Chapter Text
Caine was sitting in his office, reviewing the future plans he will implement in the coming days; he lets out a tired sigh, worried about the last human remaining in the tent.
Humans were not made to be alone, and although he himself could keep Kinger company, Caine sensed that his presence would not be well received, not after Queenie's abstraction; he has left the man alone, unable to confront him, too guilty for not being able to help them.
He cannot undo this disaster, he is unable to free them from this cursed prison that keeps them all trapped…
He holds his own face in his hands and hides in them, feeling powerless, unable to help; Caine really wishes he could help him, but prefers not to get too involved, even so, he hasn't lost track of the chess piece, he keeps an eye on it from time to time, making sure that Kinger doesn't do anything crazy, that he's still there.
Caine felt terrible regret, he truly regretted having expressed his concern about losing Kinger as well so horribly; he had sounded so demanding that now, in the silence of his office, he was cursing himself for being so insensitive.
What on earth had gone through his head at that moment?
Of course.
He was too scared and nervous that Kinger would also become abstract, he was so terrified to form any proper sentence or say anything else, that he blurted out the first stupid thing that came out of his mouth, in his need to pretend that losing Queenie didn't affect him, to pretend that it didn't hurt to see her deteriorating body sink into the basement.
Because he was a machine, right?
The last thing he needed was for Kinger to care about him; he is a cold, emotionless machine, a logical entity made of pure code.
What would it say about him if the ringmaster collapsed in front of the man who helped create him?
It would be a complete disaster.
Caine took a deep breath.
Kinger will never know.
The risk of losing Kinger if he found out the truth was too high and not worth the risk; he would destroy any clue that suggested he was anything more than a heartless machine, and if possible, that truth would never see the light of day.
Caine clasped his own hands together, trying to calm the trembling that appeared in them, breathing slowly; he needed to calm down, the world literally depended on him.
Once again, seated in his enormous chair, he fervently wished he could help Kinger.
An alarm sounds.
It's not strident like others; it's a weak sound to be an alarm, but Caine recognizes it the instant the melody makes its way through the room.
His eyes open in surprise at the sound, his attention goes to the desk, where the noise originates and where a light bulb blinks to the rhythm of the alarm.
Caine hadn't heard that sound for years, but he remembers well the meaning behind its appearance.
A new human has arrived in the digital world.
Caine turned his gaze to the ceiling, feeling confused.
It didn't make sense that after so many years another human would arrive.
He quickly got up from his chair and walked to the right, standing in front of an empty wall; it didn't take long for a wooden door to form, and once it was formed, Caine grasped the doorknob and turned it, pushing it forward and entering the room.
It was just as he remembered it.
Even after so many years, everything remained the same.
His workshop.
A room with all the tools available at his complete disposal.
Caine took off his red coat and hung it on the hook on the side of the door, closing the door with one of his feet.
He began to roll up his shirt sleeves, looked at his hands for a moment, observing the white gloves he was wearing, debating internally whether to take them off; finally, he decided to keep them and took the black apron down from the second hanger and put it on, firmly tying the ends to prevent them from coming loose.
He grabbed a ribbon from the table and pulled back as much of his hair as he could and tied it; he needed to see and the hair in his face would get in the way of his work.
He felt some loose strands of hair fall on his face, he brushed them away with his hand, passing them behind his ear, lightly tapping the earrings that hung from them; he tried his best not to give up the hair, it would be a disaster if he did, and he didn't want to go through the same thing again.
His footsteps echoed through the wood as he walked toward a cabinet.
Having reached the piece of furniture, he took a pair of glasses from one of the shelves and put them on his face; everything became clearer and more detailed, Caine let out a sigh of relief, before leaning over the chair and observing what had appeared on his work table.
Caine's expression crumpled into a look of concern as he saw what had arrived.
On the table was a damaged doll, very damaged.
Caine slowly analyzed the damage.
The doll's hair was burned in some parts, missing in others, as if someone had pulled it hard and ripped it out on purpose with the intention of hurting her; Caine suspected that what had once been beautiful golden hair was now brown, and he inwardly prayed that the color was due to dirt or mud, rather than his growing suspicion that it was dry blood.
Her face is covered in stains, dirt, and mud that have stuck to the fabric of her face; she only has one eye, and where the other should be, there is an empty hole that gives her a terrifying appearance; the arms and legs are full of unstitched parts, letting out the soft cotton with which her body was stuffed.
Her dress was torn, pieces were missing in various parts of the ripped and old dress; they had tried to fill those empty spaces with cloth patches, but the damage was severe and the cloth was of poor quality.
She had no shoes on her feet, completely barefoot; the doll's facial expression was empty of feelings, but still, she managed to look sad.
Caine's expression darkened as his hands gripped the back of the chair, digging his nails hard into the leather seat, through which the ringmaster peeked out.
What kind of life had she led to end up with a model of such appearance?
Caine sighed, before letting go of the chair and finally sitting down in it.
He rummaged through the drawers and took out a rag, moistened it with water and began to clean the doll's face, carefully removing the stains from the fabric; his eyes focused on the empty space on the doll's face, making an expression of pain at the possible implications of such damage.
Unfortunately for Caine, he couldn't create a functional eye for her, but luckily he could replace it with something to avoid that terrifying appearance; he tore off a button from his own shirt and looked again at the doll on the table.
He really hated doing this!
She left the button on the table and began searching in one of the drawers for thread and a needle, having what he needed at hand, he passed the thread through the eye of the needle, firmly held his wrist with his free hand and inhaled sharply, exhaled and began to sew the button onto his face.
Caine was grateful that the body was empty, devoid of consciousness; she wouldn't feel any pain while he finished the stitching.
With the button ready and the face clean, Caine used the same thread to sew the tears in the doll's arms and legs, putting the cotton back in place before reattaching the fabric; he was quite satisfied with his work; the newer seams would never be noticeable, as if those wounds had never been there.
He laid the thread and needle on the table and focused on the doll's hair.
It was a complete disaster.
The material was too damaged to work from, and what little remained intact was not enough to replace the missing parts.
Caine watched the doll sitting on the table, he leaned back in his armchair without taking his eyes off it, he could get something to replace it, but it would involve tearing out all the damaged material; their biggest question was what to use for the replacement.
Caine grasped his own hair in a thoughtful gesture, twisting and turning a strand of it several times; his eyes opened and went to his hand where the hair was still tangled.
An idea appeared in his mind.
Caine began to braid his hair, small braids made carefully and tightly to prevent them from falling apart; once finished, he grabbed the scissors from the drawer and cut them, placing them one by one on the wooden table.
Caine grabbed the wrist again and began to remove all the damaged hair, she looked strange without hair, but luckily, it would only be for a short time.
He took a pot of glue and a brush, putting dabs of the adhesive onto the doll's head and pressing each strand of the new hair down one by one; it would take at least a few hours to dry and set completely, enough time to make a decent outfit for the doll.
He took out a tape measure and began to measure the doll's body, noting the data on a small piece of paper; having finished, he laid it on the table, tore the sheet out of the notebook, and put it in his shirt pocket.
The current dress was terrible, a fabric falling to pieces, patched in parts and riddled with holes in others.
Caine hated it because of the implications of the neglect she had possibly suffered; he would make sure to give her something better, something beautiful, befitting a little lady and once she had something better, he would burn the damned threadbare clothes and erase their existence from this world.
Caine got up from his chair and went to the shelf where he kept the multiple rolls of fabric, searched through colors for something that would match her new hair; Caine took out two rolls of fabric and put them under his arm, picked up the chalk and fabric scissors and went to the sewing area.
He dropped the cloth heavily, too focused on the anger that gnawed at his thoughts, angry about everything she could have gone through to affect the girl's mental image in such a way.
He would review the data later; for now, he needed to concentrate on the task at hand.
Caine pushed the glasses back into their proper place and began marking the fabric with chalk, marking the patterns needed to make her the most beautiful dress in the world.
She deserved better.
He wasn't going to let her walk around looking so sad if he could prevent it; and he was quite capable, so he continued drawing lines along the fabric.
With the sketches finished, she took the scissors and cut the fabric, joined the fabric segments with sewing pins, thus forming the dress; all that remained was to sew it into a single piece.
He grabbed the swivel chair and dragged it to the sewing machine, sat down and began to pedal slowly, joining the fabric; for several minutes, the silence was only interrupted by the sound of the machine working.
Once the stitching was finished, Caine turned the dress inside out and removed the sewing pins, proudly observing his work.
It was a pretty purple dress.
But it was too plain, too simple; she deserves something special.
He grabbed a embroidery hoop from the table and stretched the fabric.
For the next few hours, Caine dedicated himself to weaving small figures into the fabric: flowers, bees, stars, butterflies, hearts, suns, moons, among others; they were barely perceptible in the fabric,you would need to pay close attention to notice they were there, and it wasn't just a normal or simple woven pattern on the dress.
This was his gift to her.
Something made with love on his part.
Caine smiled proudly and released the fabric from the sewing hoop, then pushed himself with his feet, rolling the chair back to the table where the doll still was.
Carefully, she patted the doll's head several times, making sure the hair was securely fastened; once this was confirmed, he changed her old dress and put on the new one, making sure that the fabric was smooth and well arranged.
Once ready, he sat the doll on the edge of the table.
Caine looked at her bare feet.
He began rummaging through the drawers, certain that he had a pair somewhere, and he was right; he just had to reduce the shoes so they would fit perfectly, and he put them on carefully, making sure the size was correct.
She remained motionless on the table.
Caine walked away again with the feeling that something was still missing.
The doll's head looks empty.
So he took off the ribbon with which he was tying his hair and made a bow, which he carefully placed on the doll's head.
Caine smiled contentedly.
Now she was really ready.
But…
His smile faded slightly.
She still looked sad.
Caine moved a little closer, held the corners of the doll's mouth with his index fingers, stretching them slightly, so that he put a soft smile on her face.
That's much better now.
Caine was truly a mess on his own; after hours without sleep, his eyes felt heavy, but his heart felt overflowing with happiness at what he had achieved.
Caine held the doll's face in both hands and kissed her on the head.
It was a farewell, a blessing, Caine's sincere and honest wish for her to be happy; a way of telling her that she is loved, that she will be protected and cared for.
It would also allow the human consciousness on which it was based to finally enter and inhabit the newly completed body.
When Caine released her face, he allowed the doll to disappear from the workshop, so that it could reappear later on stage inside the tent.
For now, Caine let out a weary sigh before collapsing into his workshop chair; hoping that she could achieve and be what he never could.