A doll sleeping on the deck of a ship.
Its witch is fishing, and a friend is sitting with her.
It can hear their conversation over the gentle breeze, the sound of the waves.
Their conversations drift like seafoam…
Peak like the water…
Lull like the breeze…
The scent of salt, the ocean…
The doll curls into itself, reaching out and grabbing at the witch's dress.
A hand brushes its hair.