Tired Doll

only the sound of rushing wind cuts through the all-consuming darkness

somewhere else, somewhen long dead, a small girl holds something cold, something fragile, something lifeless. a small girl crying, a loving cat at her side, relentlessly rubbing his head on her arms. it's the fourth day this has happened this week, and it's only thursday. four days in a row, six weeks in a row, three years in a row. the girl has cried so many tears that they no longer fall. no matter how much she sobs, there's none left to cry.

it would be easier, she muses again, to not feel. to not breathe, to not hurt. it would be easier, she reasons, for others to not have to worry anymore, to not have to fuss about her health or her sanity, or the endless doctor's appointments, or the fights with family over her medication, or the special treatment at school to help keep her out of harm's way.

it would be easier to simply not be. not to die, not to sleep, just to no longer be.

with a single tear, her wish is granted. the pearlescent hand that she holds closes its fingers around hers, the painted eyes shimmering awake as if moistened by her tear. the Doll grows to match her height. it kneels before her, her head in its hands as it gently presses its forehead to hers. cold, hard, yet delicate and frail. she sees her life play out before her eyes, so many happy moments, and so, so much pain.

and then it stops. the memories are gone, she is gone, and all that remains is an empty vessel. an empty vessel, and a Doll to carry on in her stead.

and as she stands to leave, the cat backs away from her, darting behind the Doll.

“Curious.” the Witch tilts her head in askance, just for a moment, then leaves without a trace.

another day(?) in the mirror maze and the Doll, having lost all sense of time and direction, just keeps walking. every so often, it encounters a false mirror with a reversed reflection, and it's forced to confront a version of itself in the form that everyone else sees, in order to step through the illusion and... make progress...

is it making progress? the Doll feels further and further from whatever goal it's been progressing towards. endlessly looking at itself and seeing nothing but a cracked empty vessel is wearing heavy on its soul, yet the maze does change, and each section is different than the one before. however similar this part feels to where the Doll was before, it is new.

with a sigh, the Doll takes another step. looking down, it realises that its reflection here looks... different. is that... flesh? real hair? the woman in the mirror is eerily familiar, but there's some disconnect between her image and the Doll's memories.

the floor shatters. the Doll falls.

24... 25... 26... wait, there should be a wall here. the Doll has been counting steps, suspicious that the walls might be moving. an endless maze of mirrors, invisible passageways, and now shifting corridors... wherever it is, whatever the reason for it being here, it's clear that they're not supposed to leave any time soon.

another stretch of mirrored corridors, this time largely unlit. small motes of light dance around, echoing in the mirrors to form constellations. the Doll sits to watch, a clouded memory half surfacing. it's done this before, watched the dancing lights... in the water? in the sky?

the Doll reaches to pluck one from the air, but it melts through its fingers. with a sigh, it sits and watches the dancing lights for a while.

it knows it can't stop forever, though, so it picks itself up and presses onwards, checking each mirror for those backwards reflections. onwards until it can walk no more.

with a heaving sigh, the Doll rises to its feet and starts on again, this time feeling for those false mirrors with its hands. the walls are just too far apart for it to reach both at once, so it alternates every few steps. an hour or so passes, and as it shifts weight to its right foot, extends its hand... huh.

the Doll's hand swooshes through the reflection. another illusion hiding a secret path... maybe this is the way out? the Doll stops to study its reflection for the first time today. there's something... off. something about its reflection feels wrong. it shakes its head, trying to brush off the feeling at the same time as it reaches up to brush its hair out of its face.

wait.

the Doll used its right hand, but the reflection used the hand to the Doll's left. that's... not how mirrors work. the Doll tries a few more movements: a wave, a jump, a twirl... yeah, definitely a reflection, just... reversed. the Doll looks around at the other mirrors, just to check. hm, no, they're all normal reflections. nothing to do but go through, it seems, and so it does. another long mirrored corridor, with twists and turns and confusing branches.

it's only when the exhausted Doll stops to rest, as it closes its eyes, that it realises why the false reflection felt so unsettling: it was seeing itself the way others did for the first time.

bleary eyed, it stumbles around the corner to finally come face to face with... itself, again. an infinite number of porcelain faces with painted smiles staring back at it. another dead end. the Doll turns around, takes a step and stops. it has no idea how it got here. the walls of the maze may as well be invisible, because the mirrors hide corridors and make every stretch look identical.

even if it did remember the way it came from, would there even be a way out at the end? it woke up in this place, never seeing an entrance. the only sight its seen is itself, the only sounds its own footsteps and joints. all that it's known is itself, for... how long has it even been? just stuck here, staring at its own reflection. it barely recognised itself.

the Doll takes another step, stumbling as the energy required to hold itself up is finally too great... it steadies itself against the wall, for a moment, then darkness.

everywhere the Doll looks, it sees its reflection repeating out towards infinity. how long has it been here? it's never really had a good grasp on the passage of time, but it truly can't tell how long it's been here, and it has no way to know if it's made any progress. is there even a way out?

hidden corners, passageways obscured by yet more reflections, the confusion made even worse by the fact that not all of the mirrors even exist. the magic leaking out of the Doll's cracks fuels illusions, phantom surfaces through which one might stumble.

as much as the maze winds and twists, so too does time move in bursts. the Doll presses onward; there's no comfort to be found for it here. it must escape.

the weather has turned icy, and the Doll has begun making tea again. it's far from home, far from its fancy teas and kettle, but tea-making is a skill one learns, and This One doesn't need to precisely control the temperature of the water to get good tea. lemon & ginger, peppermint & honey, a black tea blend with milk & honey... it's not the Doll's best work, but it's comforting on nights when the air bites into the flesh.

This One simply must acquire some more blossoming white teas. maybe it'll go to its favourite store next month. maybe it'll start its collection anew.

“see, there's one Angel to a few thousand Humans. there used to be enough to have one-on-one protection and guidance, but the Human population just kept growing and ... well they don't make new Angels.

“that's when the 'no intervention' rule came in. every so often they get orders from above to step in, but that's the exception and not the rule. there used to be a whole class of Angels just for surveillance like this, the Watchers, the Grigori.

“now they're all like that. we don't have that limitation, of course. we are many, we are legion. hell, we outnumber you Humans. you'll always have my undivided attention, Doll. you're not alone anymore.”

the Doll smiles, honestly just pleased to have someone to talk to.

a Doll sitting by the water, watching as people swim and snorkel in the small bay. there's maybe three dozen or so, paddling about. from up here, on the jetty, This One can see a few turtles. the Doll had been taught how to tell the species apart, and these ones seem to be Hawksbill Sea Turtles. the way they fly though the water is mesmerising.

a little further out, through the crystal clear water, the swift moving shape of a Blacktip Reef Shark cuts through schools of fish and schools of people alike. it's not likely to harm anyone, but the humans give it a wide berth all the same. a beautiful sight, truly. a rock below the Doll's perch shifts, swimming off? oh! a Wobbegong!

the Doll will be thinking about this place for the rest of its life, and this was the least magical moment here. this was the Doll sitting out because it had a migraine. this was the low point of the trip.