#almone

[romeandart]

Woollen Mill of Almone http://www.romeandart.eu/it/arte-valche-almone.html VISIT: Caffarella Park (street view) https://goo.gl/maps/GV5EDRK5aZC2 and https://goo.gl/maps/PdUU32yZ7pQ2

[cals-fantrolls-have-moved]

The Doll Maker

Living things were an awful thing.

Sweating, excreating, being sick and the disgusting fluids given off during copulation.

You can't stand it. You hate it all.

And since they were all things you did as well, you hated yourself as well.

Your only escape was your work.

Dolls. You made many, many dolls. Small dolls, big dolls, dolls that looked exactly like human babies and animals. They were beautiful and renowned across the land. Almone, the doll maker, the maker of the finest, most elegant, delicate dolls you could ever find.

Almone, the one who was so alone, because he could not stand to look at another person and their disgusting status of being alive.

Until, she came along.

You don't know what it was about her that drew you to her. Perhaps, was it her pale, milky skin? Her wonderfully blue eyes? Her glossy, dark hair with its curls, perhaps.

You're not sure, but she, she was the one who drew you out of your dark house on the hill and to the sun outside. She made you worry about your looks, if your hair was combed, if your breath smelled foul or minty.

She made you love.

You courted her for awhile, delicately, drawing her away from her other suitors with gifts of dolls and contraptions, flowers and wonderfully polite dates.

She fell in love with you.

She was perfect. She was more perfect than your prettiest, most expensive doll.

.

Then, one day, you took her home. A nice little visit, in the middle of the night, coaxed her to come with you to look at your dolls.

That was when you kidnapped her.

.

.

.

.

.

It's been some time since then, almost a year or so now. Everyone has stopped looking for her a few months ago and you haven't stepped outside very much anymore. There was nothing of interest out there anymore, after all. 

Your main interest is inside now.

You use only the finest horse hair brushes for her sleek and glossy hair, and you brush each handful of hair a hundred times. You always snip off a few of the the odd, frizzy hairs and comb it all back down again, styling and clipping it back with a clip made of only the finest sapphire jewels.

You powder just a faint shade of rouge on her cheeks, and your brush strokes are delicate as you paint on the pink lipstick. You're careful not to get any make up on her clothes, and you pick off the black strands of her hair from her silk blue dress when you see them. Arranging her delicate, ceramic limbs, you face her forward, back straight and hands in her lap, a soft smile on her lips and her eyes open and facing forward, the kind look you fell in love with on her face.

And then, you sit down at the table on the other side of her, smile, and then eat.

Caedra.

Your perfect, perfect doll.