2.
a Doll and a Witch, sitting quietly on the floor. the soft fur rug enveloping the Doll's fingers. the Doll's mind, as it were, was a swirling maelstrom, and the Witch's mind hurt.
together they sat, their breathing purposeful, taking their time to slow their thoughts.
it snapped into focus, all at once. a thought, a shape, a person, a place. the Witch smiled at the Doll, encouraging it to try, to write, to bleed from the golden cracks on its skin.
and so it did. it wrote. it wrote of its Witches, the gentle souls that cared for it. it wrote of its love for them. it wrote of the distance between itself and its Witches. it wrote of the painful loneliness.
and it wrote of this kind Witch. she wasn't this one's witch, but she was kind to it all the same. she nurtured it. she taught it, she gave it structure.
a kind Witch and a sad Doll, sitting quietly in the Doll's favourite place.
the moment passes.