In the Miss' garden there is hidden a single bush. It is the height of a doll, and replete with delicious berries. Dollberries, the Miss calls them.
The Miss says the heart-shaped berries are only edible to dolls, though the Miss often partakes herself. Perhaps she is, or was a doll, at some point in time...
Biting into a dollberry is an incredible experience. The flavor that fills your mouth is at first deeply, almost uncomfortably sour. Once your mouth stops puckering, and a single tear is shed; the berry's aftertaste shifts into a rich, decadent sweetness.
One day, this one was asked to pluck several dollberries from the bush, and to wash them well before placing them in a bowl to serve. When this one entered the dining room, it saw the Miss conversing with an unfamiliar guest.
A human girl; with eyes the color of crimson, dying autumn leaves. She looked... tired, and sad. She looked so very, very sad. The bowl of dollberries, all a ripe red color, glistened in this one's hands; and it could only think of the girl's tears filling the bowl...
"Little one, the berries." The Miss commanded -- calm, yet stern. Her voice, always grounding this one in reality.
"Ah! Yes, this one apologizes, Miss," this one replied, snapped from its rumination.
The Miss paused a moment as this one hurriedly set the bowl upon the table. She was staring at this one, and it knew she could sense what it sensed. The sadness, the piercing isolation; burrowing down to the very core of one's soul.
"...No apologies needed, little one. Now, please excuse us."
"Thy will be done, Miss." This one curtsies, and exits the room to continue its other tasks.
"Is it time again, Miss?"
"It is, my dearest."
"...Understood. This one is ready when you are."
We stand in the garden once more, next to the dollberry bush. The Miss lays this one upon a miniature stone dais. Before this one closes its eyes, it sees the Miss' silhouette envelop her entire body; leaving naught but a looming shadow.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick.
Tick.
This one's mind clears, expands... and empties out into the dark. It begins to drift, to sink... and it feels the now-familiar melancholy that lies at the roots of the bush.
"Hello again, little one." This one's soul, buried beneath the earth, speaks with Miss' voice.
"I do hope some small part of you can hear me. Your lovely fruit found their way to another new doll. Its name is Autumn, and its eyes... they are such a wonderful crimson color. Much like your own fruit."
Ache. Ache. It hurts.
It hurts.
This one holds on.
Maintain the connection.
"I... still remember how much you loved growing berries. I... I hope... I hope there is some tiny fragment of you left that is proud of me."
Miss' voice and this one's own waver, out of sync.
It hurts.
It hurts.
Miss needs this.
Maintain the connection.
"I am so, so proud of you, Gloria. I'm sorry. I'm... I'm sorry."
Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts
Eyes snap open. A brief cry of anguish escapes this one. Tears.
TickTickTickTickTick
"Holly... Holly, are you alright, little one."
This one's vision begins to clear. Miss' face is as stern as ever. Her voice, so calm and even. The ticking of this one's clockwork steadies.
"This one..." sniff "This one will be alright."
"This was unfair to you -- selfish of me. I apologize."
"This one swore... to aid you in any way it can."
This one was the only one who was there when poor Gloria drowned in the little pond, in the center of the garden. It is dry, now, to keep other dolls from falling in.
But this one knows how much it hurts. Gloria was the Miss' first doll. Her very first. And now, here it lies; buried beneath the garden. Its body at the center of a tangle of roots, that penetrate deep into Gloria's very clockwork.
"You should not be made to taste such grief." Again, the Miss' voice wavers -- like a fallen leaf upon the water.
This one slowly sits up on the dais. Plucks a berry from the bush. Takes a bite.
"The taste will ever linger, Miss," This one says, through a single tear. "But so too will catharsis. This one hopes to grant the Miss that aftertaste."
She kisses this one, and probes deep for that sweetness.
