By his experience while dealing with his beloved dolls, wherever her soul might have once been, an odd sense of emptiness suddenly grew in its place, && it consumed fiercer than hunger itself– a thirst unquenchable. It was as though her throat && mouth were patched && no means of liquid could possibly assuage their dryness. No matter how soft && raw the flesh was, even the juicy blood that oozed from it should taste like sand in her mouth. Such was the fate of his little miscreants… though this one he believed to be different. If only slightly.
She might not recall the few times her body suddenly rose with a start as though out of impulse && threatened to bite him, but only thrice did she manage to sink her teeth into his garbs && tear the fabric. Twice were the times a limb fell off due to decay && begged to be replaced, && once did she speak words instead of mindless gurgling && gnarls. Not exactly words so much as a name… Joker, was it?
Had the Undertaker not pried into her life’s cinematic records, the moniker might have gone well over his head as some nattering matter to be sneezed at. Though the fact the empty cask she’d become had remembered the name of a loved one had to mean something. It was a first… the first to ever recollect a small fragment of herself from back when her skin was flush with life && her eyes moist with tears.
❝ My, my… a bit of an early bird, aren’t we? ❞ His falsetto came from the doorway, where the Mortician lingered with a porcelain pot in his hold. ❝ I didn’t think you’d wake this soon. Oh, how careless of me… ❞ Could she even understand a word he said? Earlier reactions had him trusting that was a fact, though who could have known? She was his finest piece yet, but to what extent?
Upon nearing her cozy cot inside of a custom made coffin, the Undertaker pored over her like a pilgrim to a map as if to gauge her every reaction. Then, he held out an open pot of homemade cookies her way, waiting to see how the woman would react.
❝ You must be hungry, no? Well then, by all means~ ❞
uncoordinated. that was the exact sensation. like a child just getting used to dark ambiences at night, with no light of candles aiding the sight. supporting her weight would have been much easier, were the girl not to also focus on the person getting closer. she had been right, then - she had not been alone. then where why did that sense of loneliness, idleness come from ? the figure was ominous, to say the least, but the mellifluous tone of voice was clashing by a lot with his physical appearance, or even his clothes. he looked ready to partake in some funeral procession. unsettling, to say the least, his grin and long nails. he was offering something to the girl, in a weird-looking pot.
while not concentrated too much on her words, she realised. suddenly, with no further doubts. she was hungry indeed. had he taken care of her ? rescued her ? she remembered bits and pieces of what she was supposed to do, but all was so puzzling that recomposing the different pieces was too hard, at least for now. plus, at the moment nothing did it matter more than her hunger, thirst too. how long had she been there, anyway. the man must have known.
yet something was off, the moment she drowned her hand in the creepy pot, still completely silent. no smell, nothing at all. what was he offering her ? but her hand produced what looked like a biscuit. shaped like a bone. charred, that specific one she had got, but food given as a present shouldn’t be subjected to a picky behaviour. still frowning at it, she realised with a delicate nibble that... it tasted horrible. or more specifically, it had no taste at all. and even to swallow the smallest piece resulted in a fatigue that bad it made her cough it all out, violently.
‘ The hell did you give me, you bastard ?! ’ she snapped, throwing the rest of the cookie away, into the complete, utter darkness. in an expression of pure disgust, she was impressed by the sudden intensity of her own tone of voice. hands moved to her throat, and eyes finally left the man to fall on herself. what was going on was still a mystery. but yet one weird sensation permeated her: her seat was definitely comfortable, soft even to the touch. yet it was now clear what it was. that would have explained the man towering over her, the softer inside... where, where was her leg ? ‘ And what is this ?! ’
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