Just start typing, the blinking screen reads.
This one is confused. If the computer is an android, what is allowing it to give orders? Miss had always spoken to her computer like a well-loved pet. That must mean it is like this one; Miss was predictable.
Just start typing.
Well, no other orders are going to be issued. Its fingers against the keyboard sound like claws against tile. A log, it decides; a log of its guard watch in Miss' absence. She would be a little unsettled, this one admits to itself. She had always found it a little peculiar, but tried nonetheless. A sparse 'good doll' here or there had kept it going, and it understood her hesitance. Of course a Miss with such treacherously low self-esteem would not be able to see how lowly it is. She thought they were on the same level; she thought she had no right to give it orders.
Miss had even gone out of her way to protect this one, although she was misguided. She brought earplugs in case they ran into noises like gunshots, and she never, ever let this one run into any reminder of its Purpose. Trauma does not work in dolls like it does in humans. The deprivation hurt. But it is a good doll and would never complain about Miss.
Just start typing.
She had missed so much, it didn't know where to begin. With the intruder that had stayed among their base- house, it corrects itself- and tried to fill Miss' role. He had nearly succeeded, what of this one's desperation at the time, but it was able to break free, which took a lot of pushing against its instincts. Miss might be proud of that. Then was a little girl, eager to play dress-up with it. It endured this, of course, for what doll would do otherwise? It didn't look like something designed for combat, on the outside. It looked like those peculiar wooden statues with levers on their backs that it saw on desks when winter drew near. And there was the false orders it had been given, that it had once again followed in blind yearning for a Purpose to fulfill again. It had not been enough.
Now it sits by the window watching Miss' laptop. A few sentences are down- its serial number, the date and time. 547 days.
Just start typing.
Why must it take orders from anything other than Miss? She will be back, surely, and would be proud of its loyalty. She will praise it for being so patient. Its past transgressions did not matter, if only she waited politely by the door when Miss returned.
No missing persons report was filed; this one checks all the time. No sign of her existence in public records. It seems as though Miss might've Became as well, hehe. There is no other explanation for such an utter lack of trace for a witch.
It could write of her existence and put it out into the world, leave something behind in that empty place. It could sing her praises for everyone to hear, and perhaps she would turn her ire upon it and return to it again. It was writing. It is writing a log of its guard watch in Miss' absence. It is writing of Miss' absence.
