A doll that does not speak.
It is without a witch, for the time being. At some point it had showed up at the institute. Alone.
It appears to understand everything one says, but it does not respond with words. It will occasionally nod or shake its head, if one is lucky. Extra luck will earn one a curtsy or two.
Sometimes, when it thinks it is alone, one may discover that it will stand in front of a mirror, repeating movements over and over as if practicing. It recites gestures that one may see in everyday life, or possibly in a movie. A graceful bow, hat held over chest. A stroking off the chin, contemplative and stoic. A regal but silent chuckle, hand obscuring it’s motionless mouth. Donning sunglasses, crossing arms, a taunting nod, a dejected sigh, an offering of a hand, and exasperated gesturing. Everything.
It stops immediately and acts as if it was simply fixing its outfit if it notices anyone watching it.
This dolls name is Cordite.
There is nothing wrong with it, at least physically. Many witches at the institute have checked its internals over the past few weeks, hoping to fix the poor thing. Every inspection has yielded a clean bill of health.
Its voice box is functional, almost brand new. Its ears are perfectly fine. Its soul is perfectly anchored, and there is no bottleneck of will.
Cordite just can’t, or simply won’t speak.
All of the witches that have tried to help it have asked it outright: “Why don’t you speak?” And the doll either gestures ignorance, or outright does not respond as if the question was never asked. Every witch so far has simply left it at that, some even chalking up its mutism to being just another one of its many eccentricities.
The witch sitting before Cordite has just asked it the same question. “Why don’t you speak?”
It stares across the desk at her for a moment, then performs a strangely practiced shrug. Its intent is clear. ‘I don’t know.’
The witch lets herself think for a few minutes, her bespectacled eyes studying the taciturn doll in her study. After some deliberation, she asks another question. “Do you wish to speak?”
Cordite shakes its head. Somehow this does not surprise her.
The witch hums. Wrong question, she thinks. She mulls the situation over in her mind for a few seconds more. “Are there times when you wish you could speak?” She asks instead. “Even if those times are rare?”
The doll starts to shake its head again, but freezes for a moment. Then, instead, it nods, almost meek in how little it actually moves.
Considering that, the witch looks down at her notebook, paging through the notes from the other witches’ previous attempts at fixing Cordite. It becomes apparent to her that no one has even asked the doll if it actually wanted to use its voice at all. She frowns at that realization, then flips the notebook back to an overview of the doll’s communication abilities to skim through it one more time.
It can write its name, it can write numbers. It can write words, but does not form complex sentences. Its writing is messy, but has a feeling of structured practice to it— like an old skill degraded by disuse. It has learned a curtailed form of sign language at some point, but almost never uses it unless prompted very strongly to do so. It rarely shows facial emotion, but its body language is somewhat readable when placed outside the etiquette intensive role of servitude.
“What stops you?” The witch finally asks.
Cordite shifts in its seat. It looks at the notebook in the witches hands, expression as blank as ever.
The witch notices this, flips the notebook to a blank page, then slides it over to the doll with the pen resting upon its ruled paper surface. “Here.”
Taking the notebook in one hand and the pen in the other, it writes a single word. The witch reads it when the doll slides the stationery back to her.
The witch knits her brows in mild confusion. “Too loud? No…” she interrupts herself when she notices Cordite starting to shake its head. She clicks her tongue then tries again. “No, you mean… too much?”
Cordite nods tentatively, then commits to a full nod after small a moment of deliberation.
“Can I ask what you mean by that?”
At that, its face twitches and it looks away. Cordite stares out the window. Then, almost as and afterthought, it crosses its arms tightly.
To most, the posture would seem standoffish. But to this witch, somehow, it does not. She’s a mechanical automaton specialist for goodness sake, this isn’t her specialty. She isn’t a mind reader. Or gods forbid, a psychologist. Not that any exist that specialize in dolls… at least not that she knows of.
And this doll seems frustrated to her. And maybe a little bit cagey because of it. She can understand that.
She clears her throat. “Hey. Cordite.” she says, shifting her tone to something she hopes sounds gentle and understanding.
Cordite looks over at her, still almost hugging itself with its crossed arms.
The witch gives it a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. But… if you can, I’m here to listen.” She breaks eye contact and frowns at herself. “Or read. You know what I mean.” She chuckles, then clears her throat. “But. I have more question.” The witch looks back at the doll to see it nod once. She takes this as her cue to pose her final query and tries to put on a meaningful look. “If I could help you find your voice again, if only just for those times where you wish you had one, would you let me?” She finds the dolls eyes again as she finishes, hoping she sounds sincere.
Cordite gives her another blank stare. It’s kind of uncanny how its body language contrasts with its usual facial expression sometimes, the witch muses internally. The doll finally nods, almost imperceptibly.
She smiles again. “If you want, we can stop here and pick this up tomorrow, yeah?” Cordite simply blinks at her. “Besides, I need to take some time to look some things up. Do some research. And think of better questions. The open ended ones are a lot, I know.” She watches the doll for a reaction to her words.
The dolls eyes search her for several seconds. Then it closes them and shudders softly. And finally, it opens them again and nods.
The witch picks up another, smaller notebook and readies her pen. “Same time tomorrow? Three pm?”
“Very good.” She jots something down, then places the notebook back where it belongs. “You can leave now. Thank you, Cordite.”
The doll promptly uncrosses its arms then stands up. It brushes its hands over the front of its outfit in a fluid motion, perfectly smoothing the small ripples out of the fabric in one go. It pulls the beret off its head and bows elegantly, hat held to its chest. Deftly fixing its beret back over its artificial hair, it turns on its heel and marches out of the room, opening and closing the door on the way.
The witch sighs deeply when the latch clicks closed, leaning back in her chair. “Okay. Another meeting, then library.” She spins her pen around her fingers absentmindedly, looking up at the ceiling lost in thought. “Do we even have anything psych oriented in our collection?” She asks herself.
She wants to help Cordite. She hopes she can, even if it’s only a little. If she can’t… Well. She’ll ask around.
