witchhaven

[witchhaven]

Haven, what is your favorite kinds of magic and any spells you enjoy doing more then others? And do you have any dubious books?

Haven swiftly closes a door on a bookshelf no doubt filled from end to end with 'questionable' materials as her face flushes a bright red, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

[witchhaven]

legitimately one of the most heartfelt stories in the community thank you author

aaaaah stop stop this one just wrote a story it thought would be fun to write and it ballooned out!!

it's the single creative work it's most proud of for sure but is it really THAT good??

ahhhhh, maybe one day it'll believe that its story is that good

until then it'll rely on you all to assert that

[witchhaven]

is what happened to Haven for a century a metaphor for being in a coma?

Ehhhhhhh no, not intentionally

But also art is inherently subjective and if that's a meaning you took from it and you feel like that feels appropriate to your own interpretation, what does this one's intention matter?

[witchhaven]

blackout poetry

hey author!

when Self tried to open the door in the basement, it spoke a haiku like an incantation. can you explain that?

So, this one was actually just talking with a friend about the magic system for The Dolls' House, but it intentionally hasn't really explained it much in the story itself. It's very much a soft magic system as opposed to something that uses clearly defined rules, such as Haven transforming into the house as a kind of magically charged "final wish" though that could be seen as partially her initiating the spell when she told Heart that they would meet again, and then resolving it with said "final wish".

However, incantations are interesting in fantasy media in that they seem to carry a different weight than your typical hand/wand magic. In The Dolls' House, incantation magic works off of words, expression, and intention. Therefore, any kind of poetry if written with intent to accomplish something is a valid incantation. That does also mean that written poetry can also be valid incantation. This doll hopes this helps!

[witchhaven]

hey author!

when Self tried to open the door in the basement, it spoke a haiku like an incantation. can you explain that?

So, this one was actually just talking with a friend about the magic system for The Dolls' House, but it intentionally hasn't really explained it much in the story itself. It's very much a soft magic system as opposed to something that uses clearly defined rules, such as Haven transforming into the house as a kind of magically charged "final wish" though that could be seen as partially her initiating the spell when she told Heart that they would meet again, and then resolving it with said "final wish".

However, incantations are interesting in fantasy media in that they seem to carry a different weight than your typical hand/wand magic. In The Dolls' House, incantation magic works off of words, expression, and intention. Therefore, any kind of poetry if written with intent to accomplish something is a valid incantation. That does also mean that written poetry can also be valid incantation. This doll hopes this helps!

[witchhaven]

to the author: what's the biggest word of advice you have for writing?

you know, asides from just do it

so, in terms of writing fiction, there's a lot to keep in mind. you wanna make sure you don't have a bunch of typos and grammatical errors of course, you wanna make sure your story stays interesting as a concept, yeah, and you wanna preserve momentum and flow, you wanna have a tempo with your story, but there's one thing this one hasn't seen a lot of writers really grasp necessarily, and not a whole lot of this story in its currently available iteration has either aside from like, later chapters:

good stories have a grasp on timing. not like, "when to write the word" or anything silly like that, but a story with timing will kind of guide the rhythm at which your readers enjoy the story, and make it a more interesting experience to read in general.

you wanna have specific phrases, or even specific usage of literary devices come in in specific moments to highlight them with the rest of your writing. you can't just throw it in, because then you're kinda just assaulting the audience with those elements.

this one's own example of how it learned that is its usage of dream sequences and how they're represented throughout what is effectively now the rough draft. early on, it just kinda threw them in in italics, which worked, yes, but better were the later dream sequences separated out by predetermined quantities of ellipses(11 for going to sleep and 7 for waking) which adds more intrigue into the formatting itself as well as giving the reader a reason to believe that something is different about this section of the story that isn't just outright saying "Heart had a dream when it slept tonight."

the ellipses are interesting and add a kind of new rhythmic element to the story that otherwise wouldn't be there, because this one wanted to find a way to implement an extended pause to denote the sequence.

so, experiment with how you deliver your story. figure out how timing can make it more interesting to read. it will benefit your story

[witchhaven]

Favorite drinks?

All the dolls speak in unison, "Tea!" "I like a nice coffee. But, I like it sweet and creamy!" Haven flashes a weary smile.

[witchhaven]

Hey Soul!

Describe your Witch for us!

Soul leans back in the wicker chair on the porch of the house as its eyes stare off into space. Its expression suggest recollection as its brow furrows and its right hand fidgets with a cheap butane lighter.

"They were a confident person, who was convinced that they could show me what feelings are, even on the battlefield. Despite often sprinkled with a generous dusting of soil, their hair was a deep, luscious brown. Shoulders adorned with a wavy brown coat, and chest covered by a blouse. Unlike my other squad-mates, they never wore a ballistic vest—they never had to. Their magic would stop bullets if ever they were shot at, before any kind of body armor would ever even make a difference. And their eyes..." It flicks the button on the lighter, igniting a small flame for it to stare into, "Like emeralds, as deep as the ocean, and as bright as fire..."

[witchhaven]

Novelization has started production!

So tonight this doll started work on writing the novelization, and so it wrote a short introduction to set the tone of the story and give the readers more reasons to question what all is going on in the story itself. It's fairly proud of that, but that's really just a little thing it did that doesn't really amount to much effort, so of course it did more than that!

It actually fully rewrote the entire first chapter of the story, and honestly the original chapter and the rewrite are nearly unrecognizable from each other at this point, due to this one's more experienced confident writing voice, its more well-constructed prose, and its added references to later elements in the story to make it more cohesive. There's a lot of extra detail and literary flourishes added in for flow and characterization, and at this point, the original chapter reads as quite amateurish, but the rewrite reads like a real novel chapter, which makes this one REALLY happy.

This one has been telling friends and those interested in this story that what's currently public is just a rough draft of what's to come, and that's honestly entirely accurate. This story's novelization is going to be one that will for certain be worth reading fully even after reading the public version of the story. Please do stay tuned for further progress and an eventual release!

[witchhaven]

Haven(as she'll appear later) it's gonna give its blorbo clothes that aren't tattered and bloodstained!

made with this picrew

it was so hard to find a picrew that could properly capture her vibes

[witchhaven]

What happens now?

The first major arc of The Dolls' House has reached its conclusion, and so now we're left with the question of what's going to happen with the story now?

Well, of course there's a little bit more to write which will appear in the novelization, but of course this doll doesn't wanna just leave it at that!

First off, this one would like to get into explaining what the novelization will be...

The first novelization of this story will be called Haven - The Dolls' House, and it will be a complete rewrite of most of the currently public chapters, as well as a number of additional chapters added in for more in-depth development of all the characters in the story! Yes, all of them!

There will be a couple of short stories added in addition that take place after the story of the main arc, stories that this one wanted to get into that wouldn't have fit into the progression or the format.

What the next arc will be, what it'll look like is still undecided, but there are already a few ideas in the works for things that might happen in them. The main theme of the first arc is healing, where the main theme of the next one will be change. That said, this one still doesn't have a clear idea of what that will be, what it'll look like.

This one would like to open up an opportunity for the community to get semi-involved as well, to effectively interact with the characters, in a way it's seen other communities do this too! Any asks submitted to the blog will be replied to in-character! If you want to address a specific character of the story and see how they'd react, please do! These will be purely non-canon interactions, but this doll feels like it might give it a better idea of how its own characters would interact in certain situations!

[witchhaven]

some tags the story has gotten in reblogs

thank you all so much aaaaah ;~;

to have reached so many other dolls and left an impact on them like this means a lot, and it's these kind of sentiments that are going to 100% get it through writing the novelization

[witchhaven]

Haven

There used to be a witch, relatively alone in the woods. Not that she didn't welcome guests, but there were ways in which she felt she needed to offer herself protection from those who might hurt her. If anyone managed to seek her out, she knew that they were most likely a friend, and often needed her help. She would devise spells for them, to heal, to comfort, and to protect. This witch was known as Haven.

For a time, she was perfectly safe in these woods, but as times changed, she noticed the effect deeply. Cloaked men began to patrol through the woods, torches lit, and daggers drawn. Many late nights were spent timidly peering out of her window, the light extinguished, and the home disguised by brush intentionally placed to keep the place inconspicuous. Haven dared not make her home unable to find, for she would surely miss someone who needed her assistance.

This proved to be an effective decision when one individual showed up to her home one day, of shorter stature than typically seen, and of features unusual in humans. Pale pink hair, and similar eyes which held not a thought behind them. The individual wore a simple white dress with a fluffy petticoat underneath, and draped over the shoulders was a similarly pink shawl. Little white tights over the legs, into cute little shiny black shoes.

The individual before Haven did a polite curtsy, "This doll's name is Heart, ma'am! It heard that there was a witch in these woods, and it would very much like to belong to a witch!"

"A doll?" Haven looked around timidly, not seeing any of the normal patrols nearby, the only sign of them being distant yells to each other, "Come inside, quickly. It's not safe out here."

As the door was shut behind it, Heart looked to the witch, "What's your name, ma'am?"

"I am Haven, how did you happen upon my home, Heart?" The witch peered out the nearest window to make sure none of the men saw the two enter.

Heart looked around the inside of the home, seeing the now thick layer of dust blanketing the collection of components and tools for spells, "Oh no, Miss Haven... Your supplies are all dusty..."

"Quiet down, little one!" The witch receded behind the curtain of the window and deeper into the home as one of the now visible men approached the home, knocking on the door.

Heart seemingly naively approached the door, looking back to check before turning and opening the door enough to poke its head through and greet the man, "Hello, sir! How can this doll help you today?"

"A doll... are you here alone?" The venomous voice of the man echoed through the home, sending chills through Haven's spine.

Heart nodded, "This one lives alone, sir. It doesn't want to make anyone in the village uncomfortable..."

"I see, a doll's house. Apologies for disturbing you, doll." The man turned away and called out to the others as the door shut him out, "Move out to another sector, men! The resident here is no witch!"

As the man presumably left, Haven peaked out of her hiding place, "Little one, you helped me? You don't even know me."

"Of course it knows you, silly! You're Haven, the witch!" Heart turned to face the witch with a thoughtless smile.

"The men, they're leaving this area?" The witch peered again outside the window, seeing that the man's torch had been extinguished and his dagger sheathed. He was proceeding away from the home.

Heart nodded, "They're heading back to the village for the night, this one would imagine. They believe that this one is the only resident here now."

"I thought dolls weren't allowed to lie." Haven turned to look at Heart as she allowed the curtain to once again fall shut.

Heart's smile parted as it explained to Haven, "It didn't lie though, Miss Haven. It does live alone, but at the moment, its home simply isn't here, unless..."

"Unless I accept you as my own doll." Haven smiled back at Heart, proceeding to it and patting it on the head, "I understand, doll. The answer is yes."

Over the next few days, the two began cleaning the house. Foliage which once camouflaged it was carefully removed, and then doubled as fuel to gently burn in the hearth. Dust was cleaned by Heart, who always seemed to follow these commands enthusiastically. Every time Haven gave it a new task to perform, it would eagerly follow it.

At night they would sleep together, Haven holding it close, very similarly to a plushie. Her upsetting nightmares often quelled by her doll's presence. Though, she found that on occasion, when her doll would have a nightmare, she could feel it, perceive it, and eventually she learned to affect it. She would return her doll the favor by comforting its mind through the nights. It was the least she could do, she thought. Her doll had been so kind to help keep her safe, and to tend after her home's needs, and asked nothing but more tasks in return.

One day, she'd ventured with her doll to a somewhat distant pond to retrieve water. Both of them carried their large jugs to refill the home's supply, and Haven had given her doll a basket to retrieve tea leaves on the way, since it seemed to love tea so much. She helped it cover the basket as it quickly filled it to the brim. The opening was wrapped tightly with a fabric covering, the handle split and slid over the edges to secure it further, and the basket was placed inside Heart's pack, for safe keeping.

As Haven turned to the pond to fill the first jug, she asked, "You are quite fond of tea, aren't you, little one?"

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"Little one?" Concerned by the silence, Haven lifted the jug, placing it down now full on the ground, and turned to face a man, who now had Heart with its mouth covered.

He held the torch towards Haven, menacingly as his right hand cupped tightly over the doll's mouth, "What a treacherous little toy."

"Let it go." Haven's voice twisted with an emotion she'd not felt in a very long time: rage.

The man grimaced in response, "Gladly."

"Miss Haven!" The doll's desperate cries were cut short by the man's boot harshly dropping on its head as a faint crack was heard.

Haven gasped as she took a few steps back, "H-Heart..."

"D-don't... worry, Miss... It's okay, it's just, having some trouble seeing..." Heart's head peered up towards the two as the man approached, "N-now, which blob are you, exactly, Miss?"

The man's twisted grin grew wider as he drew his dagger with a sadistic glee, "Listen to your doll, witch. Don't worry, you'll be buried together. Forgotten together."

"Heart, I promise we will meet again." There was an electric quality to the words leaving Haven's mouth, imperceptible by the man, but felt fully by her doll.

Haven turned away and broke into a sprint, exiting the pond and dashing deeper, and deeper into the woods. Today was an overcast Autumn day, with a distinct chill in the air. The sun diffused through the thick layer of clouds cast an eerie flat white light across the entire area. As the falling leaves gave way to Haven's scramble through the forest, there was only one thing she could think about: the hunter trailing narrowly behind her, and how much more prepared he was to sprint long distances than her.

She reached a path often travelled by others, dotted by dried flowers, and the leaves in the center displaced by them, revealing a clear line of soil all the way through into a round clearing dotted with more fallen leaves and dried flowers. She thought for a moment that perhaps the hunter had given up, before she felt a sharp pain through her torso as something cold quickly entered, stopping her in her tracks. Smoothly and slowly, the blade of the hunter's dagger was removed back through the entry in her back. She collapsed to her knees on the ground, feeling the warm gush of blood spilling out. She looked down to see her white dress, now ruined by the splatter of dirt and blood.

The hunter stepped around in front of her, "Speak your last words, witch. You have limited time."

"I-I wish..." Haven stammered as her hands desperately grasped her wound, in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, her head growing light, and her body harder and harder to keep upright.

The hunter began cleaning his dagger with a cloth, "You wish you'd never decided to be a witch? That you'd never become the foul creature before me?"

"I wish to provide a safe home for those who may come to need it. Those like Heart, a sweet doll who does not deserve this fate." Once again, her words resonated with an electric energy, more tangible than before.

The ground began rumbling as some of it cracked. One such crack consumed the hunter before he had time to process. Stony structures rose from the ground, trees warped, and Haven felt her heart beat like fire as she became not a corpse, but something new. The violent rumbling gave way to a calm silence as left in the place of the clearing was a house, now to be dormant for nearly a century.

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"I'm so sorry, Heart..." I look down at myself, floating above the glowing golden void open beneath me.

My sad eyes travel back up in front, surprised by what I see: a purple resonance, magic that isn't mine. It's keeping a piece of the basement stable. Self is stood at the doorway with its book held in one hand, the resonance emanating from its other, extended and straining to keep the small chunk of the place from falling apart like the rest of the house is also actively doing. Cream and Sugar lift Rye back onto the small platform as Thread clings tightly to Soul. Heart says something to Soul, something I'm too far away to hear, but moments later, Soul has picked Heart up in its left hand and appears to be preparing to throw it, at me!

I feel myself heavily impacted by Heart's sudden embrace as it giggles, wrapping its arms around me, "You were right, Miss Haven! We have met again!"

"I'm so sorry, little one. Until now, I had forgotten!" I wrap my arms around it tightly, and I want to never let it go again.

Heart gazes up into my eyes, "It's okay, Miss! Really! This one is just glad to see you again!"

"But, I do need to help you all survive this now, don't I?" I pat Heart on the head gently, "You won't like this part, but don't worry, you won't have to wait as long for me this time!"

I breathe deeply and feel my heartbeat slow and burn once again as the rubble over the void begins to drift back together. The leaves fall back into the golden light as the home I've formed for my dolls comes back into existence. I begin to warn Heart to let go of me for this next part, but see it tightly clinging on, even here in the boiler room, and realize that even a few moments longer of an embrace are worth the minor pain and singe that come next to it. As I melt back into the place I've formed for so many years now, I see the embers of my furnace burn Heart's clothes severely, as it recoils back, and seats itself at my heart's doorway.

Apple worriedly rushes up and put its arms around it, "Heart! Your outfit's ruined! But, you're... smiling?"

"It would be upset about that right now, but it's just so happy! Thank you all, we reminded the most wonderful witch who she is!" Heart beams in delight as it begins telling the other dolls about me.

I feel myself receding into myself, into a slumber, as I prepare for what comes next. I cannot remain as The Dolls' House forever, but perhaps with their help, we'll be able to build something new.

[witchhaven]

Witch

[witchhaven]

Temperance

In addition to Soul and Thread growing close to each other, I've observed that Rye, as it's now called, has taken a liking to the pair, often joining them in the nights up on my roof. Hours, they'll spend, simply watching the stars. Sometimes occupied with conversation, others with a comfortable silence. I've been pleased to observe that Soul's smoking habit hasn't been engaged with as often, since lately while sitting atop my shingles, both of its arms are occupied: one by Thread, and one by Rye.

Tonight is one such night, as Thread lays in Soul's lap, its head gently stroked by Soul's right hand, and Rye as normal sits to its left, leaned up against its chest while its corresponding arm wraps around it. The Autumn air has a chill in it as the season nears winter, which only brings the dolls closer together for warmth, lest they forego their nightly ritual of watching the stars. Thread is more active than usual tonight. I see it squirm occasionally, and its facial expression finds its eyebrows knitting with each other slowly as its lips purse in consideration.

Thread turns to look up at Soul, "I have a question, Soul. If you don't mind."

"Shoot." Soul's eyes look down at its beloved wind-up lover.

It takes a breath in, "You're not interested in combat anymore, we've been told that, so that means your Purpose is no longer combat then. So, since you're no longer a combat doll, what do you want to be?"

Soul's eyes widen as the question leaves it taken aback. It's all too familiar as it drifts into a dreamlike state of memory.

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It was sitting in its hospital bed, ready to be dismissed for, well, whatever came next really. After the incident with the Polyphemus, the military had honorably discharged it, and the government had offered it benefits, and reclassified it as a person. As a 'person' it wasn't allowed to be sent to a mechanical repair center. While it was still an artificial individual, some kind of legal clause prevented it from being submitted to a care facility. It gazed down at its mishandled right arm, now concealed under a layer of bandages, as if it would help anything further "heal." It silently cursed the collective for designing it as a model without any self-repair nanites.

The hospital staff had tried to put it under, but couldn't find anywhere to put a needle into its arm, and found any other forms of anesthetic fruitless. Soul, like any of the collective's dolls, was designed to endure all kinds of warfare, including chemical, which meant that any kind of substance they attempted to sedate it with would have no effect. Not that they could really cause any significant amount of pain by operating on its mangled plates. Any integrated receptors inside were either burnt out or disconnected on impact, and so its forearm was without feeling anyway.

Eventually, they'd resigned to simply operate on its arm. They couldn't very well penetrate the ballistic ceramic plating with any needles, so stitches were out of the question, and staples didn't have an effect either. They landed on the decision to mend its plating with medical adhesive, using similar medical grade tape to hold the pieces together as the adhesive cured. From the adhesive and accelerant, it remembers the cracks forming ugly black lines which seemed to smear over the cracks slightly as the pieces were forced back together. By the end of the process, Soul's arm was a far cry from what it used to be. The smooth plating now seemingly corrupted by the attempt at treatment, and the stability still under serious question. Now, it was sure this arm was weaker than an average human's in terms of durability.

Now, it found itself idly unwrapping the arm in the solitary hospital room, revealing the unfortunate sight of its damaged arm. It was sure the hospital staff handled it as best as they could, but of course, even the best hospital care for a doll wouldn't match a repair technician's. It neatly folded the bandage, and placed it down on the bed next to where it sat, and looked up at the nurse coming in through the door, who timidly approached.

"I'm sure this is an unusual experience for... someone like you." She was avoiding the word 'doll' in referring to Soul.

Soul shrugged, "It doesn't matter."

"Well, you may be pleased to know that we'll be discharging you today." The nurse shakily gripped the clipboard in her arms as she sat down in the chair next to the bed, avoiding eye contact.

Of all the facial expressions that were so alien to it, the nurse's wasn't. That was a look of fear, "You're not a target. I have no reason to attack you."

"I-I know... I just..." She brought herself to make eye contact, "With your reclassification, y-you're free from your assignments, so... Seeing as you're not a combat doll anymore, what do you want to be?"

There it was, that question. It hit Soul like one of its squad's APCs; suddenly and violently. At least, it did at the time. As its gaze drifted back up from its damaged arm, where it had wandered, it found itself in a new environment. It was a round clearing in the woods, dotted with fallen leaves and dried flowers. Sitting there in front of where it stood was a woman with healthy fair skin, painted with dried blood and dirt. Her white dress was similarly painted, with a larger concentration of blood centered around a cut which revealed an old scar underneath, as though she'd been stabbed long ago. Her head framed with dark brown hair looked up at Soul, and her icy blue eyes peered into its crimson ones.

Soul's eyes widened at the sight, "I... I know you... Don't I?"

"So, what do you want to be now, Soul?" The woman asked with her long unused, now weak voice.

Soul looked at its right hand, painted with the same dark spiderwebbing present throughout its forearm. Once, it was a weapon, to be aimed. A tool of destruction, wielded by a faceless force. It was capable of ending a life without a significant effort, as it was designed to. However, now it was presented with an option, an opportunity to be more than its parts. Now, it finally knew what its Witch had wanted it to be, and what it now wanted to be itself.

It placed its hand upon the woman's head gently, to comfort her with a delicate pat, "I want to be kind."

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"That's... really meaningful, Soul!" Thread has sat up and has found itself with Soul's right hand placed on its head in a warm gesture.

Soul stands up, examining the horizon for a moment as the sun rises, painting a rim around the sky which fades from yellows, to oranges and blues, and even purples, "There's something I have to do."

Followed by the other two dolls, Soul climbs back into the window, pacing through my upper hall, and down the steps. The three of them are greeted by Heart, Apple, Cream, and Sugar, all bleary eyed as they've just been prematurely woken up from their rest. Heart rubs its eyes as it and Apple pace towards the door to my basement first, followed by Cream and sugar, and soon, Soul, Thread, and Rye.

"Come quick, something's happening!" Self's voice calls out as the three descend the stairs.

The door down below has formed another engraving, that of a hand, much resembling the complex panel and joint structure of Soul's own. Through the gap between the frame and the door itself emits a golden light, as Self reaches for it. As Soul, Thread, and Rye make it to the bottom of the stairs, Self turns the knob of the door, and finds that it freely swings into the unexplored room. A boiler inside burning with the resonance of a heartbeat is revealed. For a moment, it seems otherwise the same as any mundane object of this nature, but then, I feel myself lose touch with the environment around the dolls, as It becomes too much.

Cracking, rumbling, wind, and rubble. The very structure around the dolls begins to break apart, revealing a brilliant glowing light underneath. I can't hold it together, it's too much. Autumn leaves rise as if falling in reverse as I-

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[witchhaven]

this one has seen a select few in the community interpret the entirety of the household as a polycule of sorts!!

it's a cute idea, but a polycule that big would be a lot!

Strength

Dellivery Class S-260-7 was tasked with delivering an important letter across the battlefield. It had been assigned many parcels between the two regions, but never anything like this. While the conflicts still raged on, diplomats had begun to communicate, and the mail doll was to serve as the emissary to deliver the messages from both sides. S-260-7 however, did not know this at the time. S-260-7 was simply a lowly delivery doll, a tool for the efficiency of transport.

It trudged across the field of operation, keeping the parcel tucked away in its bag, separated off in another sub-pocket of the main compartment away from the other letters. While it didn't know the contents of the letter, it was given a certain level of importance above the others. Letters like these weren't received on a personal basis like most, as they were processed through organizations to be given to their eventual recipient, as opposed to the typical deliveries of missives and packages to families and individuals. S-260-7 knew that if the delicate envelope were breached in any way before its delivery was completed, there would be hell to pay. All the other pieces of mail for delivery were precious and to be protected too, of course, but the procedure was not what was important. Families and individuals usually cared more about receiving their parcels rather than the integrity of what contained them.

As it pressed on further, it heard a series of deep thumps against the ground trailing it. Glancing back, it spotted a bipedal weapon approaching. It watched as the coil array creating what appeared like a mouth arced jagged streaks of energetic plasma across nearby surfaces. An Arges unit, an autonomous close range energy weapon. It picked up its pace as it tried to avoid being caught by the nonselective automaton. The mail doll's legs however were quite small, and it could only carry itself so quickly. It pushed on as quickly as it could as the Arges unit made a trivial effort out of closing distance. S-260-7 doubled over eventually, feeling its momentum take control as it rolled into the mud beneath it. It heard a loud noise behind it as it picked itself back up, and upon looking back, it observed another doll meeting the Arges unit head on. It was a combat doll, which appeared to have tackled the unit, ignoring the electricity arcing about its body. It let loose a punch with its left arm into the array of coils, sending the unit stumbling back. Using the momentary lull, the combat doll turned its head back to look at the mail doll, revealing its crimson eyes, locking with S-260-7's. The mail doll turned away at the sight, shutting its eyelids and carrying itself forward until all was quiet.

Eventually, it reached a place that sounded considerably calmer. When it listened for any noise, it heard nothing. Opening its eyes, it found itself in a clearing illuminated with sunlight diffused through a thick layer of clouds, bathing the environment in a still white light. The orange tone of the falling leaves of the trees were washed out by the ambient white. The path ahead was carved bare to the dry dirt by travel. S-260-7 continued down the path as the silence of the environment left it feeling considerably less panicked than the encounter with the Arges unit.

Eventually, the mail doll reached a round clearing covered in dormant grass and dotted with dried flowers. Sitting in the middle of the clearing, at the base of a solitary tree was a woman. She had healthy fair skin, though mildly stained by soil and blood. More soil and blood painted the loose fitting white dress covering her body, with a tear towards her stomach highlighted by the highest concentration of blood, revealing what appeared to be a long sealed scar underneath. Under her icy blue eyes were dark spots, and from her head hung dark brown hair, unkempt as it messily cascaded onto her shoulders. The woman looked up as S-260-7 as its approach halted.

"Apologies for bringing you here. I felt it was more pleasant than where you were stuck." The woman spoke in a tired voice.

The mail doll placed its hands on the strap of its bag defensively as it took a step back.

The woman flashed a sympathetic expression, "It's okay, you're safe here. Though, you can't be here for long, can you?"

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I watch S-260-7 twitch as it wakes up, pulled through the panic induced by memory in its dream. This is probably one of the few memories it has. How unfortunate for that memory to be so traumatic. It sits up from its bed, retrieving a sketchbook and a pencil, and proceeds to its desk, where it begins sketching. First, I observe the traces of its pencil strokes, seeing the mail doll create an accurate rendition of the sight of the combat doll glancing back at it, perhaps embellished by the heightened fear I imagine it felt. Once it completes the drawing, it moves onto the next page, where its pencil hovers above the surface of the paper for a few moments. It looks as though the doll had something in mind to draw, but now the image has escaped it.

It stands up once again, applying its uniform, before it looks out the window to find that it is in fact still night time. Being created by the same collective as Soul, I tend to wonder why S-260-7 sleeps, despite almost definitely not needing it. The doll seems to understand this as it proceeds outside its room and quietly up the stairs, to find the opened window which Thread and Soul use to access my roof. As it pokes its head through, it sees Soul's crimson eyes drift to the movement as its head turns to meet the mail doll's gaze. S-260-7 gasps as it tenses up and ducks its head back into the window. It clutches its sketchbook to its chest as it trembles.

"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. Come on up." Soul's voice calls out to the mail doll.

It timidly climbs up and out of the window and onto the roof, seeing Soul lounging casually on the roof under the low light of the moon, and the sliver of orange of the teasing sunrise. In its lap is Thread, laying comfortably across its legs. Soul's cigarette burns a dull orange close to the filter as it stamps out the remains in an ashtray it's brought up to my roof. S-260-7 gingerly sits on the shingles next to Soul, around a meter away.

Soul's gaze turns to the stars for a moment, "You're up early today."

"This doll had a bad dream." The mail doll signs when Soul looks back at it.

Soul gazes on it with sympathy, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There was a combat doll in it. It looked like you. It saved this doll from an autonomous weapon. It seemed like a memory. Even though that doll saved it, it was still afraid." After S-260-7 finishes signing, it opens its sketchbook to the sketch of the combat doll.

Soul takes a long glance at the sketch, "Well, I'm an Operator Class, so I can't exactly take credit for saving you, but you don't need to be afraid. The war is over, and I plan to never fight again. One of the few benefits of being reclassified as a person is that I'm allowed to make that choice."

"You're reclassified as a person?" S-260-7 looks at Soul quizzically.

Soul nods, "The collective figured they were doing me a favor. As a 'reward' for my deeds in the war, I was given financial benefits, and reclassified as a person. That also meant that when I was repaired, I was sent to a human hospital. My right arm wasn't properly repaired. It works, sure, but it isn't even as sturdy as a human arm. I have to be really careful."

The mail doll looks to Soul's right hand, which is gently stroking Thread's hair as it gazes on the stars.

"You don't have a name, do you? Not really a name, I mean. My Witch gave me the name 'Soul' because of the personality they saw in me which wasn't present in their previous dolls." Soul gazes at the mail doll's eyes, "No need for a name if you don't have any running connections though. But, you have those connections now, to all of us. I've seen you teaching Cream and Sugar sign, and you deliver mail. How do you feel about the name Rye?"

The mail doll pauses for a few moments in consideration, before it nods its head.

Soul smiles as its gaze drifts back to the stars, "One of the meanings is messenger. I figured that was appropriate."

With the intense fear dispelled, the mail doll scoots closer to Soul, and closer. Eventually, it leans directly up against the combat doll. In response, Soul gently puts its left arm around it, and the three quietly watch the sun rise, as the dark sky full of stars gives way to the golden light of the sun, and the vibrant blue of the daytime sky, painted by a thin layer of clouds.

[witchhaven]

Strength

Dellivery Class S-260-7 was tasked with delivering an important letter across the battlefield. It had been assigned many parcels between the two regions, but never anything like this. While the conflicts still raged on, diplomats had begun to communicate, and the mail doll was to serve as the emissary to deliver the messages from both sides. S-260-7 however, did not know this at the time. S-260-7 was simply a lowly delivery doll, a tool for the efficiency of transport.

It trudged across the field of operation, keeping the parcel tucked away in its bag, separated off in another sub-pocket of the main compartment away from the other letters. While it didn't know the contents of the letter, it was given a certain level of importance above the others. Letters like these weren't received on a personal basis like most, as they were processed through organizations to be given to their eventual recipient, as opposed to the typical deliveries of missives and packages to families and individuals. S-260-7 knew that if the delicate envelope were breached in any way before its delivery was completed, there would be hell to pay. All the other pieces of mail for delivery were precious and to be protected too, of course, but the procedure was not what was important. Families and individuals usually cared more about receiving their parcels rather than the integrity of what contained them.

As it pressed on further, it heard a series of deep thumps against the ground trailing it. Glancing back, it spotted a bipedal weapon approaching. It watched as the coil array creating what appeared like a mouth arced jagged streaks of energetic plasma across nearby surfaces. An Arges unit, an autonomous close range energy weapon. It picked up its pace as it tried to avoid being caught by the nonselective automaton. The mail doll's legs however were quite small, and it could only carry itself so quickly. It pushed on as quickly as it could as the Arges unit made a trivial effort out of closing distance. S-260-7 doubled over eventually, feeling its momentum take control as it rolled into the mud beneath it. It heard a loud noise behind it as it picked itself back up, and upon looking back, it observed another doll meeting the Arges unit head on. It was a combat doll, which appeared to have tackled the unit, ignoring the electricity arcing about its body. It let loose a punch with its left arm into the array of coils, sending the unit stumbling back. Using the momentary lull, the combat doll turned its head back to look at the mail doll, revealing its crimson eyes, locking with S-260-7's. The mail doll turned away at the sight, shutting its eyelids and carrying itself forward until all was quiet.

Eventually, it reached a place that sounded considerably calmer. When it listened for any noise, it heard nothing. Opening its eyes, it found itself in a clearing illuminated with sunlight diffused through a thick layer of clouds, bathing the environment in a still white light. The orange tone of the falling leaves of the trees were washed out by the ambient white. The path ahead was carved bare to the dry dirt by travel. S-260-7 continued down the path as the silence of the environment left it feeling considerably less panicked than the encounter with the Arges unit.

Eventually, the mail doll reached a round clearing covered in dormant grass and dotted with dried flowers. Sitting in the middle of the clearing, at the base of a solitary tree was a woman. She had healthy fair skin, though mildly stained by soil and blood. More soil and blood painted the loose fitting white dress covering her body, with a tear towards her stomach highlighted by the highest concentration of blood, revealing what appeared to be a long sealed scar underneath. Under her icy blue eyes were dark spots, and from her head hung dark brown hair, unkempt as it messily cascaded onto her shoulders. The woman looked up as S-260-7 as its approach halted.

"Apologies for bringing you here. I felt it was more pleasant than where you were stuck." The woman spoke in a tired voice.

The mail doll placed its hands on the strap of its bag defensively as it took a step back.

The woman flashed a sympathetic expression, "It's okay, you're safe here. Though, you can't be here for long, can you?"

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I watch S-260-7 twitch as it wakes up, pulled through the panic induced by memory in its dream. This is probably one of the few memories it has. How unfortunate for that memory to be so traumatic. It sits up from its bed, retrieving a sketchbook and a pencil, and proceeds to its desk, where it begins sketching. First, I observe the traces of its pencil strokes, seeing the mail doll create an accurate rendition of the sight of the combat doll glancing back at it, perhaps embellished by the heightened fear I imagine it felt. Once it completes the drawing, it moves onto the next page, where its pencil hovers above the surface of the paper for a few moments. It looks as though the doll had something in mind to draw, but now the image has escaped it.

It stands up once again, applying its uniform, before it looks out the window to find that it is in fact still night time. Being created by the same collective as Soul, I tend to wonder why S-260-7 sleeps, despite almost definitely not needing it. The doll seems to understand this as it proceeds outside its room and quietly up the stairs, to find the opened window which Thread and Soul use to access my roof. As it pokes its head through, it sees Soul's crimson eyes drift to the movement as its head turns to meet the mail doll's gaze. S-260-7 gasps as it tenses up and ducks its head back into the window. It clutches its sketchbook to its chest as it trembles.

"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. Come on up." Soul's voice calls out to the mail doll.

It timidly climbs up and out of the window and onto the roof, seeing Soul lounging casually on the roof under the low light of the moon, and the sliver of orange of the teasing sunrise. In its lap is Thread, laying comfortably across its legs. Soul's cigarette burns a dull orange close to the filter as it stamps out the remains in an ashtray it's brought up to my roof. S-260-7 gingerly sits on the shingles next to Soul, around a meter away.

Soul's gaze turns to the stars for a moment, "You're up early today."

"This doll had a bad dream." The mail doll signs when Soul looks back at it.

Soul gazes on it with sympathy, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There was a combat doll in it. It looked like you. It saved this doll from an autonomous weapon. It seemed like a memory. Even though that doll saved it, it was still afraid." After S-260-7 finishes signing, it opens its sketchbook to the sketch of the combat doll.

Soul takes a long glance at the sketch, "Well, I'm an Operator Class, so I can't exactly take credit for saving you, but you don't need to be afraid. The war is over, and I plan to never fight again. One of the few benefits of being reclassified as a person is that I'm allowed to make that choice."

"You're reclassified as a person?" S-260-7 looks at Soul quizzically.

Soul nods, "The collective figured they were doing me a favor. As a 'reward' for my deeds in the war, I was given financial benefits, and reclassified as a person. That also meant that when I was repaired, I was sent to a human hospital. My right arm wasn't properly repaired. It works, sure, but it isn't even as sturdy as a human arm. I have to be really careful."

The mail doll looks to Soul's right hand, which is gently stroking Thread's hair as it gazes on the stars.

"You don't have a name, do you? Not really a name, I mean. My Witch gave me the name 'Soul' because of the personality they saw in me which wasn't present in their previous dolls." Soul gazes at the mail doll's eyes, "No need for a name if you don't have any running connections though. But, you have those connections now, to all of us. I've seen you teaching Cream and Sugar sign, and you deliver mail. How do you feel about the name Rye?"

The mail doll pauses for a few moments in consideration, before it nods its head.

Soul smiles as its gaze drifts back to the stars, "One of the meanings is messenger. I figured that was appropriate."

With the intense fear dispelled, the mail doll scoots closer to Soul, and closer. Eventually, it leans directly up against the combat doll. In response, Soul gently puts its left arm around it, and the three quietly watch the sun rise, as the dark sky full of stars gives way to the golden light of the sun, and the vibrant blue of the daytime sky, painted by a thin layer of clouds.