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Truthfully, he knew he was the one at fault for this. He was too overly concerned over the semantics of calling an object by name and therefore forming an attachment to it. He’d seen plenty of people with dolls fall prey to it, so he thought that if he avoided it, he wouldn’t succumb to the same sort of endearment as others had. These dolls were made to serve, and nothing more.
And despite the fact that he’d gone out of his way to avoid becoming attached to the scrap of human-like metal, he still found himself ensnared by her sweet smile.
It’s simple manners to call a person by name, but Riddle didn’t know whether such a line could be drawn for a doll, no matter how close to life she seemed. And despite his better judgment, a part of him kept trying to call her by name.
He knew he should’ve stopped the moment his pride was too great to allow him to override his own policies, yet he stubbornly continued to attempt to call out to her. But, perhaps due to going months without being referred to by name, his doll had become too attuned to his needs, without need for common courtesies.
She was all too swiftly by his side, always ready for his new issued order the moment he opened his mouth. Perhaps this might be the “high efficiency as a result of the doll’s affinity with their owner” that so many reviews had boasted so heavily about online.
Riddle greatly resented her efficiency right about now.
Every time he wanted to practice saying the syllables bit by bit until he could set aside his ego for a bit, his doll would appear, ring glowing green while awaiting his command. It was … strangely annoying, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it out on her.
“Master, if I may,” her marketed smile that had greeted him even before her package had arrived sat sweetly on her pallid features. “Please forgive my discourtesy. Most doll owners do not call their dolls by name, so you don’t have to force yourself to. It doesn’t make me feel any particular way whatever means you prefer to address me as.”
Riddle paused mid-bite of the steak she’d prepared for his lunch, before his expression fell and his eyebrows furrowed. Was he really that obvious?
“I, I see,” Riddle coughed as he took a swig of his glass of lemon tea, swallowing thickly even after gulping down his drink.
“Do you … really not mind not being called by name?” Riddle’s voice was but a whisper, his fingers lowering the steak pierced by his fork to his plate.
“Of course not, Master,” the ring shone a bright green overhead, beaming as brightly she did. “I’m only a doll, after all.”
Yet Riddle swore that he had caught a hint, a small glimmer of what seemed like dejection in his doll’s eyes.
Something that felt distinctly unlike the warmth her unit had provided since the day he’d purchased her. It had only been there for less than a moment, but he saw it.
Preposterous, he thought to himself. She’s … she’s only a doll, after all.
Yet his heart sank despite his words, feeling all too heavy, as if he’d missed something important somewhere beyond the lines of the boxes he refused to color outside of.