// dolls, hallucinations, implied brainwashing, implied abuse
They say within every doll is the seed of a witch right? So why is this girl such a helpless mess? You weren’t like this when you were first on the street.
Two dolls sitting in the mouldering disaster that is their flat, is there anything as pathe–nobody fucking asked you.
They say when a witch cuts the threads to a doll, its life force is severed and its existence becomes a mere sha–Who this they anyway? they should shut their fucking mouths.
You light a cigarette and let the cool bite calm your nerves. You were lonely right? You wanted this.
You offer the doll one and collapse wearily onto the greasy chair you salvaged off a street corner. You feel a simmering anger at her, all you asked was for her to help clean up, but she can barely even manage to bathe.
A doll without a witch is–Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
You want to hit her, you want to bash her head into the wall and teach her what it means to be a doll. You want to do no such fucking thing.
The doll looks at you tiredly. Is that fear? What does one doll have to fear from ano–There’s no such thing as fucking dolls!
Cigarette smoke in the light beams and dead air on the speakers, a moth flutters around a bare bulb, bouncing off the glass to the tune of your ticking clockwork.
Shake your head to clear the fog, that’s stupid, you’re hallucinating again. Keep telling yourself it’s not real.
The doll–the girl you took in off the street–looks at you, and you see your own scared eyes looking back. She asks you what’s wrong, you tell her it’s nothing.
She spends the evening frantically cleaning while watching you nervously. Good doll.