Marionette

A good doll. it/its. Quiet aspirations of emptier spaces. 18+ only.

[a-doll-on-strings]

This one welcomes you. It was gifted the name Marionette.

In this place, one should be prepared for body horror (doll-based and otherwise), distress, despair, death, identity death, bondage, mind alteration, dubious consent, and occasional tenderness.

Whether this one lives up to those warnings has been...a matter of hot debate.

Its Miss appreciates your caution and respect.

Tags to be aware of:

#broken things : For sad stories

(A mask, a shell, a sort of reflection of @bonesrambles. But most importantly, a very good doll.)

[godless-femininity]

Counterpoint, what if you just ripped out our heart and joints and flesh and veins and bones and brain and soul and replaced us with a porcelain clockwork doll. I bet you never thought of that!

[a-doll-on-strings]

A doll that wears glasses. An odd holdover, but one its witch decides to allow.

Its vision is perfect, the witch ensured that much. If anything, the glasses make the doll clumsy, imprecise. Pouring tea well past cups, tripping on rugs.

But no matter how many times it stumbles, or trips, or spills, or breaks, it just huffs, adjusts its glasses, and returns to its task.

The witch could remove its fixation. She could give it costume glasses. But its huffing amuses her so. And teacups can be replaced, tablecloths cleaned…

She forbids it from holding anything precious and allows it to continue.

Over months, it becomes her faithful shadow. Equal parts terror and delight to guests who either share her amusement or know better than to say otherwise.

Until the day she asks it to fetch a book she left on her bedside table, upstairs.

Something in the witch shatters when she hears the crash from the foyer, and for the first time in a century, she runs.

She can see she's too late before she enters, but she doesn't cry until she hears a crunch under her heel.

Glasses, as hopelessly broken as the doll that wore them.