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I was just a little doll, lonely and lifeless. But you... the day you first held me, I felt warmth in my chest for the very first time. Whenever I saw your smile, I couldn't help but feel better too. It’s been lonely ever since you stopped playing with me every day, but that just makes the rare moments we share even more special. Maybe it’s not as special for you as it is for me, but I won't complain. When you place me on a chair for a tea party, on the roof of the dollhouse to pretend I'm a bird or a superhero saving the world, or tuck me into bed under the cute pink blanket I've known forever… it makes me happy because it means I’m still a part of your story.
You used to hold me tightly in your little hands, lifting me up and squeezing me close, giving me a different name every day. But one name in particular stuck with me more than the others: Octavio. That’s the name you gave me, the name that made me feel real.
You loved singing to me—especially Christmas songs. Each year when you sang, you gave me something special. Recently, you gifted me a blue cloak. I must say, I look rather fancy in it. The year before, you gave me a sparkly hairpin that shines so brightly. So, when I think of Christmas songs, I think of wonderful times with you. I practice whenever I can, hoping that one day I’ll be able to sing with you before a big crowd. Do you remember how you lined up all your plushies like a theater audience? You always put me in the front row, where I could see you best as you performed.
I only wish I had a voice of my own so I could join you...
Tonight, you placed me on the edge of your bed, standing guard against anything that might hurt you. Don’t worry—I may just be a little doll, but I’ll protect you from the monsters under your bed and the nightmares that sometimes visit.
It all began when you found that strange baton belonging to your papa. You’ve been hiding it under your pillow, and when you hold it and swing it around, you pretend to be performing for a huge audience. But recently, I've noticed you coughing a lot, and when you lift me, your grip feels weaker. Your skin looks different—strange patches have appeared, and your left leg has started to twist, turning a dark, distorted color. Still, whenever you wake up in pain or fear, you reach for me. I usually don’t like to be touched—it’s strange for a doll, I know—but with you, it’s different. I’m your doll, and I’ll always allow it. I’ll protect you from anything. I promise.
The past two days have been frightening. You've started coughing up blood—blackened bits mixed in. You accidentally coughed all over me when you hugged me so tightly, curling up from the pain. I feel a strange tingling sensation spreading through my puppet body. Your body... it’s changing, isn’t it? One day, I woke up to find a blackened, corrupted hand clutching me tightly against you. You were breathing heavily, painfully.
Was it the baton? It all started after you brought it into your room. But even now, I hear you whispering my name—"Octavio"—as you seek comfort. Why haven’t you told your parents? I haven’t seen them since you hid that instrument away. Are you okay? I don’t have a heart, but I feel scared for you. I’m supposed to protect you, and I’m powerless to help. If only I could move... If there’s any god or power that can hear me, please, give me the strength to protect my owner.
You’re squeezing me so tightly, I fear I’ll tear apart any moment. Then, suddenly, everything goes black. I can’t see or feel anything. I hear the faintest whisper of a Christmas song...
And then, silence.
I awoke, gasping for air as I lay on the floor, confused and drenched in sweat. It took me a moment to realize—I could move. My fingers could touch and feel the world around me. My hand felt… fleshy. What happened? I touched my face, my hair… Ouch, I shouldn’t poke my eyes, that hurts.
But where is she? Where is the girl who sang to me, who held me so close? All I see is a black, oozing puddle on her bed, the sheets and pillow soaked in blood and dark sludge. The air reeks of decay; the stench makes me feel sick. I search desperately, but I can’t find her—only the baton remains.
I hesitate before reaching out, but I grab it nonetheless. The touch burns, and I drop it instantly. My gaze lands on a pair of gloves nearby. They fit perfectly. I reach for the baton again, this time shielded by the gloves, and lift it. A voice echoes faintly in the back of my mind. There’s something inside the baton, a darkness trying to lure me in, but the heart beating in my chest refuses to succumb.
Instead, I make a deal with the baton: I won’t destroy it, but I’ll carry it with me, using its power for my own purpose. I’m saddened by the loss of the girl—where did she go? I search the house, but all I find are two more dark puddles: one in a chair, the other near the door, as if someone was trying to leave. The house feels eerily like the dollhouse she gave me.
An invisible force holds me back, preventing me from leaving. It’s a bond I can’t break… not yet. So, I set the house ablaze, watching as the flames sever the last threads that bind me here. Now, I am free—no longer a doll, but a living being on a quest to find her. I promised her I would sing with her, and I won’t rest until I do.
As I walk away from the burning house that looked so much like my own little world, I hum a tune to awaken my voice. Singing is hard, but as Octavio, I need to practice. Placing my hand over my chest, I feel the beat where you used to press me close. Is this what you call a heart?
I will find you, little girl. I am coming for you, and I will do it with the same smile I wore as the doll you loved so dearly.
until then, I shall practise to sing as much as I can.