Dolls can be incredibly tough and brittle at the same time. A well honed doll can dive in the veil between worlds, make god's bleed and manifest their witch's grandest ambition. Yet with an item out of place, a harsh word or some other unexpected trouble they can quiver like leaves in the wind, needing gentle direction to return to stability.
This particular doll was more like the latter, sitting awkwardly in a heavy wooden chair in front of it's witch. It's hands gripped the fabric of it's dress tightly, treating the soft loose fabric as if it was a lifeline. It had been slowly growing more fretful ever since it's return to the manor from the province, to the point it quivered and flickered like the flames in the (Currently unlit) fireplace during colder nites
It looked to the side, then the other, then back again as if to avoid it's witch's gaze. Which was slightly odd considering it's witch was mostly looking out the window.For one of her first learned wisdom was that dolls cannot be forced to be earnest. Patience is a virtue, even for the damned after all. It's lips parted, letting out a soft sound which drew her attention back as blue green eyes regarded her blade.
"M-miss, not to be p-presumptuous, b-but" it’s voice tripped, plodding through each word as it stumbled towards the point. It's thoughts flashed back to dancing by her side through a cadre of witch hunters, all fire and smiles. They were both tired from travel but still they sang, hex and blade, shield and sword as they fought back to back, side by side.
Right at the end, the paladin-chevalier let loose a bolt of raw divinity, it's witch batting it aside with some effort. Futile, of course but in that moment it's eyes caught a familiar pattern etched along her wrist. The image flashed for a single moment, illuminated amber burnt into it’s mind by the divine light that fizzled to darkness like the setting sun.
"Is Miss, does she have joi-" it cut itself off before the word could fully manifest, as if afraid of the reality it was proposing. The image, it has seen it when taking care of it’s sister’s, when it reached it’s hand up to the starry nights sky and felt like grasping the moon. A slow breath of air escaped as it gathered the courage it saved for marching against heaven, hell and the fey court itself.
"Is Miss a Doll!?" it finally blurted out, all that tension escaping in a squeaking shocked voice as hands shot up to cover it's mouth... as if it had uttered the most horrible thing. The witch did seem caught aback, lips moving as if in a silent curse as she realized exactly what the doll was asking. This moment hung for an eternity between them, each processing exactly what was being presented from the other.
The silence lasted only a few moments. With her doll already panicking it was plain to see that the empty space would be filled with anxiety and worry if she didn’t fill it with her voice. "That is a complicated question, little one" she said, truthfully but with enough confidence to mask her attempts to buy time for her brain to work.
Dueling other witches was a case of strategy while making a god beed was a matter of theological physics. Yet dealing with a complicated question from a doll you had sharpened to do the previous tasks was a different matter entirely. One that had left scars on lesser witches, and broken their dolls with guilt.
"What do you think makes you a doll?" she asked, turning the question back upon itself. The riddle would help it grasp what it was possibly really asking, understand the shape of it's thoughts. While she could cast Capital M Magic, sometimes magic was just perspective and trickery... like a coin in your ear.
It seemed to ponder the question, examining itself as self began to whir thoughtfully. It examined it's ceramic shell, it's joints, felt the clockwork tick of it's heart, the droplets of the divine that gave it animus. It felt backwards to blood and pain, of anguish, of the time someone died and it was born. It turned to it’s sisters out the tall wide window, the hint of it’s reflection in the glass capturing it for a few moments.
Such ponderings bought the witch enough time to gather her thoughts, smoothing her dress and putting on her serious voice. "Nothing, and everything" she intoned, making sure to put particular emphasis on the phrase to make sure it sounded profound and not at all a hastily arranged series of syllables. "If you were to grind yourself to the finest powder, would you find a single speck of dullness in the remains. Would you find some witchness from me?" she asked, shaking her head.
The doll quickly shifted from the beginnings of a nod to shaking it’s head in a mirror of the witch.
"I am not a witch because of what I am, I am a witch, when I am, because of who I am" she said holding up her hand. The pale skin caught the sun's warm light, as if to show something. First it showed off that wearing long black robes all the time did tend to leave you looking like a vampire. However it also showed her skin, very unlike the glimpse the doll had seen before in the heat of battle. "I am a person, at least right now" she said "I am hurt, I am certainly not normal, but I still feel that flame, that drive" she added, ensuring to use important sounding words to make sure the doll understood.
"Why? maybe it's just how I process things, maybe it's stubbornness, clinging onto the heartache of humanity, maybe it's so I can provide what I can to you little ones" she said, looking at the doll's sisters enjoying the autumn's warmth. "Maybe it's a mix, but for now, at least... I am a witch" she said, flicking her fingers as spellwork weaved between them, winding down her arm and tugging at the veil itself. Her hand reached forward, touching her doll's jawline, keeping their eyes met for a moment as she asked.
"Why did you want to be a doll? '' she asked, a serious tone to her voice. The spell weaved between it's lips, down it's throat, lighting the truth of it's existence behind it's eyes. "Because.. i...it" the doll spoke, wavering for a moment as it's thoughts drifted past dark corners of it's mind. But it's witch was there, not tugging firmly like she could but shining the paths through the storms and turbulence. She waited, patiently... content to spend all afternoon on an answer rather than push one that was more her own than it's.
"Because it hurt trying to be a person anymore, with what happened, with who it was" the doll said, eyes shimmering for a moment with a single tear. The witch moved her thumb to brush it away, smiling warmly. "I know dear, and I am glad I can free you of that burden" she cooed "But if your life had been different, would you still be here with me?" she proposed "or would you be sitting in the chair with the big hat?" she added with a soft tone and a slight shared giggle with her doll. "Or maybe you would have found your way to this place by a different route, for a different reason" she spoke, thumb stroking down the doll's cheek "Maybe a different hand holding your cheek right now."
The witch let those words hang for a moment, let it process them, absorb them for a few moments before pulling her hand back to the doll's shocked sounds. Just like she had seen before, the veil of flesh had been peeled away and underneath sat porcelain, inlaid with soft blue flowers painted in the grooves. It's hands reached instinctively up, comparing the work, holding her.. it's.. Hand beside it’s own, squeezing it close and marveling. "The flame was only partially a metaphor" she admitted, sighing as she leant back into the comforting support of oak. Draining herself to let the veil part was exhausting of itself, even if she was helping it along.
"The flame makes me a person, at least to me it does" she said "Maybe that's just me being stubborn again" she added with another laugh, warm and soft... it was nice to talk about herself. "I am a witch because I choose to be, the why's, the how's, they matter little" she said, flicking her wrist as it returned back to a human shape, soft and squishy as the doll tested between it's fingers. "Maybe that will change, like your sisters that left us, maybe I will always be a witch, maybe I will be a half witch sometimes" she said with a wry smile, in a voice that promised witchery of a kind
"When it fades low, something else rumbles beneath the surface of course, like when some pri-... unscrupulous men decide to ruin our ride home" she said, catching her rather salty language. "But does that make me different, maybe, maybe not... are we truly ourselves when we are exhausted and irritable?" That question hung in the air but she gave it no answer, continuing her little monologue instead "Pain or pleasure, choice or consequence... we are what we are, what we make of ourselves, what we see in the mirror" she said, gesturing to her doll.
"And what do you see, my weapon, when you look at me?" she asked, falling to silence as she left room for the doll's quiet voice. "Some-s-someone to love, to trust" it said, nodding gently "Witch, love, Miss" it added, counting off the words on it's fingers."Then, you have your answer!" she added, standing up with a flourish and stretching. "Spellwork also makes me hungry, so I think I shall find something to eat." The witch strode out, heels clicking against stone as she hummed a tune, quite a spell indeed she cast with not a drop of magic.
The doll sat, smiling as it's sisters played, it's reverie jolted when the witch's head popped back in. "No grinding yourself or your sisters up to find witch or doll particles, You're too precious to break!" she commanded, voice playful but firm.
"Y-Yes Miss" the doll said, sitting up straight.
