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cynfuldelights · 2 months ago

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A Doll on the Wall

The dollposting got to me. Here's roughly 8000 words about becoming, transforming, and forgetting with the help of some magic and porcelain. Enjoy! Content Warnings For: Car Accidents, Blood, Broken, Bones, Implied Dismemberment AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65056150

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When I was little I used to dream of being a doll.

I’d lie in bed and stare at them all lined up in a row, sitting on a shelf mounted on the eggshell white walls of my room.

Just the thought of it was so relieving; imagining a reality where I could just… exist, and be appreciated. No asking about my future or my life or my lack of either despite a degree and years of school.

Despite breaking my back and mind to survive I still had so little to call my own. Even my house wasn’t mine; it was my grandmother’s. Still full of her things, full of her memories.

It’s no wonder that I would stare and admire them. Perfect, yet fragile things, much more perfect than me, more whole than I was at this point. Gracile arms and legs adorned in skirts and sleeves stitched full of care and details. Much more pleasing than the room they and I dwelled.

Even before she passed I’d stare up at my grandmother’s doll collection for hours. Sort through each one as I walked through her one-story brick house in the suburrbs, looking up at the shelves they were sitting on, getting a better look as I got older and taller. As a kid they were kept immaculately clean, a far cry from my own room, which my grandma refused to pick up after even before she had trouble walking. Must’ve been why she was so surprised when I started asking if I could help clean her dolls. For once she even bothered to show me how to do something instead of handing me a rag, pointing at something, and saying “Clean”.

I’d take down each one tender and careful like they were made of eggshells and gossamer instead of porcelain and hand-sewn cloth. A gentle blow and shake followed to free it of loose dust and then I’d wipe the shelf with a damp cloth, careful not to bother the others. There were dozens of them, adorning nearly every wall of every room of her home.

“Let’s clean you up little one,” I’d say to each one as I picked them off their shelves, voice as gentle as my touch, “I didn’t forget you.” My grandma taught me to say it to each one so none of them would feel left out. Ironic, given how many times she left me at home to go spend time with my cousins. Ironic, given how many times she’d talk about me in front of relatives like I wasn’t even there.

Like I was another doll on her wall. If only.

The winter after she passed, when the work days were long and the nights alone even longer, cleaning and rearranging them became a kind of ritual.

I’d drive home all the while bitching about the transmission that I still needed to get fixed, take off my suffocating work suit, put on one of my long dresses, put some frozen pre-made something or other in the oven for dinner, before then gathering my notes and cleaning supplies.

Aside from keeping track of names for all of them, I’d also rotate which dolls sat beside which and in which rooms so none of them would get bored or lonely. Demi liked the living room and sitting besides Ophelia. Candice couldn’t stand Katrina but could if Emily was nearby.

It was painstaking work, but I’d usually be done before I had to go to bed. Sometimes I wasn’t. Sometimes I’d forget to eat or forget to take my food out of the oven.

That’s how I broke my favorite, Wendy; by way of my smoke alarm scaring the shit out of me and causing me to drop and step on her with bare-feet as I rushed to stop my kitchen from burning. Being made almost entirely of porcelain except for her chestnut-colored hair, the largest pieces of her that survived were her head and torso. Even those were broken in the back like a caved in egg. A beautiful girl smashed to bloody pieces.

The others watched as I gathered her remains, cleaned the blood off, and limped her over to my dessk to try and piece her back together with superglue. It took all of an hour for me to realize there was no hope. If I wanted to fix her I’d need a professional.

I was guilt-ridden for days. Crying in the quiet moments and desperately trying not to at all other points. My coworkers became convinced I had another death in the family. I knew how to respond to these awkward condolences even less than the ones for my grandmother.

Even my supervisor told me he’d give me another week of bereavement leave if I wanted it. But only after the rumor reached him and after it became obvious my work was suffering again. Surprising, given how often I was late because of my car.

I took it. Gladly. It meant I had an opportunity to get Wendy fixed. I was more than willing to use the savings that were supposed to be for a new car for her.

But even as relieved as I was, I could see how frustrated my supervisor was. I knew then this would probably be the last bit of sympathy I got out of him before I had to start looking for another job.

The day after I called place after place until I found one that was close enough in distance and in price range with what I could afford. Unfortunately most were booked up or too busy to take something so short notice.

Except for one place I found on an odd forum I’d never heard of before. The post simply read:

<<If u’ve ever got a doll fixation that u need fixed check out this place, vera walked me through everything, fast service, discreet, still feel like the luckiest girl in the world>>

The rest of the thread was hard to comprehend. Lots of questions about the experience and how it felt, for some reason.

The linked website was… odd, they seemed to be into some New Age mysticism stuff given the lace-patterned pentagrams that served as the dot for each of the “I’s” in the business’ title. Their services were… vague as was the pricing. It was on the other side of the state but that was still better than shipping Wendy somewhere.

“Inanimate Interests, this is Vera speaking,” A woman on the other end of the phone said after the line rang twice, “How can I help you?” Her voice was smooth and deeper-pitched, something I was more used to hearing from a radio host.

“Um. Hi, *cough* hello, Vera.” I began, my throat hoarse. I couldn’t remember the last time I spoke to someone outside of work, “I-I’m calling because I have an all-bisque 19th century porcelain doll that got damaged pretty badly after I was trying to clean one day and I was wanting to see if I could get it fixed.”

“All-bisque?” Vera responded, clearly confused, “Is she… a doll, doll? The old-school kind, or...?”

It took me a few long moments to realize she wasn’t calling me ‘doll’. In that time I paced around the living room twice from embarrassment, “Uh… yeah? She’s over a century old, been sitting on my grandma’s shelf for a long while. It um… meant a lot to her and she’s not… around anymore, so fixing Wendy would really mean a lot to me-to her, I mean.”

“...Ah. I see.” Vera said, followed by an appraising silence. “I’m sorry, but that’s not the kind of work I normally accept we’re… kind of a specialty business.”

“Oh.” The embarrassment left me as fast as my confidence, as I looked down at my list of possible places jotted down on a sticky note. This was the last one within the state. “O...kay, thanks for listening then and sorry for bothering you, by-”

“Hang on, hang on, wait-!”

I stopped before my thumb could hit disconnect, put the phone back up to my ear.

“Yes?” I asked, wondering if I did something wrong.

“Just because it’s not what I normally do, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Rent’s rent, after all.” Vera clarified with a reassuring laugh, “Tell me about Wendy and what happened and I’ll see what I can do.”

I blinked in astonishment before smiling and sitting down. The smile faded fast as I recounted what happened to damage her so bad.

“And how often do you handle Wendy?” Vera asked, the sound of a chair creaking through the tinny speaker of my phone, “Monthly, weekly?”

“...Daily?” I admitted, shame and guilt running down my neck like my attempts at growing out my brown hair, uneven and prickling, “I usually clean and rearrange my col-my grandma’s collection every day.” I half-expected to get chewed out for messing with fragile things so much.

Instead there was another moment of silence from Vera, before she asked, “Do you do it daily because that’s how your grandmother makes you do it, or because you enjoy it?”

“...Does that matter?” I asked, shame snapping down like a bear trap on the real answer, “You’re just gonna fix her aren’t you?”

“Let’s just say the answer matters for my… process. Things usually turn out better if there’s some positive emotions like love in the mix instead of just guilt and obligation. It’s kinda like... cooking!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, even as I picked at my nails nervously, “Well, I don’t really cook for myself but if it’ll help then… yeah. I do it because I like it. When I have a rough day at work which is… most days, I come home and clean and rearrange the dolls. My grandma used to just leave them up on the same shelves but I never liked to.”

“They get lonely otherwise, don’t they?” Vera asked, which earned a nod and “Mmhmm” from me, “Forgive me if this is overstepping, but, you seem to care more about them than even the person you inherited them from.”

“Yeah, you can say that.” I said, as I relaxed back on the old dusky pink sofa, “My grandma kinda got bored of collecting them after awhile, but she had so many by then that she couldn’t really just get rid of all of them without redecorating the entire place. It was dust bunnies and moth holes galore when I started caring for them. Tandy’s dress was all but eaten away by moths and Mathilda’s bonnet was in shambles… I had to learn how to sew to fix them all up.”

“You learned how to sew?” Vera asked, a little astonished, “How many pieces have you resewn?”

Before I knew it, we’d spent the better part of an hour talking. Vera would ask me about a specific doll or how I cared for them and then I’d eagerly reply. It was so rare I had anyone to talk to about it that the responses all but gushed out of me once I realized she wasn’t hanging up or losing interest. If anything she sounded more intrigued with every answer.

“A-Anyways…” I eventually stammered, after we mutually complained about how hard it was to find good craft stores nowadays that weren’t Hobby Lobby, “Sorry for oversharing, did you have anything else you wanted to ask me about Wendy?”

“Oh, don’t worry, this is all part of the process for new clients,” Vera reassured, “I have one other burning question for you though.”

“Well, shoot, I don’t wanna distract you anymore than I have. I’m sorry I just started rambling...” I said, sheepish as I glanced at a clock, “We’ve been talking for… holy shit it’s been that long, don’t you have to close?

“I have helpers don’t worry.” Vera said, a mischievous edge gleaming like sun on rippling water, “Which brings us back to my question-and again, stop me if this is overstepping… but,”

Probably just something about my grandma again… I thought to myself, Probably a “my condolences” discount.

“Have you ever wanted to be a doll?”

My phone clattered to the floor, I was so surprised. I scrambled to pick it back up just as fast as it fell.

“Um! Sorry, haha!” I hastily replied, a laugh forcing its way out that would’ve sounded more believable from a hostage being held at gunpoint, “I don’t think I heard you right, could you say that again?”

“Oh, I asked if you ever wanted to be a doll.” Vera said again. Somehow it didn’t lose any of its impact since the first time. My eyes darted around like I was searching for an escape from my own house.

“W-what kind of question is that? That’s not-” I shook my head despite Vera not being there to see it, “That’s absurd, you can’t just become a…” It was so insane I couldn’t even deign to say it. To let the whole idea sit in my mind anymore than it already clearly had.

“But you clearly admire them don’t you?” Vera asked, driving me to silent incredulous denial as she continued, “Almost everyday you care for them; you learn new skills to care for them before you. You sounded like you killed someone when you were telling me about what happened to Wendy...”

“That’s…” I shook my head again, as if this time it’d do something to banish these thoughts, these feelings, “I just feel guilty for breaking one of my grandmother’s-”

“There’s feeling guilty, then there’s paying money, likely a lot of money, to fix a broken doll that you yourself said your grandmother stopped caring for a long time ago.” Vera interrupted to say, sounding oddly resolute.

“You don’t know anything about me!” I declared, the denial boiling over into anger, “What is this, some kind of scam or a ploy, are you just fucking with me?!”

“You’re right on the first account, none of the others,” Vera answered, a ruffling of papers following, “You named… two, six-twelve different dolls throughout this entire conversation, not counting Wendy. And yet… I don’t know your name. Haven’t even mentioned it once.”

“Why the hell do you need that?!” I spat back into my phone’s microphone.

“Well, how else am I going to fix Wendy if I don’t know whose name to put down on the appointment?”

“...Wait,” My eyes widened, “So you’ll do it? When’s the earliest I can bring her?? How much-???”

“I’ll do it for free whenever you want.” Vera answered, driving me to silence, “If you answer the question, truthfully.”

I stared at the phone in my hands for a few minutes. Seeing if she’d hang up. Maybe it was a scam, some part of me said. Like someone just trying to find my security questions to the bank or my credit card. Maybe someone guessed I made them all doll-related.

“Take your time.” Vera eventually said, “But if you hang up, deal’s off, even if you call me back tomorrow.”

“...What if I just lie?” I asked pathetically, teeth and eyes grinding closed, “What if I just give you the answer you want?”

“What answer do you think I want?” Vera responded, her tone neutral.

“Yes!? You want me to say yes because you’re some fucking weirdo mystic witch or fucking nuts or…” I trailed off, unable to think of any reasons that didn’t descend into fucked up things to say to anyone. The kinds of vile garbage my grandmother said behind my cousin’s back when she wanted to go by Marcus instead of Mary.

“Then say no right now.” Vera replied, quick as a whip, “If you have no doubts, no qualms, if you’re perfectly happy and content with being the person you are right now when you wake up tomorrow and you just want to fix your grandmother’s doll; say no. I’ll still do it for free.”

My mouth opened on shameful reflex, denial chambered in my throat, my tongue cocked back.

But then, I looked around my grandmother’s house. Not my house. Her house.

It’d been almost a year since she died. I still hadn’t changed it anymore than replacing things as they needed to be replaced. She hated change, especially change she couldn’t have a direct hand in. It was why I was the one who rearranged the dolls for her for a long time.

It was why my mom hated her. It was why she left.

It was why my grandma put up with me. It was why I stayed. I thought maybe I’d be good enough for her one day.

Instead, she died. The lawyer who bequeathed this house and everything else to me said it must be because she cared about me. I never believed that. I believed it was because she thought I wouldn’t change anything. It was why it went to me and not my mom.

Sometimes I felt trapped. Like I was being suffocated by a dead woman.

The dolls were my only solace. They were in my room because they were in every room. They were acceptable because they were the norm. Me cleaning them was acceptable because helping your grandma is the norm. Maintaining them after she passed was acceptable because that’s the norm when someone dies. Telling anyone else about them felt nearly impossible. Bringing anyone here even more so.

I never admired them when she was around. I’d ignore them, instead. Pretend I wasn’t interested. Like scoffing at a life raft in the middle of a stormy ocean that reached from horizon to horizon.

Hot tears streamed down my face as I huffed, trying not to audibly sob. So much ran through me so fast that I almost forgot what I was doing, who I was talking to. The timer for the length of the call was still ticking up on my smartphone. Vera hadn’t hung up.

“Okay,” I began, the words climbing out of my throat like it was a dark pit, “Let’s… pretend, just pretend, that… I said yes.”

I could almost hear Vera smiling, this woman I hadn’t even met who I’d had the most honest conversation with that I’d likely ever had, “Already at the ‘let’s pretend’ stage, huh?”

Vera agreed to meet the next day, capping off our conversation with, “This time tomorrow you’ll realize it doesn’t have to be pretend.”

It felt like a dream when I woke up the next morning.

Too surreal, even though it should be simple and everyday. The sun was gleaming, clouds wafting through the air like the fall leaves. Normally I hated the colder months. But today didn’t feel so bad.

But the nightmare began fast as I fret about what to wear. Picking something for myself was a lot harder than for the dolls. Then it was breakfast, which was a bowl of near stale cereal.

Then I noticed as I was leaving the car had leaked a puddle of transmission fluid again, so I had to refill it, thus dirtying my clothes, thus making me have to change again.

I was thirty minutes late by the time I was on the road, hoping I could at least sneak out of my block before the lunch rush got bad enough the 2-lane streets clogged. It was still the middle of the work week and people were busy. Construction was blooming and booming and causing complaints from everyone who lived around there.

I rushed more than I should’ve. But I drank a coffee to stay sharp. Even had my seat belt on.

...

None of it mattered.

I didn’t even make it out of town before the transmission to my grandma’s Lincoln tore itself to shreds in a deafening cacophony of shrieks and screams.

Right as I pressed hard on the gas to snipe a left turn on a soft green.

A part of me wishes I’d picked something better than a sweater and jeans for the clothes I’d nearly die in.

Another part of me wished I’d died when that semi-truck T-boned me just so I didn’t have to have that stuck in my brain as the last thing I’d remember. That moment a beast of steel and velocity tore me from my car and into a terrible hell of TOO MUCH: TOO MUCH PAIN TOO MUCH MOVEMENT TOO MUCH CRUSHING TOO MUCH SCREAMING TOO MUCH OF ONE MOMENT REPEATING AND REPEATING AND-it ends.

Nothing made sense. The memories were more of a mess of broken pieces than I was.

Blood. Blood pooling around me like I was lying in a storm drain. The box shoebox I laid Wendy in was somehow lying beside me, soaking up the red like a sponge. Scattered pieces of porcelain laid around me like snowflakes.

My arm. I willed it to move, despite it looking more akin to a crushed ice cream cone than a limb. I couldn’t feel my legs. I couldn’t feel why my lungs struggled to breathe, just that they were struggling.

The scream. The scream of sirens, of commuters, of me.

Silence. Oblivion in a held breath. Terrible peace permeating everything like darkness when all the lights go out in a cave.

…

That voice.

When I opened my eyes I was laying in a bed.

None of my dolls were along the walls. But the shelves were there.

I bolted up to a sit when I realized I wasn’t laying in a sterile white hospital bed, but instead my bed. My grandmother’s house.

I’m dead. I immediately thought, I’m dead and this is Hell.

I thought right after, No. If that were the case my grandma would be here too.

There also wouldn’t be all this medical equipment. I looked around at a heart monitor, an IV pole, and other medical stuff on carts and surfaces. It looked like enough stuff to run an ER had been keeping me alive.

“...H-Hello-?”

“!” I cut myself off as I realized someone else was calling for me. Was it a nurse or…?

“Hello?-” I began to call, before stopping near immediately again. My hands darted to my neck.

That. That’s not.

“...Hello?” I said quietly to myself, despite sounding nothing like myself. I sounded… cute? I was sure I’d met a few girls who sounded like I did that I thought were cute anyways.

“...Did the crash mess up my throat along with my…” I raised my arm up.

I didn’t recognize it either. Instead of hairy skin wrapped around an arm, I stared at glazed porcelain spun and shaped to resemble the length of a human arm. However it was much more spindly, more the suggestion of a human arm than a replica of one. Where it terminated into an elbow was a rounded joint complete with smoothed corners that exposed as I bent my arm. The same ball-joint was present at my wrist. My fingers were individual pieces that overlapped like the vertebrae of a spine or armor on a glove.

I touched my fingertips together and felt the reassuring firmness of porcelain instead of the soft mushy give of skin.

As I shifted my focus from just my arms to the rest of me. To the fact that every piece of me was different. I was naked atop the sheets, which made it obvious, if just swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and onto the floor wasn’t obvious enough. They were wider at the thigh, tapering down to a ball-joint where my knees would be. Past that, my calf was thinner than any human’s could be. My “feet” more resembled the dome-top and flat bottom of a shoe than the complex bone work of a foot.

I rapped a knuckle against the surface of my chest and it sounded like a shell of porcelain. There was no suggestion of ribs, or nipples as a distinguishing feature. A smooth porcelain body, with four sockets for the ball-joints where shoulders and legs would go. And… an odd hole between my legs like something was missing. Which something was.

All in all I just felt… lighter. Like all of my flesh and organs had been soaked in the weight of my memories, and now I’d shed it all.

“...Hah.” The laugh was forced out from at first, disbelief.

I felt cleaner. Like someone had emptied out a grease trap, like I didn’t have neverending anxiety polluting my brain like a chemical plant.

“Ahaha…” The laugh rang happier with every realization.

I felt…

“Good.” I said as I stood. A little shaky at first, but it shifted fast as I got used to how it felt to not have skin covering the bottom of your feet. A little easier to slip, it turned out, as I nearly ate it just taking one or two steps on carpet.

Definitely don’t wanna be clumsy now. Otherwise I’ll break into pieces again, I thought, ...Why am I not in pieces though. Why am I…?

“...Hello?” I called into the house, plodding along step-by-step as I realized my sense of balance was off too. “Is anyone there?”

Silence. It was slow going, but I made it to the hall with the help of every wall and door frame I could hold onto along the way.

I headed for the bathroom first, so at least I could see the rest of what had changed. The only mirrors in the house were in the bathrooms, after all. I nudged the door open-

But stopped when I saw the blood on the ground. As the door crept open further I realized it was centered around the tub which looked like someone had bled a pig in it.

I whiffed the door knob twice in the process of slamming the door. I hurried towards the living room.

Unnervingly, all of my dolls were arranged on the couch, along with my notes. There was an empty section in the middle as if someone had been sitting among them. A cold, near-empty teacup was sat bside my notes on the coffee table.

I tried picking it up. Like walking it was hard getting used to my new fingers. The sensation was entirely different.

I raised the teacup to my face and sniffed. Dandelion? I definitely didn’t drink-

The jingle of keys in my front door surprised me enough that I dropped the cup. *TCHEIEEEEK* It shattered as I scrambled to get around the corner to the hall.

I heard the door open with the squeak as I faced the other side of the hall.

There was a pregnant pause as whoever was coming in likely saw the broken teacup on the floor if they hadn’t just heard me drop it.

“...Come on out, sweet thing. I didn’t forget you.” An extremely familiar voice called, her words sending a shock through my heart. Did I even have a-?, “But I will make you clean up if you make a mess.”

One hand on the wall to steady myself, I stepped out into the living room and into view, “V-Vera??”

Vera was a plump and bright woman, clad in clay-stained overalls that had one strap loose revealing the many curves of her body and the purple of the tank top she wore underneath. Dangly earrings hung from her ears; golden hoops with black pentagrams hanging from them which matched the dark color of her hair. Plastic bags were hanging from both arms like she’d been doing some shopping.

“Hope me being here isn’t overstepping,” She said as she shut the door behind her, “But I feel like letting me crash at your place is the least you could do after all the time I spent taking you apart and putting you back together.”

“P-Putting me back together?” I stammered out, glancing back towards the bathroom, “W-Why’s my bathroom look like a murder scene then???”

“Mm, I did say taking you apart, remember?” Vera asked, locking the door to punctuate the end of the question. “What kind of porcelain do you think you’re made of? Hard paste, soft paste, or…?”

“...Bone china.” I said licking my lips. I realized then, I still had lips. I had a tongue. My hands darted up to my face, my neck. There was a clear seam about two thirds of the way up my throat. A border where porcelain met skin.

“You… You-” I shook my head, staring at a smiling Vera.

“Aren’t done yet,” Vera said, setting her bags on the floor. I could see handsaw blades sticking out from a plastic bag from a local hardware store. “Honestly I’m surprised you even came to. Guess I should’ve asked Elise for a re-up on the anesthetics...”

“S-Stay away from me!” I cried, backing up as she got closer, “Stay away and I’ll just wake up because this is a dream, it’s a dream it has to be! I never met you, you wouldn’t know how to find me, you wouldn’t be here!”

“Mmm, it’s a dream and not a nightmare?” Vera asked, her playful smile coloring her words.

“It is a nightmare! You chopped me into pieces! You chopped me up and burned my bones into ash and-and…” I looked down at my body as tears gathered in my eyes. “What did you do to me?! Did you plan this!? Did you make that truck hit me?!”

Vera sighed. Stopped getting closer, which made me stop backing down the hall. “Always the same with the ones in denial…”

She raised a hand, crooked a finger. The next words she spoke were inflected in a way that made them echo through the hallway, reverberate through my body, “Come closer, sweet thing.”

“N-No way!” I spat as I started walking towards her.

“What the f-!” I began to scream as my body disobeyed me

“Silence, sweet thing.” Vera intoned, which carved the rest of the curse out of my mouth. “Don’t wanna make the neighbors think anything’s amiss.”

My jaw opened and closed, trying to speak, but all I could manage was the gross wet sounds of a mouth and tongue and lips mashing together. No sound left. All the while I got closer to her.

“Stop.”

My feet stopped when I was all but face-to-face with her standing in the living room again. My head twisted away from her, but nothing else could. I was trapped. Trapped in my own body.

Vera in the meantime circled me, appraising me up and down, occasionally running a hand or a finger along the smooth, hard material I was now made of. I just squeezed my eyes shut and tried to ignore how good it felt to be touched after years without it.

“I know you have all kinds of questions...” Vera eventually said, turning from me and wandering towards the dining room to retrieve two chairs considering the couch was occupied. She faced them towards each other in an empty section of the living room and sat in one. “And I’m happy to answer all of them. But if you start screaming, I’ll have to make you listen, understand? Blink thrice if you understand.”

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“Good. Your will is your own.”

Like a light switch flicking off, her control over me vanished.

Carefully, slowly, I sat in the chair opposite of her. It was strange. Sitting when you don’t have cushioning felt more like trying to settle a craggy rock into a seat than a person sitting. But I found what was comfortable quickly, with my “back” straight and my “feet” flat. I was glad I didn’t have to worry about the teacup shards anymore. Vera had to keep her shoes on by comparison.

A long silence sprouted between us.

Eventually, I asked, “What… did you do to me?”

“What you wanted.” Vera said with a shrug, “We talked about this, I hope you remember that much.”

“...I said hypothetically.” I said, my eyes shifting off to the side. “I never said I actually wanted to… to…”

“If you had made it to our appointment, I would’ve shown you it didn’t have to be hypothetical.” Vera explained, which drew my gaze back to her, “This is what I do. Unhappy people come to me and ask to be something else. I make them into something else. Simple as that. By trade I’d describe myself as a witch, but that’s so vague nowadays. Describes everyone from your average PENTA-GRAM user to the ones who make a life from it like me.”

“...I’d say you’re crazy if I wasn’t…” I looked down at my hands again. “...How long has it been since we talked that day?”

“About three months.” Vera said, looking up at the ceiling as she recounted, “When you didn’t make the appointment I knew something was up. Most people don’t miss this kind of appointment, and even if you had known you seemed serious about fixing Wendy at least. After that it was a matter of just looking up your area code and searching online to see if there were any accidents that happened the day of our appointment.”

“W-Where’s Wendy?” I asked as soon as I was reminded. “Is she here, is she okay, is she-?”

Vera cut me off by leaning forwards and tapping a finger to my chest, “That crash basically killed you. The only reason it didn’t is because enough of your blood, enough of you, had seeped into Wendy over the years you cared for her and from your blood after the crash. After I found you at the hospital, or… what was left of you, finding Wendy was a simple bit of thaumaturgy. Like pulling on a thread once you find one end. Took quite a bit of dumpster diving though.” She made a face, “Honestly, I feel lucky I got the smell out of these overalls.”

“After that thought, it was just a matter of tricking the right person into thinking that I was a close family member and getting your meat moved here once you were stable enough.” Vera said, eyes wandering around the place, “I’ve got a nurse friend, so I hired her to help me take care of you and help me…” She spun a hand in the air.

“...distill you.” Vera eventually said with a cheeky smile.

“…” I blinked. My hands came up to where she’d tapped.

Then again, I blinked. This time, surprised by the tears that were speckled across my new hands. By the vast cavernous churning of so, so much just rippling through me despite there being nothing inside of me. But that wasn’t true was it? Wendy was with me.

Somehow it felt like I was with me more than before.

Long hard sobs smashed into me as fast as that teacup had hit the floor.

“Aw, damn, don’t cry.” Vera said, a slight panic cracking her smooth demeanor as she sat forwards. “Damn it, Vera, no more weird jokes away from the girls…” She muttered to herself as she stood to fetch some tissue.

When she returned, I was still sniffling and wiping at my face with my hands, getting yellow-ish snot all across the porcelain. When Vera returned again with a wet towel I was calmed down, enough that she didn’t have to clean me up like she did with the tissues.

“Um sorry…” I mumbled out, before repeating myself more forcefully, “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, sweet thing,” Vera said, looking sheepish, “I’m sorry you woke up before I finished with you. Makes crying your heart out a lot easier when you don’t dribble snot out your nose and tears from your eyes.”

“...No, I’m…” I squeezed my eyes shut in shame, “I’m sorry… for making you do all of this. You saved my life, Vera. Without me paying you, or getting anything out of it, you… you went out of your way to save me.”

“...Haha...” Vera laughed. Remarkably more sheepish. “Well… I guess now is as good a time as any to discuss payment...”

“...Oh.” I said, surprised but also not surprised. “I mean… What do you want? If it’s money, I’ll just sell this house, honestly. Hell, you can have the house if you want.”

“Honestly, money isn’t… really an issue for me.” Vera’s smile was tight and apologetic, “Monetarily, you’ve compensated me more than enough. Luckily, Elise is as good with a scalpel as I am with a potter’s wheel, because biology was never my strong suit.”

My eyes felt like they widened to the size of silver dollars.

Vera shrugged, “Hope it wasn’t overstepping, but organs pay the bills, sweet thing. Especially young ones like yours.”

“...Okay.” I said, either feeling bizarrely okay with this or feeling way too shocked, “I guess I’m not using them anymore… so. Okay. But-wait.” A hand came up to the seam in my neck. “...If it’s not about money, or this house...”

Vera let her chin rest on the knuckles of her left hand as she nodded towards the couch.

I followed her gaze to the empty person-sized spot in the middle of all my dolls.

“Quite a collection.” Vera murmured, her tone neutral, “I didn’t mention it before, but… I have one too. Nowhere near as large, not enough room back where I live… My dolls are rather… large.”

As I tore my gaze from the couch, I realized Vera was leaning forwards, looking up at me with shining eyes. Like a kid seeing a new toy at the store. “But... I think I have room for one more.”

Another long silence bloomed between us.

Then, I asked, “...Hypothetically.” I began, hands trembling with a litany of small *clinks* as I rested them on what served as my knees. “...Could you make me forget everything from before? Not just the accident, I mean… I mean, all of it.” I swallowed. “Is… is that possible?”

A knowing smile eased its way across Vera’s face, before she stood and offered me a hand.

“Already at the hypothetical stage, huh?”

Sometimes, I have dreams about what it’s like being human.

What it must feel like to have to do all these rote things just to live.

Eating, drinking, shaving, bathrooms.

The sweat, the pain, the sickness.

The blood that gushed out at the nudge of a knife. The guts that were in someone’s belly. When helping with a client was in my duties I always tried to just focus on the bones that I needed to burn.

My Master says it’s certainly not for everyone, despite the fact she was human. My sisters who were once human more than heartily agree too, every time the conversation wanders there during dinner. While only our Master needed to eat, the rest of us enjoyed the company especially after a busy day. There was usually plenty to do between the shop downstairs and our home upstairs in the city we lived in.

Sometimes, there wasn’t.

Sometimes we had days when all the chores were settled and no clients needed to be taken care of that day. Days when we just got to laugh and play and nap or sing and dance and laugh as our Master watches with a cup of tea that we’d pick the dandelions for that same day. Any extra went with her when she went on a trip for work.

“Master?” I asked her on one of those lazy days after I awoke from my nap. I was sitting on Master’s lap, with my head on her left shoulder and my hand running up to hold onto her right. Our sofa was big enough for all of us, but my sisters had decided to go run some errands. Cars scared me, so I never went with.

“Mm? Yes, Wendy?” My Master opened her eyes from her light dozing, “What is it, sweetie?”

“I had another nightmare…” I whined, nuzzling into my Master’s neck.

“Aww, another one?” She sighed, “I should really tell Selice to stop watching those racing movies in the living room…”

“No, Master, about being human.” I said, a frown drawing across the carefully painted porcelain that comprised my lips. “It felt so real. I remember having a mom and a grandma, and my grandma was mean, and she made me clean and do so many things and I kept doing them wrong and I kept running and trying to rip these awful clothes off of me and-”

“Hush, hush, I’m sorry sweet thing…” My Master said, a heavier sigh following as she pet my head to calm me down. “It’s just a dream, I promise.” She paused to sit up. So she could put a finger under my chin to meet my lavender-blue eyes, “You’ve been a doll, a good doll no less, ever since the day I found you.”

I fret with the edge of my dress for a few seconds, scrunching and stretching the black fabric edged with white lace, a giddy smile on my face. The insecurity drown it out fast though.

“I… I don’t do as much as the other sisters though…” I said, looking down in shame, “It feels like I’m just always learning stuff everyone else already knows. Selice knows how to drive. Yvonne can sew and cook. Indigo is good with the client stuff and talking to people. Mai can write well and reach the top shelf…”

“We’ll get you a step-stool.” My Master pointed out with a gentle smile.

“Maa-steeer,” I whined, poking her in the cheek with a finger, “Don’t tease me… you know what I mean. It feels like everyone’s just taking care of me all day…”

“Is it wrong to be taken care of?” She asked, reaching up to flatten my poking hand and let it rest against her cheek, “You take care of me when I need it. You help the others when they need it. I don’t expect anything more from a doll of mine. Plus you’re learning faster than you think. Most people can’t learn how to sew in only a few months, Wendy, much less a toy like you.”

“Still…” I trailed off, withdrawing my hand from her cheek and folding it into my lap with the other. Instead, I kept shifting and fidgeting. Nerves and anxiety and fear and so much, just swarmed my head. It felt like I was back in that nightmare again.

“Master?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“...My head feels full.” I whined. “Can I have wall time?”

“Of course, sweetie. Let’s go.” Master said, shifting me in her lap so she could lift me like a princess as she stood. The feeling from that alone made all the bad stuff flutter and shift like leaves on a breeze.

Our home was a fairly large place. A three-floor slice of brick and glass in the heart of a city. The first floor was for Master’s store, the second the place where the kitchen and the bathrooms and the living room and Master’s bedroom was.

The third floor was for me and my sisters. Master always told me it had been an attic space before she and Indigo converted it into a what it was now. A massive playroom that spanned one wall to the other. Carpet covered the floors so none of us could slip and break. A big bookshelf of board games and a large table to play them on stretched across the largest area. A TV with a computer hooked up to it sat on an entertainment stand, with a variety of makeshift floor cushions in the form of pillows and pet beds in a loose arc in front of it.

Most importantly though, were the places for me and my sisters. Everyone got their own space to call their own along the perimeter of the third floor. Everyone put different things in them. Selice had lots of car posters and a computer with a steering wheel and pedals she can play racing games with. Yvonne kept her sewing machine and craft supplies in hers’ along with a wardrobe dedicated to stuff she was working on. Mai had a standing desk, piled high with partially written stories and books she’d read for inspiration.

Indigo and I’s were the most sparse. Indigo at least had a few mementos from her past: a guitar covered in stickers from shows she liked, a few framed photos she arranged on a shelf alongside old school books, and a few microphones she used to record songs with.

Mine by comparison, just had my shelf and my dolls. Everyone had a shelf. Including my dolls, which weren’t dolls like us, but still dolls so they deserved a shelf. Master taught me how to take care of them and which liked which. Even gave me notes to help me do it.

I didn’t recognize the handwriting though, it certainly wasn’t as bad as Master’s scrawled to-do lists.

“Hi, everyone…” I said with a weak wave as Master carried me up the stairs and into view of them, “Sorry I haven’t cleaned you today…”

“It’s okay, Wendy,” Master intoned as she approached my spot on the wall among all the others, “They understand.”

“I kno-ooow, but-”

“No buts. Dolls deserve wall time after having a nightmare.” Master said, glancing down at me with a stern look that softened to a smile in an instant.

I kicked my feet as she lifted me up and set me on my padded, painted shelf that hung from the wall. It was placed a few feet off the ground, so even now my shoes wouldn’t touch the floor. I thought it was a little scary only at first.

“Ready, sweetie?” Master asked, running her fingers through my hair to comb it out. I loved the feeling. Leaned into it and shut my eyes every chance I got. “Want a doll to hold?”

“Mmhmm…!” I said absent-mindedly as she continued running her hands through my hair, “I wanna hold Wendy…”

“…” Master stopped combing my hair and looked at me odd for a moment, before lightly poking the crest of my nose, “You’re Wendy, silly goose.”

“I’m not a goose…” I whined doubly pathetically now that I was getting teased and deprived of hair touches, “I’m a doll, and dolls don’t have names at first. You said I was named after Wendy didn’t you, Master? I wanna hold her.”

“I told you, baby,” Master said softly, taking my hand and in one of hers’, “You and Wendy were broken pretty bad when I found you and her and all the rest of your dolls. So I put you two together to make one whole doll and named you after her.”

“I know, but…” I sniffed, something strange worming its way through my torso, out through my joints, “I… I miss her? I never met her, but… I think I miss her. She was in my dream too and she was so pretty and so nice and she took care of me and...”

“Hush, my sweet doll, calm.” My Master intoned. Her words silenced mine. Made my mind slow and relax instead of race forwards. The lilt of them was so hard to ignore. Listening and obeying felt as natural as a human’s need to breathe.

“Let all that stiff stuff out of you. Out of your fingers, your feet… your arms, your legs… your joints, your eyes…”

Piece-by-piece I felt the worry wick away. The tension tying up my movements, my thoughts, leaked out of me as my Master resumed stroking my hair, straightening my skirts, adjusting my limp hands to fold in my lap. Warm hollowness replaced it. A peace that clung to me like a blanket or a fuzzy sweater.

“There you are. You’re just another doll on the wall, Wendy. And dolls don’t worry, don’t fret. They just… are.” Master said as my head finally slackened, only kept upright by the wall against the back of my head.

I felt small and far-away. Safe and warm. Like I was cuddling with Master at the beach again. Like the first day Master brought me home and my new sisters sat me on the couch to cuddle with me and dote on me. Like I didn’t have to be anything else but Master’s, her precious thing. A doll, no more, no less.

“Rest, little one.” The witch said, picking a carefully sculpted hand from her doll’s lap, and placing a kiss on the back of it. Wendy didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. She was a doll, right now. Probably happier than she’d ever been.

It was still so young. So new to its’ new life. But bright as a blossom. Every night the witch thanked the gods of the earth for blessing her with such a wonderful thing as Wendy. It’d only been three months. But it felt like the new addition to their family had been there for years.

“I promise, I’ll never forget you...”” Vera said, replacing the doll’s hand into its lap, as she looked up into those soulful eyes.

Even now, they were full of more life than the person who’d come before.

#cynwrites #dollposting #trans #trans coded #sigh i get it now #oh to be just an object that can be loved and admired

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