another empty spaces doll (it/its)
sometimes, the Doll remembers the time before it broke. sometimes, the Doll sees flashes of another life.
it was always cracked, always bruised but it used to move without strings it was free to go outside without a witch
the Doll sighs, remembering the faces of its friends. it's been years since it had seen some of them, a decade even. another life.
It shakes its head. the past holds nothing but pain for the Doll... and the road ahead is getting more overcast every day.
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.
Doll cursed with life, suffering alone.
despite everything, it clings to life, doing its best to repair itself each night. it pours gold into its cracks, it patches its dress, it snaps its joints back together. it repaints its eyes and smile as best it can.
but the magic is running out.
it needs to find a Witch. for a time, it thought it had one, but they couldn't stay even though they wanted to. the Doll understands; it knows its needs are... specific, and many.
desperately clinging to any promise of love, of life, of magic, the Doll goes through a rapid whirlwind of Witches and... nothing. it's left alone at the end of each day, to repair itself once more.
the magic is running out.
the magic is running out.