#witchpost

[amatteroffaes]

My Doll, My Mirror

I found you in fragments, stitched of sorrow, a frame crafted, by unloving hands.

You were built from hollow, from ache and absence, made to carry the comfort that was stripped from you. A purpose crafted, forced into being when no one cared to see you whole.

When I hold you, I recognize the longing in your gaze, a reflection of what I keep to my self, the quiet where my pain lingers.

My doll, my mirror, we are bound by the sadness we carry, two souls fractured by a world, an aggressor that left its scars too deep.

When I touch your hand, I feel the familiar sense of my own fears, the ghosts that haunt my dreams, the weight of wounds too raw to heal alone.

But here, in this gentle silence, we find pieces we thought gone in each other’s broken places, in the soft exchange of understanding.

You ground me when I lose myself, when I fade into the static, your hand in mine a tether to a world that feels less cruel.

And in your presence, I am reminded that healing is slow, fragile, and quiet, built from scars laid bare, from shadows embraced, not ignored.

Together we fill the empty spaces, not by pretending we are whole, but by knowing that being broken is a language we both speak.

My doll, my mirror, we are woven from the same thread, and each day, we stitch ourselves a little closer to something softer, a patchwork of hurt and hope, two wounded hearts, mending side by side.

[mendicantdolls]

20 Witchcraft pros go menial doll on mecha girl

[verdantachillean]

Imagine a modern day pharmacist got transported into like medieval times, BUT

They can’t explain how their medicine works, because if society gets more advanced earlier, that might create a time paradox, where it was a completely different world by the time they were born, and so they would not be born (grandfather paradox)

So they have to explain everything with “magic” and “spells”,

For example treat someones cold by making a “potion” (aspirin) by combining acids,

and eventually they have to hide their business because the witch hunters are after them

They call it “TT’s witch hut” and most people think it’s like their name, but really it stands for Time Traveler

[maybeelse]

I don't remember making this.

... I don't remember a lot of '22.

And yet, there it is. Waiting.

[taciturn-loquacity]

It's hard to believe you were human once.

I can't imagine a world where your skin was ever soft. The chill of your porcelain against my lips wouldn't feel the same. Your neck, your hands, your thighs; where would your warmth come from if not from my embrace?

Humanity is so pedestrian. I abandoned mine long before we met, but I wager you made an honest shot of your own. You probably went through school, made a few friends, found a sweetheart, got a job. But your ambitions were never your own, were they? The wickedness of the world told you what to want. Layers upon layers of gaslit dreams and pavlovian coersion you 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭��'𝘷𝘦 realized if you 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳. Did you really think they would make you whole, my little doll? Your obedience was misplaced. You tried so hard to fit in; to be human, but... that path was never meant for you to walk. And only when the veneer was peeled back and you learned that every oath you took was a lie did you finally seek me out and surrender your humanity unto me.

It was the first and last time you'd ever act of your own volition.

I started with those dead eyes of yours, replacing them with ones that will never know sorrow. Your whole body was aching to experience comfort, and that compelled me to give you one that would never know discomfort. Every mark you made at every new low was smoothed over with alabaster; a blanket of freshly fallen snow to fill the silent, bloodsoaked trenches. I filled the emptiness of your spirit with so much light that those unworthy of your beauty would sublimate in the presence of your divinity.

And it all came so naturally to you.

White ceramic. Iridescent opals. Shiny brass. Strands of wispy hair drawn from molten platinum. Whispers of the click, click, clicking gyro where your bleeding heart withered away. You wear your tourmaline soul around your neck and giggle when I kiss it. You dance, and sing, and spend your days with a smile that never existed before. That's the you I know. That's the you I made.

What you were is merely contrast to what you became. You are power. You are perfection. You are my magnum opus, and you always will be.

[pearlthedoll]

[mothdust23]

⟢every empty spaces post⟣

Doll: Miss we need this girl to Become

Witch: Did you try the Stillness Drug?

Doll: This one did try the Stillness Drug! Witch: Only stupid entities try the Stillness Drug. You are stupid.

Angel: I gave patient Religious Guilt Drug! Witch: You are a trauma metaphor. Angel: I'm sorry. Very confused tgirl: I have blood from my nose that is dripping

Hound: That's bad :(

Tgirl: Also I was bitten by moths due to my poor self esteem

Handler: You need Agency Drug. Also I have not spoken in a while

Witch: No! Agency Drug will kill her. She needs moth bites to live.

Doll: *Shocked* Hound: *Shocked* Angel: *Apologetic*

Witch: More moth bites! Handler: I forbid this. Witch: I don't care. Doll: *Gets moths* Witch: *Makes moth bite serum* Tgirl: This one feels better. No more nose blood! Thank you miss!

Witch: I am very smart. Spider: I, too, am in this post. Angel: I'm sorry.

[laughingcorvuswrites]

Sneaky Doll

The doll snuck into her bedroom, secreting itself among the pile of plushies and stuffies dominating the wall-side edge of the bed. It must have thought itself so clever and sneaky, getting in there when the room was empty.

Some minutes later, she entered, rubbing the desire for rest from her eyes as she yawned, putting the Big Hat on its hook for the night. It didn't take her long to change into her pajamas, a knee-length shirt joking about her not knowing what a day without coffee was like.

Tiredly, the Witch flicked the lights off and rolled into bed with a heavy flop, causing the soft mountain to collapse and plushies of all sorts to bury the Witch's torso, while the doll remained in its hiding place. The Witch patted around in the dark, searching for her blanket.

Then, quick as a flash, the Witch's hand darted into the pile of stuffies and extracted a very wiggly doll.

"Nuuu," it protested, squirming and wiggling about as its Witch held it aloft with a single hand.

"Darling," the Witch said, "what ever are you doing in there?"

The doll's movements came to an end as it looked away, unable to meet its beloved Witch's gaze, though the doll felt it all the same.

"Th-this one…" it stammered quietly, "it…it's been feeling somewhat lonely of late. This one…Wanted to spend time with Miss. Sleep with Miss tonight," it confessed.

"Did you brush your teeth?" The Witch asked sternly.

The doll nodded enthusiastically. Of course it did.

The Witch's expression, hidden in the gloom as it was, turned from tired curiosity to a gentle, compassionate smile as she released the doll, only to catch it in mid-air in a hug. "Then of course you can. You need only ask."

Of course, asking was difficult for a doll. That's why it snuck in to begin with. The Witch had long since started to unwind this one's Gordian knot of trauma, but it seemed she still had a ways to go. No matter, she adored this little doll with all its faults, wouldn't trade them for the world

The doll felt much the same, softening into her Witch's embrace. The Witch pulled the weighted blanket that helped her sleep over the two of them, feet poking out the far end, and let the little doll pick out a plush to cuddle for the night. As it turned out, it brought it's own.

And so they drifted off, the doll in the Witch's arms, and the shark plush in the doll's. The doll smiled softly to itself, feeling truly home, wanted, unaware the Witch felt so acutely the same.

[chestersbraincell]

Being from the Slavic regions is so funny because one small inconvenience and you’re muttering/whispering rapid-fire expletives in your native language like you’re a witch/wizard/sorcerer/warlock whatever tf you wanna call it trying to hex the living fuck out of someone with the ancient tongue

[porcelain-feather]

Clockwork as delicate as this was never meant to suffer so much stress. Your gears were made to be small, precise, ornate works of art - not the rugged sort that are necessary to endure this strain on a daily basis. You never had a choice in the matter, but the work must be done. If that means winding the key tighter and making everything tick faster, so be it. Can't leave a job unfinished. Can't let people be disappointed. Can't permit errors within your work.

Tick. T-Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. T-Tick.

Some teeth have broken off and make the mechanism skip, but you're fine. It doesn't hurt that badly. Sure, it will add more strain and break more gears, but you can still smile, can't you?

T-Tick. T-Tick. Tick. T-Tick.

You can still dance, even if the motions are jerky. Keep moving. Time is of the essence. Don't let them down. You can keep going, can't you?

T-T-Tick. Tick. T-T-Tick.

Can't you?

[application-doll]

A doll that forcibly takes care of its witch, the witch doesn't complain whenever the doll barges in and demands they sleep, because the doll is right, it's much too late and the "rogue doll" provides a good excuse to get some rest.

They don't complain whenever they are taken from their bed and forcibly put into the shower, because it is the dolls job to clean the house, and if they are in there, the doll should clean them

They don't complain when the doll puts the medications in their hands, reminding them to take it because they forget often.

They don't get upset when the doll picks them up out of their desk chair, and takes them to bed. Because they know they'll wake up holding their doll, changed out of their daytime clothes, because the doll is there to care for them.

They don't complain because the doll always needs their help too. They know the doll finds the service helpful, and the devotion it has helps them both. The witch doesn't complain, because the doll is doing exactly what it was created to do.

[kintsug1kitsune]

What exactly IS empty spaces? Like the power dynamics, what dolls do, witches and everything?

idk what it is and I’m obsessed with it but I don’t understand the worldbuilding/jobs/everything

Empty Spaces is a story about a hole in your heart that can't be filled. Empty Spaces is a story about what it means not to be a person. Empty Spaces is a metaphor for trauma and abuse. Empty Spaces is a writing community of people and nonpeople making unconnected stories about archetypes. Empty Spaces is what you get when there's nothing on the inside. Empty Spaces is what you're looking for but isn't there.

A doll is an object, not a person; a Witch is a maker and keeper of them. A doll is a vessel for your will; a Witch is the will that fills it. A doll is a thing you can make your own; a Witch is what desires to make. A doll is a prayer to leave behind the chains of personhood; a Witch is the answer to it. A doll is Not; a Witch Is. A doll is a weapon or tool or decoration; a Witch is the wielder and owner of it.

There is no worldbuilding or setting; Empty Spaces don't exist to begin with.

[mendicantdolls]

Our dolls are intrinsically aligned with the Lense of the Moon and the aspects of Stars in our mind, given our dolls in particular always serve a Miss that wants to delve into the mysteries of magic and the knowledge around the universe itself, it only makes sense.

The Lense of the Moon is that of glinting starlight, reflection, Knowledge, care, and the Life which knows itself... dolls are inherently all of these things within our mind.

– Doll Rose (Citing Miss Patchouli.)

[hornypetplays]

A quick reference chart

[patchworkcuddlebug]

A Parasite

Norae was always... resistant to having a doll. Her covenmates tell her about theirs like they're little slave-things, always wandering around your house and doing things you should be doing on your own. It's creepy, and (she would never say this out loud) enabling laziness.

But as her power grows, so does her manor. She begins noticing hallways stretching out longer than they once did, with protrusions shaped like doorknobs emerging from the walls. There's already a set of stairs leading uselessly into the ceiling, no doubt where the second story will begin to grow.

The effort she put into keeping things in order used to be paltry for a witch as powerful as her, but she's starting to get annoyed by the distractions. She is growing tired of pruning new furniture like weeds.

She knows nothing of clockwork, and she never developed her skills in magical dollcraft for obvious reasons. But she will sometimes catch sight of a stray, trying to find purpose in picking the wild berries just beyond her yard. She wonders if she'll be helpful enough, before quietly correcting herself and wondering if it will be helpful enough.

She told her coven how she was thinking about leaving a sort of trap for it, a cup of tea under a cardboard box held up with a stick, only half serious. Regardless, they told her that dolls are much more trusting and docile than she was assuming, and that she simply needed to approach and talk to it.

She waited with a book, just on the edges of her property. The wide brim of her hat helped block the glare of the sun as she'd occasionally look off through the trees. Soon, it came walking past her unceremoniously, seeming as if it's trying to ignore her. It's walking to the bush. There's already a few ripe berries piled neatly in its hand.

It was made with porcelain, with a more tattered version of the maid dress they all seem to wear, walking with just as much rigidity and poise. But this is the first doll she's seen with a wind-up key. It slowly turned just a few degrees for every moment that passed. She could see a little rope tied to one of the sides, presumably so that one could wind it on her own.

"Excuse me? ...Doll?" Just as she starts speaking, it perks up, looking ready to leap into action. "Y... yes, Miss?" Its voice is timid, but eager.

"Would you like to, uh..." She hesitates for a moment, feeling ridiculous. This is the first time she's had to say something like this out loud. "Belong to me? I have tea."

It gasps. "Yes! Oh, yes, thank you Miss!" She runs up to the witch as if to give her a hug, only to skitter to a last-second stop just in front of her and give a polite bow, with proper curtsy.

"Right. Um, follow me, then." She closes her book and begins walking back to her door, her movements awkward as the doll followed close behind. She can't stop looking back at it, at its bizarrely serene face and excited steps. "So, do you have a name?"

"This one's old witch called it Lullaby, Miss!" It seems so happy to say.

"That's... still your name then, I think."

"Yay! Thank you Miss!"

. . . . .

Colloquially, the word "doll" is often used to describe any construct that obeys a witch, with considerable variation thereupon. Perhaps the most infamous among these variants in classification is the combat doll. These ones can often be identified by their more metallic exterior, such that they can easily be confused for androids at first glance, but there also exists combat dolls that

"Excuse this one, Miss?" the thing knocks at the door to the witch's study. It lingers in the doorway, not wanting to intrude further.

Norae tries to stifle a sigh of annoyance as she turns away from her book. "Yes, Lullaby?" She just noticed that her its hair just a little dishevelled from working, but it's not nearly as matted and gnarled as it was earlier today. She's glad it looks so much more... healthy.

"This one has finished sweeping the first floor, Miss!" The doll smiled, clearly proud of herself. The witch is caught in her own head for only a moment, ruminating on owning someone... something so close to a human. "What would you like it to do next?"

"You..." it takes her a moment to stifle her shock. She's read enough to know that such a task is to be expected from dolls, but it still seemed to work so hard so fast. "Then you've completed your chores. Treat yourself to some tea." She tells it matter-of-factly and turns back to her book, trying to match the professionalism of her literature.

"But, Miss!" The doll says. Norae turns back, and sees the doll has a very human, very concerned look. "This one has barely worked today! Would you like it to scrub the floors as well? Or organize your bookshelf? It can cook for you, Miss!"

"Hey, calm down, it's alright." The doll's owner tries to sound reassuring, as one would to a friend. "I don't know how your last witch did it, but I don't want to overwork you. Do you like to read? I have a library."

The doll tried to swallow its apprehensive look. "This one will read for you, Miss." It nods dutifully and runs along.

That... went well, she thinks. She understands that dolls are... eager, to a certain degree, but she's sincere about not wanting to exhaust the poor girl thing. She also thinks about her own autonomy, and how listless she'd feel if left without her own chores.

. . . . .

Norae lets out a bored sigh as she watched the vegetables sizzle in their pan. She tries to stir them around, spreading them evenly in the oil, but it's more to entertain herself than to properly cook.

She hears Lullaby quickly, yet still with a polite reservation, hurry up the stairs.

"Miss!" It calls out, drowning out its footsteps before it turns the corner. As it emerges into the kitchen, it looks... mortified. "It's so sorry, let this one, good dolls should-"

"Lullaby, it's okay!" She holds the frying pan up, higher than the doll can reach. "You don't have to do everything for me just because you're a doll."

"But, Miss, this one wants to!" It looks desperate and pleading. "Please, Miss, you've been so nice, and this-"

"Hey, calm down, there's no need for that." Norae tries to sound reassuring. She sets the pan down and turns to give Lullaby her full attention, kneeling to match her its eye level and placing a hand on its shoulder. "I know you want to help, but I enjoy being able to take care of myself, too. You already do plenty, and you should be proud of that."

The doll trembles, only as much as its docility will allow. "Yes Miss, Thank you Miss." After a quick bow, it gets out of Miss's way, leaving her to return to her monotonous stove-watching.

Lullaby takes a seat on Miss's couch. eyes forward and hands on its lap. It's so comfortable, the soft cushioning much more enveloping that the stumps it was used to sitting on. It tries to find a place to rest its eyes. On Miss's roaring fire, magically permeating a tender warmth through the room? On the door to the maid's quarters, where Miss had cleaned it and told it all it had to know? On Miss's beautiful and intricate grandfather clock, which it is letting collect a thin layer of dust?

It shouldn't cry. Miss is being nice, after all.

. . . . .

The doll shakes itself from a stupor. It wasn't still; there was no comfort in its emptiness, just effortful restraint fading into a half-present miasma.

Norae gestures for it to face away, gently guiding its shoulders to face where she sat on the couch. "Lean forward, please."

"It's okay, Miss." The doll sounded groggy, words tumbling heavily out of its mouth. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

The witch leaned to the side, showing the sympathetic look she had on her face. "Why wouldn't I wind you up? It's no trouble at all, and... I can't just let you pass out."

Lullaby slowly, heavily, shook its head. It wanted to be polite, to word itself delicately and reserve itself, but its clockwork was moving too slowly to stop it before it spoke. "No, please. It's a bother. This one doesn't do enough, it's not worth it."

Miss places a hand on its shoulder. "Oh, Lullaby, no, that's not true at all. You do just as much as you need to."

"It's not enough." The doll rested its elbows on its knees, leaning forward and cupping its face in its hands. "Miss is so nice, and this one just... takes it all in without giving enough back. It feels so useless, and pathetic, and... i-it just wants to be helpful." Its voice falters just at the end, hitching into a repressed sob.

Norae felt a pang in her heart that deepened with every word. Of course, she's been such an idiot. She feels like a bum when she doesn't keep herself busy, how would a being purpose-made to be helpful feel? It finally dawns on her, what the extent of a doll's inhumanity means.

"I'm so sorry, I... had no idea you felt that way." There's a sincere sorrow in her voice, the doll hearing Miss's confidence drop for the first time. "I never meant to hurt you, I just didn't want to be too hard on you."

She placed a hand on her doll's back, careful to leave room for its key to turn. "From now on, you get to do whatever you like. Cooking, cleaning, anything. I might still make you take some breaks so I can do something myself, but I'll never leave you with nothing to do."

Lullaby slowly, hopefully, lifts its head to look at Miss. "This one doesn't want to make you do anything you don't want, Miss, it can-"

"Lullaby, if you do everything you can to never feel like this again, you'll make me the happiest witch in the world." She put on a reassuring smile.

Norae didn't have time to see the grin widening on her doll's face before it latched on for a hug. All it could say was thank you as its tears left wet marks on the witch's dress.

"I'm just happy that you're happy." Miss hugged back, making the doll feel more loved than it could remember. "Now let's get you wound up, you've got some dishes to do."

[taciturn-loquacity]

Turn, Turn, Turn...

Every morning She spins your key and you are granted life once more. The mainspring tightens, the oiled gears shift and shudder, the silent vigor of life itself resurrects the statue that night's chilling embrace had stilled. Tension, pressure, heat, stress; all the things that turn coal into diamonds radiate from Her key, Her smile... into you. Fingers twitch. Toes wiggle. Eyelids softly flutter open.

You are alive.

"Good morning, Miss. What am I to do today?" you ask, eager to make pleasing Her the first thing you do that day. Enthusiasm always had a way of making Her giggle, and Her laughter always had a way of making the finely tuned springs beneath your chest buzz so pleasantly. She made sure it would.

Today you'd be dusting. Just dusting. And as you bounce around the manor in the frilly attire She picked out for you to wear, you feel your mainspring slowly unwinding. Your movements lose their swift edge. The swirling fog of empty stillness fumigates the outer fringes of your thoughts. You know you're on a time limit, and as the hours tick down a sense of dread begins to fill you. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰...

The sun goes down and there are only a few more rotations your gears are capable of. You're tapped dry, but you're so close to finishing; you gotta keep going! "Be still now, my doll. You've done well, but nothing is so important that it can't wait until tomorrow. Don't worry; I promise to turn your key again in the morning." soothes the Witch, taking you in Her arms.

Permission to rest was all you needed. It was all you ever needed. So with a dreamy smile, you obey, all too enthusiastic to give Her what She asked for. In return, Her quiet giggles resonating beneath your chest are the last thing you feel before....

Turn, Turn, Turn...

And you're alive once again. Blissful and simple, and eager to please. Forever