose you’re off the hook.”

“…you’re letting me go?” Dora asked, barely able to believe what she was hearing.

“Why not?” Marcella asked absently, turning to retrieve the gem and her book from the deceased Professor’s desk. After a moment’s contemplation, she took another book that seemed to catch her interest, as well. “It’s not your fault your friend proved even more useless than previously thought. The spell should lose potency within the hour, and you’ll return to your normal proportions.”

Dora fell to her knees, practically sobbing in relief. She hardly even noticed the tremors as Marcella crossed the room to the door; her mind was already on what she’d do once she was normal again. She was going back to her apartment, and going to pack everything she owned, and leave this city, and never return, and-

“Isadora?” Marcella called, as she paused in the open door frame. “Do you remember what I said about Hope?”

With a dismissive flick of her wrist, Marcella tossed the Professor’s book to the floor, exactly where Dora was crouched. The tiny girl didn’t have time to react, not even able to rise to her feet. For the brief instant before the impact completely and irrevocably shattered her form into gore, Dora found herself overwhelmed by the vaguely dusty smell of the old book.

This time, it didn’t offer her any comfort.