He could feel the digging in his head, tugging at memories the way fingers tugged at clothes, pawing for what was underneath. It was as disorienting as it was disturbing, making coherent thought a struggle. She was doing something to him, rearranging things to suit her, but he had no idea what, too preoccupied with trying just to think.
Through the mess, her voice came slithering into his head again. The words gave him something to focus on for a moment, making him fight the magic even harder. He was no one’s pet, not Jerry’s, and certainly not the psychowitch’s. Still, she was too powerful for him, her grip over his mind tight enough that the anger and struggle was reduced to a flicker of strength. What would normally have been a vehement snarl telling her to go fuck herself was strangled into a few pathetic, choked sounds, not recognizable as real words. Then his voice was gone again, his thoughts scattered once more. He was left completely powerless.