“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Hm?” The doll’s hand stills for a moment, its fingers sinking quite out of sight into the stygian scruff-fur of the beast lolling its great head upon its lap. “Doesn’t what bother it?”
“Your Mistress being a dog. Some of the time.”
“Well!” A small huff. “Let’s not be disrespectful, dear. She’s a wolf, and a very impressive one at that. Isn’t she? Isn’t she so beautiful? Yes she is, yes she is.” The lycanthrope’s tail sets up a slow, heavy thumping on the hearthrug.
“But looking after her must be–”
“An important responsibility, yes! Oh, sorry, miss.” Roused by the excitement in the doll’s voice, the wolf has lifted its head, one great golden eye cracking open. A few gentle scritches behind its ear settle it back down. “But, yes. Tending to her needs is an important part of this one’s work as her servant. Her coat needs to be brushed regularly, especially in spring - because of the moult, you understand - and she’s very particular about her meat. And of course, she can’t… talk. Or understand most words. So, it’s this one’s duty to make sure she understands that everything is alright!”
So saying, the doll rubs its porcelain cheek against the top of the wolf’s great head, drawing a deep, contented hnf from somewhere in the creature’s ribcage. Its eye, still ajar, glitters in the firelight like old amber.
“... Can I pet her?”
The doll’s eyes, glittering amber too, are no less smug. “You may not.”
