Tired Doll

beeeep

“yeah no, that figures. i know it's been a while, Doll, but... i dunno, i just thought... i ju-...”

sigh, click

beeeep

“Doll. i know you don't want to hear from me, but they need you to call them back. you know i wouldn't be here if it wasn't direly important.”

a full minute of silence

“just fucking say something. to someone. fucking hell, Doll.”

click

beeeep

“yeah hey Doll, uh, everyone's been trying to reach you but there's been nothing. i guess it's my turn. are you...?”

long sigh

“we both know i'm not good at this stuff, like... ugh. Doll, are you okay? it's not like you to be so quiet for so long, unless... mm... i guess it is kinda like you, hey? it's just... been a while since the last time... which is good! it's a good thing! it's just that, like, the others... they're not used to it, y'know. i know you'll be back soon, but they've never seen you like this. well, i guess they've not... not(?) seen you like this? ugh, you get it.

“oh yeah, your Witch is looking for you. she swung 'round the other day, checking to see if you were hiding out here. i told her you're not. ... you're not, right? are you in here?”

wardrobe doors creaking and banging. footsteps. doorknobs turning and latches catching

“yeah that was dumb. i dunno, i guess i just keep thinking you're gonna be sitting in my room one day, like you used to, as if you were here all along.

“anyway, she joked about printing some flyers and then said she was gonna go talk to 'Her'. uhhh, who's that? who's she meeting with?

“man, i dunno... shit, sorry, not man, i-”

slow, deliberate inhale

“i'm sorry Doll, i'm working on it. just... just text me, okay? or someone. fuck, hire a skywriter. just let us know you're alive. well, not alive but... you know what i mean...

“ugh forget it”

click

beeeep

“hey Doll, it's me. just checking in. again. “... “so i was down by the sea today, and saw some whales far off in the distance. it reminded me of when you... when we... do you still do it? photography, i mean. you were good at it! it'd be a shame if... y'know...”

deep breath

“listen, Doll, it's... i'm sorry, it's your Witch she's... no one's heard from her in weeks. she said she was coming to find you? then she texted me something about her reflection being 'off', whatever that means, and then nothing. it's weird though she doesn't seem to have taken anything? all her bags are here, her clothes... she left food on the table, and her phone on the charger.

“wait a sec, she left it unlocked??? that's weird, why doesn't she have screen timeout turned on? like you have to actively disable that. let's see... hundreds of messages, dozens of missed calls... ugh who did she last reply to? huh. the contact is just named 'Her', but there's no number saved? no email either. actually it looks like none of the details are saved. but there's texts from 'Her' here... they all seem pretty normal up until a year ago when they seem to have stopped until... wait. hold on Doll...

“[muffled] yeah i'm in here!

“[crystal clear again] sorry about that... right before she disappeared, she got a message from 'Her' saying 'it arrived just now, but it doesn't remember.'

“look Doll, i've gotta run. just... call me. you've both been gone too long. you promised you wouldn't do this anymore.

“call me. be safe, be gentle with yourself. i love you.”

click

a Doll should have a name, and this one is no exception. Tired Doll is, of course, just a title, but it has a name. it has many names, actually, and it's due to shed one soon.

it has the name people call it, a sweet little name with roots in Hebrew, Greek, and Nauo. a name it chose for itself, the name that it proudly scribbles on its art so that other entities know where to find it. it has little variants and nicknames for this name too!

it has the name it was born with, the name the rulers know, the name that cuts deep into its heart but that will soon be forgotten.

it has the name forged in fire, the one paid for and written in blood. it's a name it whispers into the wind when it asks the earth for help. a name on which it has been bought and sold, and a name its Witch inscribed on the farthest reaches of its Soul.

and it has the names of its roles in the lives of others. friend, lover, toy, tormentor. names for what it had become, and names that it found itself becoming.

for a name is a powerful thing; it's a map, a key, a promise, a memory, a signpost, a goal, a threat. we name the things we love and fear, we name the things we've left behind, and we name what we cannot bear to lose.

“Hey, Doll, I've met someone that I think you'll like.”

the Doll tilts its head in askance.

“She's a little younger than you, but she shares many of your interests. She’s been practising the same magic as you, and she started around when you did.”

“oh! this one needs to meet her!”

with a grin, the Witch shares the story of how they met: of the club where the gods made promises of purpose and structure; of where she found her, and of the games they played together. the Doll listens eagerly, filled with pride and gratitude that, despite so much time passing, its Witch still goes out of her way to be kind to the hurt and lost. she continues to spin her story, her Doll more and more eager to meet the new girl, until she finally reveals the buried lede: not a new girl, but a new DoIl!

“a Doll!” its eyes bright, pure joy written across its face.

the Witch nods. “A brand new Doll. It seems to have only just come into being. I thought you might be interested to hear that.”

the Doll giggles and kicks its feet. “you have a type, y'know?”

“Yeah,” she sighs as she pulls her Doll into a hug and kisses its head, “Yeah I have a type.”

the Dancing Witch kept an eye on the Doll from a distance, never sure if, how, or when to reach out. the Doll had its reasons, she knew that. the Doll knew how to find its way back, she hoped.

the Doll never stopped thinking about that Witch. she was only ever this one's Witch for a few short days, but... it shook its head. she wasn't this one's Witch.

her words were etched deep in its core. “Better every time I hear your art and soul, Doll.” the marks she left behind never faded, an imprint on its cold skin that reminded it that it could be loved, even if it was far from those that did.

Witches came, and Witches passed. cute dates had, sweet cats cuddled... a year wheeled by.

the Dancing Witch watched from afar, only daring to approach to deliver the news of a dear Witch being slain. the Doll knew its way back, it hoped. the Doll wanted to find its way back, it just... couldn't... until one day, spurred on by music it desperately needed to share with the world, it took the leap.

the Doll flung itself off of the high shelf, hurtling down towards the Witch and she... she caught it. she caught it.

a Doll and its Witch, finding themselves in that other life. a Doll and its Witch dancing, dancing to its music.

a Doll finally home, its Soul calmed at last, home in the arms of its Witch.

the Witch clutches her Doll, its head cradled in her arms. this small, fragile thing has worked so hard but it simply isn't a person. an object, glass and cloth and paint, fine hairs and glue. no matter how much she wills it breathe again, the Doll lies inert. person-shaped, but not a person.

the Doll had built itself from scraps, taking its shape from the hole left in the lives of those around it. it wasn't sure who or what had been here before, but clearly it was something important, something treasured. the Doll had wanted to be treasured.

and for a time, it was! they celebrated the Doll, they lavished it with praise. they played with the Doll every day, and they lay with the Doll every night. they would talk long into the night, as everything else around them faded into the dark. the Doll was loved, the Doll was treasured.

by the time she found it again, though, the Doll lay motionless on the ground. a layer of dust, dirt and grime covered its cold body, and its clothes had soaked through, the wind beginning to fray the edges of the wet fabric.

this small, fragile thing had worked so hard but it simply wasn't a person.

a Doll on a date!

a lovely Witch invited it to a place it had been before, and where it loved to go. she said that the little craft village suited the Doll, and she was right. together, they wandered the street, through antique stores and art galleries, cozy cafés and quiet parks. a lunch date becomes sunset, sunset becomes dinner.

a Doll giggling at a Witch, desperately longing for another kiss, aching to reach out and hold her hand. it reaches, she caresses. they smile and they giggle.

a Doll slowly running out of energy. it would fall asleep right here in this pub, if it meant that it didn't have to leave the Witch. she doesn't let it. she drives it home.

a Doll reaching across the middle console. it initiated the kiss this time. the Witch tells the Doll that she's looking forward to next time.

“next time...” the Doll muses all night long, and all throughout the next day.