“What’s it like, Baby? Being… beautiful?”
Mangle stood near her, blanket around herself. “…I guess maybe I used to be, but it’s been a long time.” Her single glowing yellow eyes flicked up to focus on her.
“What does it feel like…?”
@thcmxngle
circus baby would preen of being called beautiful , but the mangle's compliment is soured by her own self-reproach . she reminds her of reynard , but her thoughts venture further into a memory that is not her own ; of a room with a pink bed & lampshade , an embroidered portrait of a pink flower .
mangle had been precious to her . baby was a new gift , she imagined for her birthday , tailored specifically for the child's image . wonderful , she had been called . so pretty & shiny ! but the mangle is older . closer . it was her likeness that was kept in lizzie's bedroom , whom she played with . circus baby was a lovely dream , but that's all there was . all she'd ever be .
the clown dolly's blue eyes stare angrily at nothing . what good is beauty when nobody is there to witness it ? is it even beautiful ? what is beauty but a party with plastic cake . gifts wrapped that are too pretty to open , & with nothing inside .
well ... not nothing . something rotten & horrid . it spoils everything .
“ it feels like ... ” she begins . “ it's never enough . ”
that's all she says for a long while .
“ you were her favorite , you know . ” circus baby adds , too genuine to be faux comfort . “ she had a dolly of you . she slept with it at night . ”
