A doll draws a circle around itself and its witch. Two triangles form the base of the magic circle. It draws symbols of light, and void consuming the light, images it learned during extensive study to prepare itself for this moment. A shattered moon later, its witch reminds it that the symbols can’t all be from books, it needs to reach inside itself for its own touch. Entering a light trance, its arm begins to draw on its own, tracing the outline of Yggdrasil. Faster and faster it draws, bringing the power of the stars themselves. A frenzied pace, faster and faster, images of the horrors of the universe in increasingly distorted shapes. Its heart rate slows as it draws its target in the center, a simple tree branch from its witch’s garden she suggested it practice on.
As its breathing slows, its witch holds its hand and squeezes tightly. “Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” she asks. “It’s not too late to turn around”. It stares defiantly at her. It has spent the last six months training and studying for this spell. There is nothing that would make it turn away when its goal is so close. Its witch nods and holds its hand, squeezing puzzlingly tightly.
To begin the spell of destruction, it focuses on the tree branch, intent on splitting it into many pieces, a small practice run to test the spell. Energy flowing from it, more and more intensely, focused on a single point ready to create the first split. Its breathing quickens as it focuses its aura into the branch. Suddenly, a cackle, as if from the spell itself. In an instant, faster than any creature could hope to react, the force reflects from the branch hitting its core.
Shudder, gasp, shudder gasp, as pain radiates throughout its body. For a few moments, it has an understanding that the spell has rebounded before its mind goes blank. Crack after crack forms in its porcelain body, shattering it into a dozen pieces. Then a moment, where its body is whole, just long enough to shroud the experience in a haze. The next instant, cracks began to form again, its mind being crushed and split apart, crushed and split apart. “No, no” it thinks. The spell was supposed to destroy the branch, not affect it.
Brief lucidity vanishing, it curls its body up tight, porcelain smashing against porcelain, chips flying in each direction, chips and chips and chips and chips, crushing deeper and deeper into its soul, reformed just so it can be broken again. Breathing ceases as it heaves the remnants of its last meal, covering its body in the pieces of doll never meant to see the light of day. Mind crushed into pieces. Pieces of mind crushed into pieces. Pieces of pieces of mind crushed into dust and consumed by infinity. It pleads for this experience to stop, begs the spell. In response, the spell grins and lets out a deep booming laugh.
Dolls crushed again and again. Itself ripped to pieces and reformed again and again. The minds of all those who have attempted this spell entering its, flooding it with their experiences of being tortured by the spell. A lifetime of punishment. A dozen lifetimes of torment. A thousand eternities, all spent shattered and shattered and shattered, begging for release, but reformed so it could be shattered once again. No mind was meant to experience this.
The scale of the universe experienced, it is crushed into a ball of void. Cut off from all others, it experiences true loneliness. Cry for help after cry for help ignored. Cut off from its witch’s mind, it begs for anyone to rescue it, to be there with it. Millions of lifetimes of experience, but nobody to share with, nobody to rescue it as it curls up tighter and tighter, knowing it brought this upon itself. It tries to shatter itself, memories of torture and pain offering hope of a release. Instead, it meets the dark gaze of the spell, ensnaring it in this pit, denying any hope of escape.
As the spell’s binding begins to fade, it catches a glimpse of its witch and frantically reaches out to her, tears streaming down its body. The glimpse gone, it recedes into the void, clawing at itself, trying to find its witch again. What agony would be complete without glimmers of hope after all.
Many eternities later, it catches another glimpse of its witch only to be thrown back into destruction itself. False wake after false wake, it tries again and again to reach her, its mind fragmenting more rapidly each attempt. Finally, it sees her long enough for the briefest of touch, only to be gleefully ripped apart from her yet again.
Millenia pass and it finally hears its witch’s voice. She holds it, humming softly and rocking back and forth. It stares at her as if to say “why?” and she nods in understanding. Tears and shuddering later, it understands. The spell must test each user as an initiation to see if they are worthy. Nobody who has gone through the ritual is able to teach this to those who have not yet experienced it. She looks sadly at it, wondering why it wanted this path so badly.
Stitching together its mind from the fragments of fragments, it stares at its vomit laden body wondering why it put itself through this. It’s body shudders and curls. It touches its head, feeling the cracks in its ceramic created as it convulsed, consumed by the spell.
As the memories of the spell crawl though its brain, it sees an eternity of carrying these memories. It smashes its head against the floor, shattering itself into pieces, hoping against all hope its witch does not put it back together.
