Else, or close enough ✨

The last rays of sunset streaked the sky pink and lavender as a witch walked to her house in heeled boots and wrapped in a dark coat. She searched her purse at the door, found her key, and let herself inside. It had been a long day, longer than most. Her will had been expended. Exhausted by each conversation carefully managed, each spell meticulously crafted and cast.
Leaning on the door for support, she unbuttoned her coat, sliding it off her shoulders. Underneath it revealed skin with a glossy sheen, scars filled with gold lacquer, and segmented limbs with ball and socket joints. She had made quite a name for herself as a witch-doll, becoming stronger than many dolls had ever tried to be, but in this moment no strength remained in her.
After hanging up the coat, the witch tied a white apron around itself, and exchanged her high heels for simple flats. Tonight it would be welcomed by its own dolls as one of their sisters to partake in their tea parties, cuddle piles, and dollish games. In time her witch-strength would return, and she will set her might and cunning against the world once more. But at this moment, magic and strength are the furthest thing from its mind. Tonight it rests among its fellow dolls in softness and sisterly love.