Tired Doll

even Witches can be slain. the fingerprints she left on the Doll's arms and hands have erupted into deep, crumbling cracks. every word she ever spoke to the Doll appears etched on its 'skin'. the cheek she kissed has shattered, and the Doll's chest now sounds a hollow 'thud' when struck.

searching for something to hold onto, anything, the Doll goes to the place where they met... only to find it torn down, and the barest foundations of something new in its place. she thought she had longer, and she'd started a new project... so the Doll goes to find the Witch's other places and it finds... well, it finds what was clearly her private chambers. and on every wall, huge artworks and photographs of the Witch, radiant as ever.

and then the Doll stops dead, instantly crushed under an unbearable weight. there it is, in the background of one of the photos. the Doll and the Witch, together. even in death.

rest well, Lyls.