Chapter Text
His first thought was that there was a child in the castle.
A real, human child. Not a monster. Not a hallucination. The boy was as real as the Toy Maker’s own two hands, and he could just about cry of happiness.
His second thought was that there was a child in the castle.
The Toy Maker knew all too well that the place was a living hell. Being inside the castle walls was a nightmare. It was torture. It was no place for a child. How had this poor young soul ended up trapped within its confines?
“Ah – hello, hello! Welcome to my humble theatre. You’ll have to pardon the mess – I’m still in the process of redecoration.”
The boy smiled, a small and tentative expression. He ambled towards the stage, weaving around the few rebuilt chairs on the floor. The area had been absolutely wrecked during his violent confrontation with the lord of the castle. While the castle was more than willing to imbue his creations with life, it seemed the place didn’t deem proper audience seating a requirement for his theatre, much to his annoyance.
“What’s your name, young man?”
“Trevor,” the boy answered, stopping near the front of the stage to turn and admire the opulence of the theatre.
“Trevor,” the Toy Maker repeated. “A nice name for a nice young man.”
Trevor turned back and began scaling the steps up to the stage. They were far too tall for him, and the Toy Maker stood up and left his workstation, offering the boy a helping hand. Trevor took it gratefully, climbing onto the stage and offering him a hesitant smile.
“How do you know I’m nice? I could be a nasty monster trying to trick you. Maybe I’m a vampire.” Trevor lunged forward, hissing and holding up his hands like claws.
“Oh?” The Toy Maker laughed. “If you are a vampire, you’re the tiniest vampire I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re not much bigger,” Trevor huffed.
“Ah, but I’m not a vampire, now am I?”
Trevor shrugged. His attention shifted to the work table set towards the back of the stage, the surface littered with evidence of the Toy Maker’s mechanical tinkerings. He walked to it and peered at the contents curiously.
“What are you making?”
“Oh, nothing special. Simply experimenting with a new type of doll.”
Trevor perked up.
“You make dolls?”
“Of all kinds!” The Toy Maker answered. “Do you like dolls?”
Trevor nodded shyly. The Toy Maker frowned as he took a closer look at the boy’s face. There was a deep sadness in Trevor’s dark eyes, something weighing down his features and aging him beyond his years. Harsh, dark circles ringed his eyes, signs of stress that the boy was far too young to be developing.
What did he expect? Life in this hellhole would burden the hardiest adult. A child stood no chance.
“Well, then you’re in the right place.” The Toy Maker reached into a pocket in his coat, rummaging around theatrically for a minute before withdrawing a brightly-painted wooden toy. Trevor’s eyes lit up at the sight.
“What do you think, Trevor? Is this of acceptable quality?”
Trevor nodded, more enthusiastic this time. The Toy Maker affected a frown, scrutinized the doll.
“Hmm…what am I thinking? There’s no way to get a proper review unless the critic has experienced the toy for himself!”
He offered the doll in an outstretched hand. It was a stylized portrayal of a ballerina, the only thing out of the ordinary a pair of angelic wings protruding from her back. Trevor eagerly snatched it up, running his fingers along the notches of the wooden feathers with reverence.
“Silly me, I’ve become forgetful in my old age. How can you critique one piece of my work without others to compare it to?
With a snap of the Toy Maker’s fingers, the crimson curtain along the back of the stage flew aside, revealing an array of toys, trinkets, and games, ranging from a doll the size of a coin to a puppet the size of a dragon.
Trevor’s mouth dropped open.
-
“What are you doing in the castle, Trevor?”
Trevor looked up from his work. He was seated on a stool, brushing the stringy hair of a puppet in the shape of a young girl, while a fairy puppet ‘stood’ behind him, attempting (without success) to pull Trevor’s short, scruffy hair into a braid.
“My father is here.”
Oh dear. The Toy Maker knew there were soldiers who regularly attacked the castle, attempted to take down its prince. None had succeeded, as far as he was aware. And all of them died, sooner or later.
“Is your father a soldier?”
“He was.”
Was?
“I don’t mean to alarm you, but, do you know if your father is still alive?”
Trevor hesitated for a moment, frowning and tilting his head. The puppet behind him made an agitated gesture, giving up and letting go of his hair.
“Yes. He is.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Yes.”
Trevor certainly wasn’t the most talkative child. The Toy Maker sighed, kneeling beside him. His old bones creaked and protested at the motion.
“Why isn’t he with you? This castle is dangerous. I don’t think your father would want you wandering around alone.”
Trevor turned back to the puppet in front of him.
“Father is very busy. I’ll come to him when he needs me.”
The Toy Maker’s brow furrowed.
“Trevor, if your father came to the castle to fight the vampire who lives here – ”
“He didn’t.”
“…Oh. Why is he in the castle, then? Did he find himself here on accident?”
Trevor fixed him with a serious stare.
“The castle brought him here. The castle loves him.”
The Toy Maker had no idea what to say to that. He let the conversation end as Trevor turned back and finished his work on the puppet’s hair, lifting the toy brush with a flourish and declaring “Done!”
The puppet whirled around, running stiff wooden fingers through the string. It gave a deep curtsey to Trevor before skipping away. Another puppet, this one in the shape of a mermaid, moved to take its place, but everyone was startled as a cacophony started up outside the theatre.
The Toy Maker winced. The lord of the castle was fighting with soldiers again. Dracula had shown mercy towards him, but the other denizens of the castle weren’t so lucky. The sounds of violence worried him. He had his puppets to protect him, but he was still only human, and he’d seen all too well what little threat his defenses posed to the vampire. He’d seen Dracula’s moods, heard them spread through the walls of the castle and whispered to him through the mouths of his dolls. He’d been shown mercy once, but ultimately, that meant nothing.
He stood up, struggling against his stiff joints. He held out a hand to Trevor, intending on ushering the boy somewhere safe. Trevor ignored it, hopping off of the stool and turning towards the theatre’s entrance.
“Father needs me.”