40.
she swears she heard her heart shatter. two painted eyes, shimmering flecks of pearl white and glittering gold lie between them. it takes every ounce of her power not to just fall to the floor and break apart herself.
the broom! oh, of course, the broom! carefully, gently, she sweeps up the pieces, collecting them and laying them out in vague humanoid shape. but... wait... the furnace? it was warming a crucible filled with... yeah, with gold! she starts to levitate the crucible, bringing it over to the Doll, but...
no. it deserves better than this. all these little pieces, it'd end up more gold than Doll. no. the Witch takes a deep breath, steels herself, draws her blade and cuts open her palm, pouring out thick, wispy shadows that have long replaced her blood. umbral tendrils reach out and caress the porcelain shards, rearranging them in the air. as they come together, the pieces spark with a brilliant radiance, welded together by the light of life.
the Doll comes together, not as patchwork, not as kintsugi, but whole and unblemished. new.
as the last piece is welded into place, as the Doll takes its first breath, the light surges back along the dark tentacles. a torrent of pure essence of life forcing its way into her veins. for the first time in an eternity, she feels alive, and it burns.
with a tortured scream, she falls to the floor. the Doll blinks, immediately dropping to its knees to hold its Witch.