Petrichoria watched, as she always did, for her doll at the window. She worried so very much about it, out and about eight, nine hours out of the day. It was, assuming things were running like clockwork (and they usually were, given her doll's hybrid chrono-organic construction), about an hour --
Scratch that, zero minutes, 'til the doll returned. Early, today. Very, very early. Uh oh. The doll pulled up into the drive in its tiny little hamster car. It parked, and stepped out with slow, listless hoofsteps. There were gold tears running down its cheeks that Petrichoria could see even from the window. Double uh-oh. She rose from her perch on the couch and waited near the front door.
The door didn't open -- she could hear the tiny metal hooves tapping out in front of it, the ticking of her doll's mechanical heart. The sound of suppressed weeping, choked-out sobs stopped halfway out of the doll's vocal chords.
Sigh. Petrichoria opened the door herself, putting on her kindest, most soothing smile, the one she used whenever something set the doll off-kilter.
"Synchro, my dear, do come inside. It's awfully chilly out there."
The doll looked up at her in half-surprise; why she was surprised, Petrichoria couldn't guess. They'd done this routine before. Maybe it was just another going-through of the motions, another small but important indicator of just what was going on in Synchronicity's head. The doll always opened the front door herself; she only sat there and waited if she thought she was going to be...
"You know I won't lay a finger on you, nor raise my voice, dear. Come in before you catch cold." Petri took the doll by one of its small, smooth hands, and lead it inside, over to the couch where they both sat. Petri laid down across it, and let the little doll lay down across her in turn. It buried its head in her shoulder, and she could feel the tears soaking into her shirt, feel the little, mewling sobs as breath against her clothes and skin. She lifted a hand and idly rubbed at the back of the doll's head, shushing her in gentle tones. "It's alright, my sweet. You have my promise that whatever has occurred, you still have my love, and always will."
Synchro nodded. "'m sorry," it mumbled, "'m such a fuckup."
"Hush," Petrichoria said, "You are no such thing. What happened?"
Silence, for a moment. A few more wracked sobs. "...quit," it said, "Was too scary. Thought was going to die. Guuh--gears, pinging and, and... and... 'm sorry, am sorry..."
"That's okay, my dear," Petri cooed, "You tried, and that alone is all I wished of you. You have not sinned, my dear, only done what you must have. I would rather you be here, and comfortable, than laboring and near-catatonic. If anybody ought be sorry, I think, perhaps it should be me."
Synchro looked up, some kind of intent suddenly in her eyes. "No, miss! Y-You should not be sorry for anything! Miss has not done anything wrong!"
"Oh?" Petrichoria replied, "Yet, I am the one who pushed you to take that position, did I not? I am the one who told you of it, who encouraged you into it. It is my failure, if anything."
"N-No! Miss did not sin! Miss did only want the best for this one, it is not her fault we were not up to the... task..."
Petrichoria allowed herself a little grin as she watched the gears behind the doll's eyes tick. "And it is not your fault, either, that they asked more of you than you could give. Do you understand, my dear? There is no fault, here. Nothing to be gained by assigning it, only lost. You did not fail me, and I would hope I have not failed you."
"...yeah," Synchro half-whispered, "'spose... Miss is right. Just... tired, of this. Wish we could be useful like the others. Smart like the others. Rather than odd one out, of our sisters and brothers."
"You are useful, dear. Smart, as well. Just because you are not identical in what *areas* you are useful in, intelligent in, does not mean you aren't those things. You will find your niches, Sync. I promise you, with all the time we have in this world, you will find them, and I will be at your side when you do. Now."
Petrichoria pushed the little doll off into her own section of the couch, and rose. "I think it's about time for some tea, don't you?"
Synchronicity lit up like a circle of candles and glitter, and rose from the couch with her. "Ch-Chamomile, perhaps?"
"Of course, little one," Petrichoria replied, as they walked off into the kitchen, "Whatever would make you happy."
