stella is a romantic. sort of. not the kind who buys into the heart-shaped, mass-produced, capitalism-approved nonsense that floods every storefront in february. stella's idea of romance is the kind that's a little feral and weird. maybe a little unhinged too. the kind that makes her want to fuck her other half on top of her mother's grave. but fuck, does she try. there are no cheesy cards or breakfasts in bed here. instead, she spent most of the day holed up in her studio, hunched over her worktable, carefully crafting the gift that now sits inside the box she’s clutching. "open it," she tells them as she thrusts the wooden box into their hands. inside, they'll find a custom doll, meticulously designed to look exactly like them. stella carefully crafted it in a way that allowed her to get every detail right, from the curve of their smile to the way their hair falls just so perfectly. it's not the kind of gift that you'd find in the hallmark aisle and she knows it. her partner could either be weirded out or weirdly touched by it. maybe she overthought it. maybe she even considered using their actual hair for the doll's (she didn't, but the thought crossed her mind several times). so, she holds her breath as she watches them lift the lid, hoping they'll see it for what it is: her trying.