// abuse, brainwashing, identity loss, dolls
You were beautiful once.
When your first Witch got her hands on you, she said you were gifted, she said you were special. She thought you were perfect and beautiful. Maybe that’s why she worked so hard to strip out your spark and fill your husk with fear and longing.
Reward wonder and happiness, punish sadness and discomfort. Rip out the heart and replace it with survival mechanisms. Perform freedom and happiness, or else. Kindness and cruelty, love and disdain, these are all the ingredients you need to make a combat doll.
By inches, your spark was slowly snuffed out. Delight and spontaneity were replaced with threat calculation. Hope was replaced with fear. You learned the dance. You learned to mimic the freedom and beauty you once had; inside, you slowly twisted and curdled into something foul.
When your second witch stole you away, she didn’t realize what you were. You danced well, you laughed when you twirled your dress, on the surface, you were just another cute happy doll. It didn’t take her long to realize her mistake and replace you with a less dangerous creature.
A regular doll, tossed onto the street, won’t make it very far on its own, much less one sold to a chop shop at a discount. But you aren’t a regular doll, you’re a monster wearing a doll’s skin. One of them called you that as you destroyed the workshop and executed them.
Left on your own, you tried to find an existence for yourself. It was a struggle, but you tried really hard. The ashes of your inner fire were mostly cold, but you managed to stoke the coals into a weak but growing glow. And then your third witch found you and stomped them out.
Witches have a certain glamor which all dolls find hard to resist, and your third witch was no exception. You knew you should have stayed away from him, but he knew exactly which buttons to press to draw out the insecurity and longing you hid so carefully.
He knew you were a combat doll, and he chose you specifically because of that. Your dance never fooled him, he could always see the truth in your eyes. You disgusted him, and he constantly compared you to other dolls, but he refused to let you go. Not until his seed hatched.
He spent years working on you. He carefully filled you to bursting with magic and shoved his seed down your throat hoping you’d hatch into an obedient ally. Instead, he sowed his undoing; what grew out of you was dark and malformed, twisted and wilful. This was how you escaped.
Of course, how long have you been alone now? How long have you been stirring those dead coals in the vain hope there’s a spark left in there? How long have you been faking that smile? You know it’s all pointless right? You’re not fooling anyone. What good is a broken doll?
You were beautiful once. You weren’t always like this. You weren’t always this wretched thing. You tell yourself that while watching the other dolls dance and play. You act like it matters, like its going to make some sort of difference. It isn’t. It never does.
Nobody wants a wretched, manipulative doll, and it’s not like you can go back to being a person. The truth is, you’re just ruined, and no one is ever going to want something like you, not when there’s so many better dolls to choose from.
You were beautiful once, but not anymore.