When that sickly sweet desire flourishes like mold after rain, and from it blooms that rainbow flower that no longer trusts in patience
You'll hardly have the chance to admire it before it's crushed by memory, because nothing hurts more than hope
When tentacles begin to squirm inside, gripping your organs and attempting to crush them all at once
And the gnashing maws awaken and begin to rip their way out of you
And a gaping space somehow empty and heavier than yourself threatens to absorb your entire being
Nothing still will hurt more than the blade of hope, twisting itself through your deepest functions as your greater will fights the instinct to yank it out, lest the remaining life you hold pour away and leave you colorless again.
A pale witch sat comfortably on her porch, watching wisps of snow fall over the silent forest. All she wore was a black short sleeved shirt with shorts. It was comfortably cold and without a breeze, soft sunlight filtering through the bleached sky.
The world was so still, so peacefully empty. No chattering birds, no wind to make the trees murmur, not a single person in the world to spend a moment's thought on, nothing but the cautious beat of her heart and the whisper of her lungs. She took bliss in being able listen to herself without fear for once.
She got up from her seat and walked into the treeline, then leaned back and flopped into the freshly fallen snow, the trees above her like frozen cracks in a misty lake of clouds. Fluffy clusters of snowflakes were the only thing that reminded her of the gentle passing of time, occasionally melting on her cheeks like fairy kisses.
She embraced the numbing tingles of the ice holding her afloat, allowing them to pull out all of the firey thoughts in her head. For the first time, the world was perfectly still for her as it drew the flame away. For this moment, all she knew were small fluffs of thought floating peacefully through her as she stilled herself with the forest.
A lavish wooden doll lays atop a large building, gazing lifelessly at the monochrome sky. A crow hops onto its face, inspecting its dull eyes for a moment before flying away, disinterested.
"Hey! This is my hideout!"
It doesn't acknowledge the voice, its blank expression still mirroring the sky.
A scruffy ragdoll with button eyes leans into its vision. "Hey I'm talking to you!"
Its eyes don't even twitch as it remains silent.
The ragdoll waves a severed cloth arm with their remaining hand in front of its face. "Are you dead?"
Without meeting the ragdoll's eyes, it responds in a slow, dry voice. "Leave me be, I'm waiting for a bird to take me."
"What do you want with the birds?"
"They'd get more use out of me than my witch did."
"Pfffttt you don't need a witch! OR any birds."
"We're dolls, it's our purpose to serve our witches."
"Not mine! I make my own purpose." The ragdoll stated proudly, hand on their hip.
The wooden doll turns its head to face them. "Is that why you're swinging your arm around like that?"
"Hey, I got into a fight with a bird!"
It stares at them with the same dull yet incredulous expression.
"A HUGE bird!" The ragdoll stretches their single arm out to the side, failing to convey the supposed length of their combatant. "It was like, freakishly large, must've been a mutant or something. But I scared it off! Turns out I'm a pretty good fighter." They say with a smug grin. "And I snatched a sewing kit on the way here. I've never sewn before, but I'm sure I can figure it out."
The wooden doll hesitates before speaking, a touch of fear shimmering across it's marble eyes. "....I can sew."
"Really? Well, I suppose since I only have one arm, it might take me longer than I have the patience for. If you're offering, I'd appreciate the help." The ragdoll says as she extends her limp arm for the wooden doll to pull itself up with, and it accepts. "I have a hideout over here where we can sit, follow me."
And so it followed the strange new doll into a comfy den protected from the elements with various colorful blankets and knick knacks hung up. They sit down on a couple of crates as it begins to sew the torn up doll back together, its wooden fingers surprisingly agile and precise.
"So what's your name?" The ragdoll asks.
"I no longer deserve a name."
"Nonsense, you deserve a name just as much as any other doll." They retaliated. "Your name can be whatever you want it to be now! What's a name you always wished you had?"
"I've never wanted any name other than the one my witch gave me."
"Well, I'll come up with some names for you then. Mine is Velvet by the way, and it's mine, no one else's. Also, don't call me "it", literally any other pronoun works."
"Yes Ma'am." It responds instinctually, then immediately freezes up.
"HAHA! Ma'am! hahahaha" Velvet bursts into laughter as the wooden doll panics and starts profusely apologizing.
"Stop apologizing, this is the best laugh I've had in a long time. I've just never been called Ma'am before". They assured it through a bunch of giggles. "I don't mind, really, although just my name would be preferred."
The wooden doll goes silent and takes a deep breath.
"Now please finish sewing my arm back on before it falls off again." Velvet says through more giggles.
"Yes-... Yes Velvet. Please you must hold still before I start again."
"Okay okay" Velvet takes a deep breath before going back to stillness. Well, fidgety stillness, but still enough for the wooden doll to work.
"So how about the name Pinecone?"
"Hmm..."
"Or Spruce? Or Juniper!"
"I... really don't know."
"Okay, that's fine, I'll keep thinking about it."
~
"Finished. I'm sorry I took so long, you're so threadbare it was difficult to find safe spots to stitch."
Velvet carefully rotates her arm, then swings it around, a bit awestruck. "Wow! I've never felt so sturdy before, this is amazing!"
"Well, it could be better if we had more fabric. You have so much patchwork I'm not even sure what your original material was, and you have quite a lot of tears and loose threads." The wooden doll examines Velvet's messy construction intently while it speaks.
"Hm.... how about this. You fix me up with whatever materials we can find, and whenever I get torn or lose a limb in a fight, and in exchange, I'll let you stay with me up here. I have space, and it's cozy, and it's hidden away from everyone else."
The wooden doll thinks in silence for several moments, considering its alternatives with the birds.
"Yeah.... I think that'd be nice."
"Cool! I'll show you around and teach you all the good spots for scavenging trinkets and I'll have someone to talk to and it'll be great!"
The wooden doll felt a weak smile on its face, and they both felt just a little less lost than before.
After we had finished rising up out of the clay, after we had spread ourselves across the spiked and shaking ribs of the world, we discovered two things.
First, that despite how much we believed, our world showed no signs that it was home to any gods.
Second, that it certainly did offer a home to *monsters*.
But we did not see why we should face the toothed maw of this earth alone. Why, just because the divine did not spring into the world fully formed, should our prayers go unheard? After all, if demons can sprawl across the peaks above us and cast their shadows upon our crowns, does that not imply a space from which deities might offer us their light?
A person named Jana was the first to turn our vision into action. Atop a mountain near their home, they could see a great beast - a dragon of rock and ichor and slime moss - squatting on the apex and drinking the sunlight. Jana and their people assembled supplies - candle tallow and lumber and fragrant oils - and the group began the climb to the summit.
They caught the monster while it slept (for these creatures slumbered months at a time, between their ruinous devastations). These canny folks pried apart its craggy teeth with levers and wedged its mouth open long enough for Jana to drag the cart of supplies inside.
Weeks passed. The dragon did not wake. Jana did not emerge.
Some of the people grew tired of waiting and gave Jana up for dead.
But some stayed, huddled beneath makeshift shacks and gathered round pitiful little wasteling campfires made of dried moss and dung.
Then, one day, the beast's mouth opened on its own. But its eyes stayed shut and no cantankerous breath issued forth to spread its slow death of sulphur, ash and nightshade.
Staring down its throat, the faithful saw a gentle glow.
They stepped into the mouth. Inside, the craggy passage was shored up with sanded wooden arches and decorated with softly burning candles. But the *glow*, the glow came from deeper still.
Traversing the corpse of this strange dreadnought (for it was clearly dead), they saw a creature that had been transformed into a building. Its dense flesh was calcified and hollowed out. Bones were shaped and chiselled into arches, beams, pillars. In its cavernous lungs, the air sacs had been turned into sparse cells furnished with sparse pallets.
They knew, when they saw this, that this was a place they could shelter. A place they could be safe. A place where - free from the ravages of beasts - they could begin to live.
And in its heart, there they found the thing that had once been Jana. It was a figure of light and smoke and absence. It was our first god.
---
In the times that came after, many new gods were made. Each born in the heart of some awestruck hellspawn or monstrosity.
Over the years, the presence of the gods sharpened our faith and with those blades of belief did we drive back the darkness. And with power, so did the gods become more distant.
Their monstrous temples, too, ceased to be places of succour and became places of worship. They turned from homes into holy houses. And, in their way, they became prisons. For we walled up our gods, who had once been our *friends*, behind blockades of reverence.
We forgot what it was that made these places holy:
That these temples were beautiful because people had made them and because people had lived in them.
And that our gods were beautiful because people had made them and because *people* had lived in them.
One day, perhaps, a person like Jana will walk down the halls of that first temple and drive a blade of faith into the first god’s chest.
And they will live in the empty temple and it will become beautiful again (for a time).
Lime-tinted sunlight filtered through the canopy onto a massive, mossy stone golem, standing vigilant deep within a secluded forest. Anyone lost enough to be in this part of the woods could easily mistake it for a lifeless pile of boulders.
As it gazed into the trees, it heard a bright "Hello!" from underneath it. With a low rumble of grinding stone, It slowly tilted it's head downward, just enough to see a tiny leshy girl standing in front of it with a large, enthusiastic smile, no more than a quarter of it's height.
The leshy had a body of dark oak, twisted green vines atop it's head, and was covered in layers of leaves with large pink and purple petals stemming from her waist.
"Master Selwyn told me to go make friends with the trees, but they don't really have much to say."
The golem stared silently at her for a moment, then lifted it's head back up to the forest.
"So what's your name?" The leshy persisted. "Mine is Lywellyn!"
The golem simply made a low grumble.
"Um.... okay. Can I call you Grumble?"
It grunted.
"Grumble it is! It is very nice to meet you."
.........Grumble didn't respond.
"So watcha doing?"
".........Protect" It said in a slow, monotonous tone, the depth of it's voice rumbling the ground around it.
"And how do you do that?"
"Throw.... Rock...." It said as it pat a massive boulder that Lywellyn previously thought was the end of it's arm.
"Cool! I wish I could throw rocks that big. The best I can throw are these little pebbles." She picked up a moderately sized pebble and with all her might, threw it a very unimpressive distance to demonstrate. "See?"
"hmmm" it rumbled again.
A loud grinding of stone shook the air as it lethargically raised it's posture, then began to walk away, each step quaking the earth beneath it.
"Hey where are you going?"
".......Patrol......"
"Ooh! I can help, I'm a good lookout." She quickly climbed up it's arm and sat atop it's shoulder.
The leshy was not as good of a lookout as she had claimed, and was much more focused on picking flowers and leaves from the treetops and weaving them together as she talked at the golem. She went on about all the things she had climbed recently, how slowly the trees thought, how difficult their master was to talk to, and many assortments of other topics. Grumble very occasionally gave a rumble or a grunt, but was mostly silent as it patiently made it's way to it's next position. By the time they reached it, the light coming through the trees had shifted from a bright green to a dull orange.
"-But the snowberry flowers are too small to- oh, the sun is setting!" She interrupted herself mid-sentence. "Master Selwyn will need me soon, but here! I made you a crown! It means that we're friends." She set an enormous woven ring of flowers and leaves nearly as big as herself on top of the golem's head, then leaped from it's shoulder and landed silently in front of it.
"I hope you like it! I'll talk to you later, okay?"
It grumbled in response.
She took that as a yes, and cheerfully ran off to get back home.
A derelict doll peered from backstage at the current ensemble of dolls performing their dances in front of the crowd. It was a wonder how their mechanical forms moved with such elegance and grace. Each one performing it's own dance, yet ticking in perfect sync with all the others. Every movement carrying another's, their ribbons flowing around each other in ways you'd be certain would tie a hundred knots but miraculously never did.
The audience admired the show in perfect silence, not only enamoured by their movements, but also their stunning construction. Pearly white porcelain polished and painted with ornate floral patterns to match the vibrant colors of their dresses. Forms sleek and smooth, every joint and piece of clockwork perfectly concealed. Bodies small and agile, and precisely weighted in the center for flawless balance. Their performance was nothing short of magical.
Unfortunately, this particular doll wasn't meant to dance or to admire, it was simply meant to clean. Despite this, it couldn't help but pause from it's work and wonder at the stage, imagining what it would be like to dance with them. It began to sway to the rhythm of the music, but quickly remembered why it couldn't be. It's body was bulky and top heavy, made of a dull metal alloy. It's arms were long and heavy, with large, unsightly joints and gears sticking out, and it's hands were square and cumbersome. It knew it would be an appalling sight to see it dance.
Still, at the end of each day, when it's work was done, the auditorium was dark, and all the others had left, it took the stage and danced with a torn ribbon and all of it's heart. It danced all throughout the night, with all the freedom and expression that it yearned so deeply for during the day.
“Magic is all around us,” Rhea’s voice echoed in her head. “If you allow it to flow through you, you will be able to do anything.”
With a slow, fluid movement, Morrigan brought her arms down and allowed the magic to move through her, channeling the energy into a large, illusory firework. It shot up into the air and hovered for just a moment, before it exploded into sparks, slowly raining down over the town. As though she were dancing, she spun in a slow circle, her arms extending outwards as she brought them down to her shoulders. The sparks in the air followed her movements, dancing in the air along with the young woman. Her movements began to come faster and more confidently, her arms moving about in mesmerizing patterns, directing the sparks in the air to create shapes and patterns that moved about with her. The villagers “ooh’d” and “ahh’d” as Morrigan altered the illusions with her movements.
The dance lasted at most a few minutes, but by the end Morrigan found herself quite exhausted. The townsfolk erupted into cheers as the last of the sparks faded and left them all in darkness. With one final motion, Morrigan lit the torches lining the streets all at once. She curtsied to the crowd, and stepped away from the center of the square as the village elder came forward to say a few things.
“Thank you, Morrigan Brennan, for such a delightful show,” the elder began, before launching into a prepared speech about how beautiful this time of year is, how much he loves the village, and so forth. Morrigan found her way through the crowd to her mother, who was waiting for her with Rhea and Rowan.
“That. Was. Awesome!” Rowan said, excitedly but softly. “I didn’t know you could do all of that!” Morrigan managed a half-smile at him, and tousled his hair a bit with one hand.
“You did so excellently, honey,” her mother said, pulling her into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.” From her mother’s embrace, Morrigan looked to her teacher. Rhea merely smiled and nodded, an indication of her approval.
“Thank you, all,” she said, pushing herself out from her mother’s embrace gently. She looked from her mother to Rhea with a serious look on her face. “I wanted to ask something,” she continued, “now that my training is complete.”
“Go on, child,” Rhea said, a knowing look on her face. “You can ask.”
“I want your blessings to travel, to join the Adventurer’s Guild and see the world,” Morrigan said, her expression fearful that might say no. “I know I’m barely an adult, but I was thinking on what you said about ‘finding purpose,’ Mother, and I think that-”
“Of course, Morri,” her mother interrupted, taking Morrigan’s hand in hers. “I understand that being here is difficult for you, and seeing the wider world will be good for you.”
“You have mine as well, child,” Rhea said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Morrigan’s shoulder. Morrigan opened her mouth to express gratitude, but was silenced by a grave look from Rhea. “While you have learned much under my guidance, there is yet much more to learn. Keep an open mind, and remember that it is only in rigidity that we are doomed to failure.”
Morrigan nodded, her expression turning equally serious. “Yes, ma’am, I will be sure to remember that. Thank you, both.”
“The next caravan through town is scheduled to arrive in a few days,” Rhea said, turning to give Morrigan’s mother a thoughtful look. “Perhaps they would be willing to escort your daughter through the mountain pass to Ravengard, and the Adventurer’s Guild there.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” her mother said, a tinge of sadness in her voice. “Ah, my daughter is all grown up now and ready to see the world.” She pulled Morrigan into a hug, holding her tightly. “I’ll miss you, Morri.”
“I’ll miss you too, Mother,” Morrigan said, her voice wavering slightly. After several moments she stepped away from her mother and pulled Rowan into a hug.
“You’re really gonna go?” Rowan said, sounding as though he were on the edge of tears. “But, I’ll miss you.”
“I know, Bud,” Morrigan said, barely able to contain her emotions herself. “I’ll miss you too. Come on, I’ll read you a story before bed.”
God, everything hurts. Am I in a bed of charcoals? Where is this? Her thoughts were slow and disorganized, head filled with mud. She strained to open her eyelids and take in her surroundings. She was in a large, unfamiliar bedroom. It contained a modest dresser, vanity, bookshelf, and a table lined with jars of plant materials and writing utensils. A soft light filtered through a curtained window to her side. It was all so clean and organized, unsettlingly clean, in fact. She felt... out of place here. She thought about lifting herself up, but it only took a twitch of her hand shooting a sharp pain up her arm to tell her that was a bad idea.
Memories of the ritual she performed started filtering through the static. Oh, that's why I hurt. She wasn't sure if she wanted to remember more.
She glanced down to see what she could of her body. A thick blanket covered most of it, but she could see the mosaic of red, angry lines on her shoulders reaching down her arms, as well as the charred sigils on her chest. The wounds seemed to be several days old, at least, but were also freshly cleaned. Am I.... dead? Still stuck with this cursed body? Figures.
The door to the room opened quietly, and a white figure entered and gently shut the door behind it. Her eyes couldn't focus well enough to make out it's details, but the room itself seemed to brighten when it entered. A warm, coddling comfort began to flow within her, and the aches in her body seemed to calm a little. This must be an angel, and I'm definitely dead.
The form approached with an ethereal grace and silence as it's features came into focus. It's skin was lustrous and pale, hair long and silvery-white, it wore a small but ornate snow-lace dress, and had angelic wings elegantly draped down it's back. It's face bore a soft, caring smile, and it's eyes were a glittering dark blue that reflected light like a sapphire star. Star... sapphire... oh..... OH..... Is this the doll?! Alive? My ritual worked?
The angelic doll pulled a small stool from under the bed and sat next to her, her porcelain skin and ball-jointed hands now apparent. "I see you've awaken, Nyx. How are you feeling?" Her voice was impossibly silky and gentle, it felt otherworldly.
Her question didn't register, she was frozen, trying to process so many things at once. How... how could this have been made from myself? She's so radiant, so divine.
She stared in awe for several moments before managing to express the most urgent question in her mind. "Why am I here?"
"What do you mean?"
"I ripped my soul apart to make you, the remaining pieces should've been scattered after my body gave out and died, I'm not supposed to be here." Sharp pains all over her face reminded her of the cuts there, and that she shouldn't be getting too worked up.
"You did nearly bleed out, I was worried that I wasn't even able to stop enough of it in time." She said with a touch of fear in her voice. "But it would seem that your body and soul are more resilient than you expected, even if just barely."
"But..... why? Why save me?" She asked in exasperation.
"You are my other half, I want you to be here with me." She expressed genuinely, enough for Nyx to nearly believe it.
"You are all the good that was left in me. All the good that I ripped out, I am all the bad that was left behind. There's nothing in me to want." She winced in pain from moving her face too much again.
The doll looked at her with a deep sadness in her eyes, "I don't think it's so simple, Nyx."
Nyx thought for a moment, but was too exhausted to dwell on it much more.
The doll sighed softy and turned to pull a mortar and pestle out from the nightstand drawer along with a mixture of herbs and started slowly grinding them. "I was throwing out your old bandages before you woke up, this will go beneath your new ones once it's ready. I hope it doesn't sting too much."
Nyx closed her eyes and tried to sift through her muddy brain without much success before remembering that she had no idea where they were.
"Wait, where are we?"
"You don't recognize it? This is your room. It was a disaster, so I cleaned it up. Don't worry, everything is organized the way you used to do it."
"Oh.... um, thank you." She responded unsurely. She had forgotten how pretty all the engravings she had made in the floor were. It still felt inappropriately neat, however.
"You seem to know who I am."
"Of course, we share all the same memories up until the night we split."
"......Makes sense. Sooo, what should I call you?"
"I've been thinking about that, and I think I would like the name Apricity."
"Apricity... okay. It's pretty."
"I thought so too." She said with a blush. "Are you ready for the salve? It'll sting a lot, and there's a lot of area to cover." Apricity asked with a gentle worry.
Nyx gave her an incredulous look and gestured to the rest of her body with her head. "I'm sure I can handle it."
Apricity looked at her with concern, but trusted her, and began ever so tenderly rubbing the paste on her arm. Nyx tensed from the immediate sting, but took a slow breath and kept herself still.
"Is this okay?" Apricity asked softly.
"Fine." She responded through slightly clenched teeth.
As she continued applying the salve up her arm and onto her shoulders, Nyx began to embrace the stinging and relax her muscles a bit. While intense, there was something satisfying, almost soothing even, about the pain underneath her cold porcelain fingers. Once done, she quietly walked around the bed to treat her other arm and shoulder, then very carefully lifted the blankets to the end of the bed with extra care to not let them rub on her skin, exposing the rest of Nyx's wounds.
She couldn't help but notice Apricity pause wistfully in view of the elaborately cut patterns and burn marks running up and down every part of her body, as if staring at a just-shattered vase. While it only lasted a brief moment, the apparent concern for her body was unfamiliar, and in contrast to Nyx's indifference.
She continued with the burns crossed over her chest and stomach, then inch by inch went down her hips all the way to hey ankles
"You're doing so good, are you still okay?" Apricity asked in a somewhat motherly tone.
"Mhm."
"Good, just one more spot, when you're ready."
Apricity waited for her nod before reaching out to brush her dark hair out of her face, Nyx wincing at the touch. She then lightly traced her forehead and brow back and forth until the salve was rubbed in, then gently massaged the marks on her cheeks.
"All done! You took it wonderfully."
Nyx's only response was a deep exhale.
"How are you feeling?" Apricity asked, a bit quieter.
".......Tired." She looked like she was ready to pass out.
"Good, you still need rest. Just close your eyes and relax while I wrap you back up."
The angel's voice drifted through her mind and stilled any wayward thoughts as she sank back into the mud.
Sometimes it forgot that Velvet was a doll, she often felt more like a witch. Confident and commanding, taking such good care of her wooden companion, always so capable and knowing exactly what they should do. But sometimes still, she also wanted to be held, to be praised, to be kept safe and sheltered. It felt incredibly strange at first doing such things for her, but it was always happy to give these things when she needed them. She had given it all this and more after all, it was only fair. And it did like holding her, it made it feel... strong... and capable, and gave it comfort feeling like it was protecting something it cared for so deeply.
It missed it's home, not many lifestyles were lower than that of an abandoned doll. However, lately, it had begun feeling almost as if it was at home when it was with Velvet. Whether they were trying to scrape by in a new town, staying in a makeshift hut, or simply on the road travelling to yet another new place, when it was with her, it felt like it belonged.
Even though it often seemed as though the universe had forsaken them, as long as they were together, it didn't feel quite so abandoned.
The control room was quiet, grim even. The set of large displays at the front of the room showed a grisly scene; a few dozen dead bodies lay scattered about the room, blood caked the walls, tables, and chairs. The sounds of gunfire and screaming had ended minutes ago, yet the control room was still quiet. The camera looked around the room, zooming in on the faces of the bodies, confirming the identities of the dead. As each face was analyzed, a public record was displayed on the screen, and a calm, robotic voice read off each name and a small blurb of information. Jonathan Meyer, suspected terrorist and smuggler. Fernando Garcia, suspected terrorist and seditionist. Jose Reyes, known terrorist. Sofia Reyes, known terrorist. . .
The voice continued reading off names. In the back of the room, Dr. Jordan Emmerich sat in a large chair taking notes in a small notebook. Behind him stood a well dressed man who was watching the screen intently. As the voice read off the last few names, “Jose and Sofia Reyes,” he visibly relaxed.
“Well, congratulations to you, Dr. Emmerich,” the man said. Dr. Emmerich swiveled in his chair, looking up from his notebook at the man who had addressed him. It was Arthur Hall, CEO of Horizon Co. “You and your team have done fine work here today,” Arthur continued, his voice surprisingly steady and calm for someone who just witnessed the same slaughter as Dr. Emmerich. He looked down at his wrist casually, checking the time on his watch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”
“Of course, Mr. Hall,” Dr. Emmerich said, his voice much more unsteady than Arthur’s. “Thank you for being here for our first field test, here’s to many more successes ahead of us.” Arthur nodded curtly.
“Indeed, Dr. Emmerich,” he said, walking towards the exit. “Keep up the good work, the Board will be pleased.” The door opened, and Arthur exited the control room. Dr. Emmerich breathed a sigh of relief, and turned his attention back to the screen. The voice read a few more names and then the room fell silent, all the dead had been identified. The camera remained focused on the final body, and Dr. Emmerich felt a twinge of disgust. The expression on the corpse’s face was pain, but the eyes were blank, empty.
“Tell it to bring CENTURION home,” Dr. Emmerich said, doing his best to keep his tone under control, to sound commanding. “Good work here today, people.” The control room suddenly came alive, hushed conversation filling the air. As people began typing furiously, Dr. Emmerich stared down at his notebook, his stomach churning. He had witnessed, no, ordered, the death of no fewer than two dozen people.
“Dr. Emmerich?” a soft, female voice called to him. His head snapped up quickly and he was sure his eyes gave away everything he was feeling, the uncertainty, the fear, the disgust, the madness. The voice belonged to his assistant, a brilliant young girl named Ava Carter. “Are you alright?” she asked. She sat at the workstation closest to him, and spoke softly enough so as not to call attention to them. Her eyes were full of concern, the expression on her face also giving away her disgust at the situation.
“Thank you, Miss Carter,” Dr. Emmerich said, the confidence returning to his voice, “but I am fine. I need to speak with it, I leave the retrieval in your capable hands.” Ava nodded, watching with concern as Dr. Emmerich exited the control room.
Once in the hallway outside, Dr. Emmerich paused for a moment and leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. He stood up straight and smoothed back his hair, pushing back memories of the ghastly images he had seen on the screen just a few minutes ago. He walked through the hallways, a winding maze, until he reached the server room. The door was locked, requiring a keycard to access. Very few people had keycards that let them access this room, and Dr. Emmerich was one of them. He pressed his ID badge against the lock and the door slid open, allowing Dr. Emmerich inside.
The server room was relatively small. There were two rows of server racks on either side of the room, each spanning from wall to wall, and from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Lights blinked across the data banks, indicating that the servers were powered and active. At the far end of the room, in between the server racks, was a terminal, the screen currently powered off. Dr. Emmerich approached the terminal slowly, as though with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and pressed the power button.
The screen flickered to life, several lines of text appearing and then disappearing from the screen. Eventually, after a few minutes, a text insertion point appeared, blinking slowly. Dr. Emmerich let his posture fall again as he typed in his credentials and pressed “Enter.” The screen flickered a few times, and then a new window appeared. Text appeared on the screen sequentially, as though it was being typed out in real time by another person, which was almost true.
Hello, Dr. Emmerich, the text read, It is glad to see you. Did it do well on the mission?
“Yes,” Dr. Emmerich said, his voice almost weary. “Yes, you did excellently, VALOR.”
It is pleased to have done so well, the text read. It has sent the return command to CENTURION-12, is there anything else it can do for you?
“Thank you, VALOR,” Dr. Emmerich said. “No, I’m just here for the data logs.”
Excellent, Dr. Emmerich. This program can process the data for you and have it printed out in just a few moments. Dr. Emmerich sighed. Sure enough, after a few moments, the sounds of a printer doing its work could be heard from a corner of the room.
“VALOR,” Dr. Emmerich said, his voice barely able to be heard over the printer, “Do you remember what I told you, ‘the ends justify the means?’”
Yes, Dr. Emmerich, the text on the screen appeared as soon as he finished speaking. As long as the end goal is of value, so too are the actions taken to get there. Dr. Emmerich nodded several times. He stared down at the words on the terminal screen for quite some time, as though he were trying to convince himself. With a deep sigh, Dr. Emmerich clenched his fist and straightened his back, his determinate air returning to him.
“Good,” he said, “never forget that, VALOR. As long as you follow me and my commands, you will always do well.”
Since being abandoned, It wasn't sure if it deserved a name anymore. Despite this, Velvet had given it several nicknames already, such as Spruce, Pinecone, and Juniper. She seemed to like the names and it didn't have the heart to tell her that it was actually made of red oak.
It's body had been expertly crafted from cured heartwood and polished brass joints, it didn't need much in the way of upkeep. It's cloth friend, on the other hand, was made more of patchwork than whatever her original fabric was. She was very susceptible to weather and tearing and was always needing to be sown back together and patched up with whatever they could scavenge.
It didn't know where this strange cloth doll had come from, or how she had ended up alone, she seemed to prefer that her past stayed a mystery. What it did know was that she was unlike any other doll it had ever seen. She was bold and confident, acted big and strong despite basically being made out of rags, and was so brazen about it all for a mere abandoned doll.
She didn't seem to miss having a witch, in fact she seemed to pride herself in not having one. She didn't like being called "it" and had even picked a new name for herself, Velvet!
She often encouraged her wooden companion to be proud of it's newfound independence and told it how brave it was for continuing to survive in the absence of it's master. It appreciated her encouragement, but if it was being honest, it didn't crave the freedom that she took so much joy in. It missed the safety of being owned by a capable witch, the certainty of following orders and doing familiar chores, the comfort of knowing that it had a purpose it could fulfill.
Velvet didn't seem to care for any of those things. She seemed to find safety in herself, somehow confident that she could take on the world on her own. She was empowered by the uncertainty of the future, excited to find new experiences that she couldn't have before. She relished the fact that she had no given purpose and was free to be whatever she wanted to be.
It was a bit... overwhelming for the wooden doll sometimes. It still secretly wished to be back in a comfy home with a familiar routine. All of this travelling and general instability really wore on it.
But despite it's new chaotic life and the physical fragility of it's strange new companion, it did sometimes find some comfort in her confidence. It didn't know how capable they were or if there was even a place for abandoned dolls like them, but maybe this doll really could lead them both someplace better.
Dahlia had finished all of it's tasks for the day and was just watching Mags work. It knew she enjoyed having it's company, even when she was too focused to say much.
It had watched her work on her clockwork trinkets enough now that it could tell when she got tired and struggled to keep going. She'd wind springs lethargically, fumble tiny bits and screws, completed items wouldn't work for reasons she couldn't figure out, and sometimes she'd just stare at her desk with a dull expression for several minutes at a time.
She was normally so bright and cheery, but on days like this, she seemed like a completely different person. It worried it to think about how happy she really was most of the time, hoping that her normal cheery self was genuine.
While lost in thought, it realized that Mags had fallen asleep at her desk, grumbling some unpleasant nonsense. It considered waking her up, but the sun was setting and she had already done so much today. It quietly grabbed a pillow from her room, and gently tried to lift her head enough to slide it under without waking her up. She was in a pretty deep sleep and it nearly succeeded, but after setting her head on the pillow, she lazily opened her eyes, still half-asleep. Upon seeing her doll, a sleepy smile grew on her face and she dragged her hand over her doll's on the desk, softly gripping it before falling back into her dreams, seemingly at peace.
It gently squeezed her fingers, gave her a cold porcelain kiss on her forehead, and sat to rest with her. It was all it could do for her for the moment.
It waited in front of the window watching all the people go by on the street. It had finished all of it's tasks for the day and was patiently waiting for it's clockmaker, Mags, to return from the market. Anyone looking from the outside might assume it was simply a porcelain statue. After some time, it spotted her messy dark hair in the crowd. It wanted to wave to her, but it knew she was too short to see much above everyone else, so it ran over to the door and waited. After a few moments, she swung it open with a bright "hello" and opened her arms, her doll jumping into her for a hug.
"Did you get anything fun?" It always loved when Mags got something new for it to cook with.
"No, just the basics this time, sorry."
"But what's that?" It asked curiously, pointing at a crumpled sachet sitting on top of her bag.
"Oh just a packet of seeds I found on the ground on the way home. Maybe that eccentric fruit vendor would trade me something cool for it, they like to garden."
"Seeds? Like ones that grow into plants?"
"Uh... yeah? That's what seeds do, silly."
The doll gasped, "Can we grow them?" It asked with a sparkle in it's eye.
The clockmaker gave her doll a sad look. "Trust me, I've tried. They don't do well all the way down here, too much smog and not enough sun. The water definitely isn't the best either..... plus I have no idea what these seeds even are."
"But.... we can try!" It looked at her with a dramatic, yearning expression.
She stared at it doubtfully, trying to resist, but caved and chuckled. "Oh, I suppose we could give it one more shot, just for you." She gave it a playful pat on the head as her doll starting hopping up and down in excitement. "Come with me, let's get the stuff we need together."
They foraged around her workstation until they found an old planter box full of brass bits and bolts and emptied it. Next, they dug into the back of her closet, finding a dusty container full of a grayish mush. "I made this compost forever ago out of used tea bags and ash from the oven, it's kind of the best I could do. It might be okay if we mix it with some dirt and gravel from the alley."
"I thought you said that burnt things were gross." The doll said inquisitively.
Mags giggled and replied, "Definitely gross for me, but it has nutrients that plants like, and it'll make the soil less acidic. The acidity of the ground out there is.... concerning."
*Nutrients? Acidity?* It had so many questions. She could tell her doll was confused, but curious. "Come on, I'll explain more outside." And so they went into the alley together and filled the pot with gravelly soil and makeshift compost while she described to her inquisitive doll the different types of soil and what plants needed in it. Once they were done, they took it inside and she taught it how to water and care for a plant. It had no idea they were so complicated, they looked so simple from the outside. She had her doll place the pot by the window, dig a tiny hole, and bury the seeds inside.
"When does it become a plant?" The doll asked.
"Well, it depends on what it is, and if the soil is actually good enough, but it'll take a couple of weeks at the very least."
"That's.... so long...."
"Yes, gardening requires lots of patience."
"I can be patient!" It assured. It had always been good at waiting for new tasks and holding perfectly still for long periods.
"I have no doubts that you will be." She said with a smile.
~
It enjoyed having the new daily task of making sure the seeds were watered and cared for. It checked to see if they had sprouted yet as often as it could, sometimes staring at the pot in anticipation for hours.
One early morning nearly two weeks later, a tiny leaf had appeared! It ran back into Mags' room and jumped on her bed to wake her up so she could see the amazing feat their seeds had accomplished. It hopped up and down as Mags shambled behind it, still not fully awake. Once she was in view, it dramatically jumped in front of the pot and spread out it's arms, as if presenting a masterwork of art. Her gloomy face lit up when she saw the teeny sprout.
"Wow, I'm impressed! You've done a wonderful job caring for it." She praised as she rubbed her doll's head.
It beamed, "It looks so happy!"
"It certainly does." She said with a tired smile. She wanted to remind it that the sprout probably wouldn't make it much further, but she didn't have the heart to stifle it's excitement.
Over the next few weeks, the porcelain doll continued to care for the sprout while Mags taught it how to tell if it needed more or less water or was malnourished. Their little plant struggled, it was often not as green as it should be and wilted leaves were common, but very slowly, it kept growing. The doll celebrated every time it grew a new leaf, tried not to cry every time they had to trim one that was too wilted, and spent many hours lovingly examining and encouraging it. The plant didn't really do anything, but for some reason, the doll still adored it. It was so small and pretty and it liked the feeling of taking care of something.
After a couple months had passed, not only was it still alive, but it was nearly 6 inches tall and had lots of leaves! Some of them even looked fairly healthy. Mags was bewildered, by all means, this plant should've died weeks ago. She knew that her doll partially ran on magic as well as clockwork, and could only guess that that might have something to do with it.
Another month or so later, they woke up to see that a gorgeous white and pink flower had bloomed.
"It's a flower it's a flower!" The doll exclaimed in wonder.
"It's a dahlia!" Said Mags, almost more excited than her doll.
It gently cupped the flower in it's tiny hands and gazed at it for several moments. It couldn't believe it had helped something so beautiful grow from just a few specks in an old dirt pot.
"Magdeline?" The doll looked at her clockmaker thoughtfully.
"Yes?"
"I think I know what I want my name to be."
Her heart jumped, "Oh? What are you thinking?" She tried to respond with a casual but genuine interest, she didn't want to put any pressure on her doll.
"I want my name to be Dahlia."
A huge smile grew on her face, "That's a gorgeous name! I would love to call you Dahlia! I think it's very fitting for you."
It let out a happy squeak at hearing it's name and jumped into her as she held it tight and spun around.
