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It was impossible to tell when it was really day or night, so you had no idea how long you had been stuck in Terence D'Arby's private chamber.
The room was infused with a powerful illusion that gave it the appearance of a tropical island, warm and sunny with the sound of lapping waves somewhere just out of sight. When Terence was off performing his duties as Lord Dio's butler, and you were locked in the cabinet with all the other dolls, sometimes you felt like listening to those fake waves was the only thing that kept you sane.
It was horrible, being trapped with the eternally suffering souls of all D'Arby's victims, powerless in their artificial bodies and madly bemoaning their fate. They had all been tricked into giving up their souls, and their unwillingness prevented their souls from integrating properly into their new bodies. They couldn't move around with any useful degree of control, or even perceive the world around them outside of very narrow fields of focus.
You, on the other hand, had willingly agreed to this arrangement, albeit fueled by desperation. You had failed to complete a key mission assigned to you by Lord Dio; you had been fatally injured, and were close to death; Terence had explained clearly what he could do for you, and you agreed to have your soul transferred to an inanimate proxy by Atum.
The decision was fueled by desperation and fear of death. But also, you rationalized to yourself that if you kept existing, maybe you'd be useful to Lord Dio again someday.
After an unknown period of time in the darkness, inevitably the cabinet doors would swing open, and Terence would stand there smiling fondly down at his collection. The sight filled you with a bizarre mixture of relief and anxiety.
He always seemed to already know what he wanted when he opened the cabinet... A specific doll that he reached for, unrushed but also without hesitation. Usually he'd carry it off for a while, leaving the cabinet doors half-open... Presumably so he could listen distantly to the wails of the dolls left behind, crying and calling for him.
It was normal for him to make a few more trips to the cabinet, carefully tucking the doll he'd been holding back into its spot and picking up another.
He usually didn't pay any attention to you at this time, and you did your best to keep your soul quiet so you wouldn't unconsciously call out to him. It wouldn't do you any good, he'd just ignore you or, worse, hush you and tell you to wait your turn. It was better to wait quietly.
Inevitably, when he was satisfied with the time and attention given to the rest of his collection, his eyes would fall lovingly on you.
You were the only doll who needed to be locked into the cabinet. After two escape attempts (neither of which got you anywhere), he installed a slotted hinge, shaped to fit snugly over your waist and keep you firmly stuck in place while he was away. He made it clear that it was only so that you wouldn't somehow manage to damage yourself while he was away.
He'd produce the key from his jacket pocket, remove the padlock, and finally you'd be free again.
Before you could try to scamper out of grabbing range, his long fingers would wrap around your wooden body and, in a dizzy flash, you'd find yourself hugged tightly to his chest like a teddy bear in the hands of a child.
"How is my favourite toy doing today?"
Put me down!!
Sometimes you'd half-hearted try to swing your little wooden fists and feet at him, but he only had to adjust his grip to pin both your arms to your sides and your legs together.
He chatted continuously to you. Some days, you asked him for news about the other agents, what was happening around the mansion, anything else you thought you might be missing. He seemed delighted to converse with you, but on days when you were only willing to complain and snap at him, he seemed just as infuriatingly amused.
The other dolls had to be painstakingly coerced into coherent communication beyond begging - normally they just babbled in a confusion of fear and despair. Your spirit hadn't needed to be broken for your soul to be taken, and you had to assume that's why you'd more or less kept it together.
You made a conscious effort to avoid slipping into despair, even when you were feeling especially helpless. It helped to focus positively on the future, and to not dwell on where you were or what you were presently. It wasn't worth contemplating what made Terence was so interested in playing with you specifically, or whether one day his interest would fade and you'd be locked away forever.
If he wanted to treat you like a little pet for now, that was fine. You weren't going to let yourself think too much about it.
The sun was beginning to set, which it only did if Terence willed it to.
He'd had his fun with you for the day, and when he finally got bored with making you try on different doll clothes he'd been working on, he put you down on a low table and went to take a bath.
The fact that he only put you into the cabinet while he was away for work attested to how useless it was to try and escape. The room, you'd learned from experience, looped if you weren't privy to the trick of it. You'd be following your own tracks in the sand over and over before you knew it, and when he found you he'd only laugh.
So when he got back you were still on the table, using a little stack of books to help you stand up, practicing taking shaky shuffling steps.
The ball joints in your legs made them frustratingly difficult to control, and they had a habit of buckling under you without warning. It had taken a stupid amount of practice just to figure out how to stand.
"You're getting much better at that!" Terence said, loudly enough that it broke your concentration and made you fall on your back with a little clunk.
You watched him plop down in the beanbag chair next to the table. Atum turned on the TV, and brought him the game controller.
He was wearing an oversized black t-shirt with the Nintendo logo, and matching pajama pants. He had on a different headband (white instead of black), and his long green hair was done up in a loose bun. You thought he looked a little like an overgrown teenage girl.
He seemed to shot you a brief scathing side-eye, before smiling and commenting, "When you can sit up properly and hold on without falling off, you can come along for my rounds of early morning cleaning, right here!" He patted his shoulder with one hand, making it clear where you'd be sitting for this little "trip".
Atum's hand replaced the one that had left the controller, and together they continued the game without missing a beat, even as D'Arby continued to speak to you.
"You might be able to assist me with a few things - since you're so small and can fit into tight spaces. Wouldn't you like that?" His free hand was now cupped to the side of his grinning face, like whatever mental image he was conjuring up was the cutest thing he had ever seen.
Uh, sure, ok.
The idea of getting out of Terence's room, and at least seeing the mansion again, was very tempting. The possibility that someone you knew may see you as you were now, sitting up on D'Arby's shoulder like his little pet, was not.
He chatted a little longer, playing the game with Atum the whole time. Eventually he handed the controller fully over to his stand, picked up a little doll jacket he'd been working on along with a needle and some thread, and started sewing.
The sun was only a red glow on the ocean horizon now, but some unrealistically bright fireflies were hovering over you, providing Terence with enough light to continue his sewing.
You were getting tired.
Giving up on doing something useful, you carefully sat down with the book stack at your back, watching the television listlessly as Atum played the video game.
At some point you suddenly felt a hand wrap around your body. You instinctively jerked away from the unexpected touch, but relaxed when he just lifted you up and placed you on the beanbag chair with him.
The sky was dark and filled with a sea of stars now.
You had only slept a couple of times since becoming a doll (it was no longer a necessity, or something your body craved), but you felt like you may drift off now.
Do you have Tetris?
"Huh?"
D'Arby looked up from his sewing, blinking at you in disbelief for a moment.
"Do I own the game Tetris? Why yes, I do own every version of Tetris that has ever been publically released, as well as three versions currently only available to a handful of game designers."
He sounded almost comically offended.
Do you have, like.... The old one?
He stared at you for a long few seconds, like he was weighing out the benefits of going on a long explanatory rant. It apparently wasn't worth it, because finally he sighed loudly, put his sewing down, and took the controller from Atum. A minute later, the stand returned with a number of game cartridges in its hands.
It held them out so you could see them.
"Do you know what the one you want looks like?" Asked D'Arby, not taking his eyes off the tv screen.
Uh, I think it's.... Oh yeah, it's this one.
You pointed to the familiar cartridge, which Atum isolated from the others.
You didn't have to exchange any more words. Atum switched games, and soon you were staring at an incredibly familiar pixilated menu screen.
You weren't a video game nerd by any stretch - even as a kid, you'd thought they were kind of a waste of time. But your brother loved them, and when the two of you were left alone in your little apartment at night, you'd often wait together in front of the TV for your dad to get home from his night shift.
You only had 3 channels and they were all news, so your brother would sit on the floor and play Tetris while you lay on the couch and watched.
You never knew how long he played for, because eventually you'd fall asleep. The next morning, you'd wake up tucked into bed.
***
When his eyes started drifting shut on their own and the controller started slipping from his hands, Terence D'Arby didn't bother trying to fight to stay awake.
It had been a hell of a day, and he needed the rest one way or another.
The doll next to him had dozed off within minutes of starting the new game, it's soul aura a pleasant haze of contentment and half-forgotten positive associations.
Soon Atum took the controller from D'Arby's hands, and quickly pressed a couple of buttons to return to the main menu.
Then, finding a comfortable position against the back of the beanbag chair, the stand curled up comfortably next to it's user.
For quite some time, there was only the music coming from the television and the distant sound of lapping waves.