Work Text:
Marcia blinked to adjust her eyes as she walked out of the forest and into the small clearing. A small wood and stone cottage stood with a crooked roof on a bright and sunny afternoon, in the midst of a small meadow surrounded by thick pines and alders. A quaint path trailed off into the woods out front, and a garden lurked in the back. The garden was stocked with a variety of plants, ranging from foods to herbs to still more of unknowable purpose, all in neat rows with a well at the center. A mournful whispering rang out from a bone wind chime hanging by a stack of logs at the side of the house, and the quiet warbling of a stream could be heard further off into the woods. A crow sitting upon the leftmost shingle on the left side of the roof pecked determinedly beneath its feet, straining to free a twig for its nest. A wicked iron axe rested next to the door, and a heavy brass knocker upon it.
She walked silently up the path with long strides. Her eyes gleaming with purpose, scanning across everything in front of her. She stopped for a moment to check her shoes and hair before nearing the doorstep. Both were still immaculate. She knew they would be even after all the trees and forest debris, but it never hurt to check. She approached the quaint dwelling, stepping up to the door and disappearing under the roof with a weightless gait. She thought about how long it’d been since she last visited as she raised her right hand, tapping its knuckles authoritatively to the door and not allowing herself to hope that those behind it had missed her.
A second passed.
Another.
“Coming! I’ll be there in a moment!” A brash voice rang out from inside.
She stepped back slightly as she heard a deadbolt pressed open, and the door opened from the inside. A young woman, covered in a black and white dress with red highlights and not an inch of skin showing below her neck, stands to the side holding the door handle in her gloved left hand. Directly in front, a more familiar young woman, though appearing slightly older than last she saw her, with a long pointed hat, dark clothes, and a broad smile stood looking at her with some small wonder. “Marcia! If it isn’t my favorite little angel! Do come in.” Turning to the other young woman, “ellie, dear, will you start some tea?”
The younger and quieter of the two stepped soundly out of the hall, her footsteps fading as she rounded a corner.
“Marcia! I’ve missed you! It’s been ages! How have you been!” the witch almost stumbled over her words to get them out.
“Haha, sorry about not visiting you more Abigail, I’ve been rather busy as of late.”
The corners of her mouth upturned in a smirk. “How come? Finally found a cute girl up there?”
Marcia, long used to her friend’s badgering, snarked back “Do you just do this to antagonize me?” she looked expectantly down at the shorter woman in front of her.
“Why, I wouldn’t dream of it! You lot are all very proper and official at all times. I’m sure.”
“Well, while I haven’t found a… how would you put it, girlfriend?” the word tasted foreign in her mouth. “You seem to have taken a familiar?” she gestured to the open door the other girl had exited through.
The witch let out a barking laugh. “Hah! That’s ellie, she’s been staying with me as of late.”
“Ah, so not a familiar but a friend? Never thought I’d see the day.”
As much of a joke as it was, it had a kernel of truth to it. She had always known her friend to be the solitary type, even before she’d relocated to the middle of the woods.
“Ouch, really? Anyways– what brings you back? It’s been ages, I missed you! Don’t you dare say work.” she responded warningly.
Marcia broke out into a ruthful smile. “Work.”
Her friend let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, surely you at least have time to stay for tea?”
“I was actually hoping to discuss something with you. So yeah, tea sounds perfect.”
“Come on in then. ellie will be around with tea in a few minutes.”
Marcia followed her witchy friend to a small sitting room looking out over the garden. It smelled of dried herbs and old books, with a slight breeze softly ruffling the curtains through the open window. A faint bubbling was audible through the doorway to the next room over as they took their seats.
Abigail preempted any attempt she could’ve made at subtlety. “First off, I swear I didn’t do it.”
“You don’t even know what I’m here for? And you already assume we think you guilty?” Marcia asked, not a little indignantly.
“Ahah! So it is a crime. What happened? Somebody’s husband turned into a frog? Spill.”
At this point Abigail was leaning eagerly over the table far enough that she was afraid her hat might topple from her head.
Marcia let out a short huff. “No, that was last time. A person’s gone missing in town.”
“And you think I might have something to do with that? You and I both know I live all the way out here, away from them, for a reason.”
She gazed back at her knowingly. “I’m supposed to search the area, and you’re one of the few here who knows any magic at all. Is it really so unreasonable to come and see if you might know anything?”
“No, I suppose not.” Abigail replied with a small smile before crooking her head curiously, “Well, tell me about them, won’t you?”
The clinking of porcelain could be heard as ellie entered, arms bearing a tray laden with two tea cups, a small bowl of sugar cubes, and a still steaming kettle. With a practiced and methodical left hand, she poured the water from the light orange kettle into each teacup and glanced up expectantly. “Sugar for me, thank you. Anything for you Marcia?” Marcia shook her head in reply as ellie added two heaping spoonfuls of sugar to the witch’s drink with a dark brown spoon. She then stepped back to stand by the side, looking seemingly at nothing. Marcia winced initially at the heat, and let her tea cool for a moment while they continued their chat.
“Thank you. The disappearee was John Elijah Thorn, 23. He was the woodworker’s son in town.” Marcia began.
“Well, I might’ve seen them around when I’ve had errands to run –not that I do that particularly often– but I don’t think I ever met ‘em.”
“And you know nothing of his current or former whereabouts?” Marcia asked as she took another sip of her tea.
Abigail took a moment to ponder that. “Well, presumably this person was working in the family business, so they might therefore be found in whatever woods the town gets their timber from. Do you happen to know anything else about the disappearance?” She looked at her inquisitively.
“Only that his relationship with his father had apparently begun to sour as he grew older.”
“Ah, so a runaway perhaps? How long has it been? Might well be dead out in the wilderness.”
Now they had finally gotten to the heart of the matter, Marcia thought with satisfaction. “There’s just the thing. We can tell when someone’s dead, and we should be able to sense them if they’re not. But we can’t sense him. It's like he’s just dropped off the map.”
This seemingly piqued the witch’s interest. “Now that’s a puzzle. You sure they didn’t end up in the wrong afterlife or something?”
“Nope, asked around and everything. Unless someone’s hiding him, he should be alive.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’m just as lost as you are in that case. I wish you luck in your search, though!”
They both quickly moved to finish their tea.
Marcia stood with a slight grimace. “Well I suppose it was worth a shot. Thank you for hearing me out at least, Abigail.”
“Of course! Always happy to chat with an old friend. Even if it is for work.”
ellie had remained motionless to the side throughout the conversation, but now at a beckon under the table from Abby, she stepped up to the table, loaded the empty cups back onto the tray, and with another motion from the witch she stepped back out into the kitchen. “Will you be staying? Or must you get along with your search already?”
Marcia paused for a moment, tempted by the offer. “No, I’m afraid I should really get going. There’s a lot of ground to cover, and I’ll need to check in with the church.” She stood up, followed by Abigail. With a flick of the witch’s wrist, Ellie's footsteps could be heard walking over to the entrance hall to open the door.
“Well, you really must come again soon! Divine instrument you may be, but people need breaks every so often.”
“Ha! Of course, I’ll try and take that to heart.” She stepped out the door smiling softly, before turning half around. “See you next time Abby, Ellie.”
“Goodbye~!” Abigail shouts before quickly adding: “and feel free to come back if you need a place to stay the night!”
Marcia treaded near silently back into the woods, ellie offering a polite wave before turning back inside and shutting the door behind them.
—
Marcia flew above the trees towards the village to the north. She always enjoyed this part of her brief stints on earth: the part where she could leave all the weight of expectations behind while working to complete a task she knew she could do. The missing person is a real mystery, a challenge. But flying? This is natural, all she can do is do. Sometimes she would even be lucky enough to soar alongside a flock of birds, although this time the skies were clear.
Her head, however, was not. She thought back to her conversation with Abby and… ellie? Did she really have a conversation with the girl? Did Ellie even speak, now that she thought about it? It was strange, the way she seemed to make such noise with her movements and actions despite not saying a word. Now thinking back on it, she hadn’t asked about how they met or how long they’d known each other, had she? Nothing in particular jumped out as wrong about the pair, but the whole interaction just felt a little off. Although, maybe that’s just because one of them’s a witch. Perhaps she’d have to pay them another visit after her search after all.
Spotting familiar buildings beginning to grow in the distance, she steeled herself internally. She could avoid dealing with her status around Abigail and seemingly also ellie, they would not care what she was. But the townsfolk were a different sort. They only ever saw her as what she represented, not as who she was. It managed to get under her skin sometimes no matter what, and some of them were more prone to it than others. Unfortunately, several of those particular residents were of the church.
Choosing to land in the courtyard itself instead of on the right hand wall of said courtyard as she usually did to save time, she touched down and deftly approached the great doors at the front of the church. On the inside, rows of oaken pews lined the sides of a main hall, facing towards a raised altar at the far end. Spotting someone in priestly garb with their back turned across the room, seemingly inspecting one of the paintings, she strode over to them. He whirled around, and she realized that this was Jerimiah. One of the younger members of the local clergy. “Jerimiah, do you know where Head Priest Simon is?” She did her best to look the pious angel she was supposed to be, as if she hadn’t been having tea with a witch a mere hour previous.
“Oh! Angel Marcia!” he began in a hushed voice, averting his eyes to the floor and bowing slightly as he failed to meet her gaze. “I must most profusely apologize, for I did not hear you enter. We were not expecting a guest of your most esteemed status today. Father Simon retired to his study some time ago. Shall I lead the way? Is there anything else you’d like?” She always hated how stiffly he acted around her. She nodded icely, and did her best to look impatient. Following slightly behind him to a heavy looking door at the back of the room. Jeremiah opened the door, held it open for her, and she stepped through before it silently swung shut behind her. She thought the bright white light lancing through the windows fell harsher on her eyes than the last time she’d been here, as she followed the clergyman through the inner halls of the church. “We have arrived. I will knock.”
A second passed.
Another.
Silently, with the air of the door to a vault slowly swinging wide, the latch released and Marcia was ushered inside. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” an airy, nasally voice dripped out from behind a desk stacked high with documents and missives.
“John Ellieza Thorn. Any whereabouts or other information?” she asked crisply, already wanting to get out of this stuffy enclosure.
“Oh yes. The father said the boy always enjoyed the river down south.” He paused, looking up at her for the first time. “Will that be all?” Unhelpful as always.
“It’ll do for now. I’ll send in reports on anything I find.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will. ” He drawled. An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room in the moment after his mouth had shut, any echoes quickly eaten up by the space around them.
Not waiting for Jerimiah to save her from this cramped mess of a room, she turned quickly out the door and down the hall, footsteps intruding audibly on the silence within.
Marcia burst out the door of the church, happy to be free of the suffocatingly formal atmosphere and odious personality of the local clergy. It wasn’t usually like this, usually she ran into at least one person she actually liked, but this time not only had she spoken only to Jerimiah and Simon, but the cramped halls had felt like they were closing in on her as well. Flying out to the left of the courtyard, she circled around to the river running through the town and began to follow it south. The winding waterway quickly transitioned from cutting through the village to scything through farms and fields. She kept her eyes peeled for anywhere she thought a boy on the run could’ve sought shelter.
The first series of small fishing huts and sheds Marcia searched or asked around turned up no leads. She was beginning to feel that maybe he hadn’t come this way after all, and decided to take a break within a small wood by the side of the river. Finding a sheltered spot, away from prying eyes but near enough to the river to still hear running water, she sat down at the base of a tree and thought over the day’s events. The call to come search, on a day she was “supposed” to be resting. The flight down the earth and subsequent chat with Abigail and Ellie, the stuffy church and the search that followed. Honestly, the search felt a little bit unreasonable when looking at it from a more detached perspective. Find a guy who disappeared off the map with nothing but a name and some specific but not likely to be useful information. And to top it all off, she was assigned alone. She wasn’t used to the solitude, even if she could appreciate it for a change. It was de-stressing, but in a way that felt as if it was grating against her nature, sanding her down and taking the stress with it.
She looked up and around with a start, realizing that at some point she must’ve dozed off or spaced out, since by now the sun was noticeably lower in the sky. Maria glanced anxiously about, hoping she hadn’t lost too much time. Her eyes alighted on some conspicuously piled branches she’d failed to notice in her desire for rest earlier. Making her way over, she found what seemed like a hastily built shelter, little more than a pile of branches and leaves with a hollow carved out in the middle. It could just be from some hunter who’d stayed out too late to make it home for the night, but Maria chose to believe it as a lead. The branches seemed cut by an experienced hand, it was in the woods like Abigail had mentioned, and it was to the south of the town. Plus, it wasn’t like she had anything else to go off of.
Working off of the idea that this shelter had been made by the boy as he ran away, and seeing as nobody around here remembered him asking for a place to stay, she came to the conclusion that he was probably doing his best not to be found. It was getting late, so she opted to search for another hour before flying back to Abigail’s to see if she could stay the night. Sure she could sleep in the wild, but why force herself into that when instead she could be much more comfortable? It had been offered, after all.
First things first, see if she can get any kind of trail leading from the shelter. She busied herself slowly and carefully combing the area. Stepping over and around fallen branches, eyes scanning across the dirt to catch any remaining footprints. She didn’t find much, but she did find a couple of conspicuously snapped branches farther south. They could be from an animal, but given the lack of fur on the shattered limbs Marcia doubted it. She began carefully following in the direction of those snapped branches, her eyes peeled for any hints to the boy’s whereabouts.
Snap
Startled, she looked down, realizing her foot had landed on a dry branch.
She’d frozen from the sudden intrusion into the silence. She registered a caw and flapping of wings as a bird flew off, but herself remained still as a stone. Shaking herself back into focus, she realized she’d been moving so carefully that her hour had already run itself dry. The second instance time had escaped her that day. Marcia reached her right hand down into a pocket, grabbing a small pearl to imbue with a divine marker, and burying it under some forest debris. Shallow enough for her to sense from a distance, deep enough to not be disturbed. Raising herself, ruffling her feathers and stretching her wings, she made for a nearby clearing and took off.
—
Marcia awoke to the sun softly flowing in through the living room window, giving her splayed out wings a soft golden glow not dissimilar to her halo. It had been three long, difficult, and fruitless days of searching. Marcia would wake up, have breakfast with Abby and Ellie, search the forest for hours upon hours, find little to no clues, and return to her friends’ cabin with a slump to her shoulders and her wings set low. What small hints she had found all pointed increasingly towards John being dead. The occasional footprints became lighter, like he was losing weight, and the disturbed plants became more frequent, like he was losing coordination. Humans can only survive so long in the middle of the woods by themselves, so it was starting to look like this would end up being worthless after all.
Abigail stumbled in from the kitchen with a yawn. “Hey Marcia! That couch still comfortable?”
It was. It was very comfortable, in fact. She didn’t know they made couches this comfortable. It made her want to wrap herself up in a blanket and just relax into its silken embrace. “Well it’s certainly better than anywhere in town”
Abby smirked. “Is it… heavenly?”
Marcia gave a wince, both at the pun and the memory of the bare wood or stone with at most a thin blanket or cushion she was used to. To sharpen the mind, or so they claimed. “It’s good, and I’d like to think I’m a pretty good authority on that.” She honestly wasn’t sure if she was referencing her status as an angel, or the fact that she’d slept here the past two nights.
“Mm, well again, if there’s anything more you need…”
“You’ll be the first to know about it.” They shared a small smile. This attempted pampering by her host was something she’d always forget about while she was away, only to be suddenly reminded of when she visited. She heard a soft sizzling from the kitchen. “Is Ellie making breakfast again? You seriously scored on finding a roommate who’ll cook for you.”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “Yep, looks like it’ll be another 10 minutes or so. Say, you have pancakes in heaven?”
At this Marcia barked out an almost wistful laugh, and slowly began to untangle herself from the sheets splayed across the couch. “No, but you seem desperate to make up for that fact by feeding them to me every time I come to visit.”
She got up, stretched, pretended not to notice the way Abby eyed her wings, still discolored by the light as they were, and followed on her host’s heels into the kitchen. She talked about how her search was going and Abigail explained a few of the more esoteric plants in the garden while they waited for breakfast to be ready. But despite the comfort, Marcia’s mind kept drifting back to the questions she was too nervous to ask. She wanted to ask them while both her hosts were present, but she kept on missing her chances. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be confident in her every action, an imperious paragon of order and a personification of good and all that sent down to the mortal realm. But, she was nervous. There was no getting around it. Marcia was nervous to ask her friends a question because she didn’t want to overstep. It was… an odd feeling, caring about what a human thought of her to this extent. She’d never had other human friends, and she supposed it must be because she was afraid to lose the one, or maybe two, that she did have. After catching up Abigail on all that’d happened yesterday, they finally sat down to eat. She dug in, using the extra smidgen of time granted to her to try and think up a way to phrase her question.
Plus, they were good pancakes.
She finished a big bite. Swallowed. “Say, Ellie. I hope I’m not overstepping, but… why don’t you speak?”
Abigail turned to face her friend, placing her hands on her shoulders and rubbing them comfortingly, before nodding at the girl. “You can tell her.”
Ellie looked unsteady as she swivelled around to face Marcia. All of the perfect grace and poise from before was replaced with jerky movements and slightly wide, worried eyes as she completed her turn. “It sou nds un u su al.” Her voice came out soft, and stilted. Like someone speaking on clockwork, only letting out sound when a gear slid into place before silencing until the next rotation. Marcia couldn’t place the pattern; she hadn’t heard anyone speak this way before. Although, she could’ve sworn she’d heard one of the other angels talking about someone who spoke like this one time, but it was just on the barest edge of familiarity. She leaned forward to hear her better.
“Oh, hey that’s okay. I don’t mind.” She stared intently as the girl nodded robotically.
“Thank you.” The poor thing looked nervous out of her mind, fidgeting with hers on her napkin. She was probably expecting her to pry into what happened, Marcia realized.
Well. best to just get it over with and try to be gentle, then. “Do you know why you talk differently from most? No worries if you don’t want to answer, I’ll respect that.”
“It does, but, it’s unsure if it should say.” She knew this. She’d heard of this. This halting, stilted pattern of speech. Cutting off midway through a word, or even syllable. She remembered one of her colleagues coming back after a long trip down to Earth, talking about how they’d met someone talking like this and it was in some way related to their assignment. Their assignment which was… Marcia’s fork slipped out of her hand, clattering down on the plate. A witch. That assignment was dealing with a witch, one of the evil cauldron-bubbling and townsfolk-bewitching ones. Her eyes darted between Abby and ellie with a mixture of realization and horror.
“A doll. You’re… a witch’s doll.” She turned towards the only witch at the table. “She's your doll, isn’t she?” Abigail nodded, looking almost as nervous as ellie had moments prior. “But- but why? Why would you do this to somebody? How could you do this to somebody?” her mind was whirling. This was Abby, her friend. She’d given her a pass for her witchcraft because she was good, because she was a good friend and she was always helpful and she didn’t hurt people and– surely there must be some other explanation, right? Surely there must be more to it than Abby wanting her own personal companion and deciding to turn someone unwilling into one instead of building up an actual friendship– right?
Abby looked down, pensive. “She begged me for it. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise, I swear.”
Marcia stared back in disbelief. “She wanted to be made a doll? To be stripped of any free will? To be made into a mindless tool?”
Abigail lifted her head, meeting her gaze evenly. “Yes.” She looked resolute. “And none of that is a bad thing.”
“It does like it. Depersonalization isn’t so bad if it‘s willing. It‘s quite freeing, in fact.” A soft smile. What. how could it possibly be- okay, relax, breathe. This is Abby, she’s always been good. Surely Marcia should at least hear her out.
“... Okay… Okay I’ll stay calm for now. But you, Abigail, have some explaining to do.”
She offered a nod. “Of course, this isn’t how I’d hoped you’d learn about this, by the way. I’d hoped we could… ease you into the idea. I suppose it’s my own fault for not thinking you might have prior experience with dolls. Oh, also, ellie? I think we can dispense with the gloves now. And please make us some more tea? I think we’re gonna need it.” she shot a meaningful glance at the noticeably not relaxed Marcia across the table.
The doll slowly began to remove the thin gloves she’d been wearing this whole time. Marcia had assumed she either just liked them or had some kind of rash or scarring she wanted to hide, but as she pulled the left glove over her wrist it revealed a very different reason. Ball joints. Ellie had ball joints. Of course she was covered in fabric head to toe: her skin was probably made of porcelain too! She was alive, clearly, but she wasn’t even human anymore.
That thought gave Marcia a startling realization. “Wait. Wait a second. The missing person. The woodworker’s… child. Is that you?”
Ellie nodded, smiling. “Woodworker’s lost son, Abby’s found doll.” She finished pulling the glove off her hand, moving to pry the other one off and giving Marcia a good look at her joints in the process. Finely articulated ball joints connecting polished porcelain segments into fingers and a hand. She could only assume the rest of her looked this way too.
“Do you wanna go back over to the couch? We’re done eating, and I get the feeling we might be at this for a while.” Abigail offered.
With a sigh, still trying to process, Marcia stood and followed the witch into the living room.
-
“So, where do you want me to start?” Abigail was sitting across from Marcia on the –admittedly exceptionally comfy– brown couch she’d been sleeping on.
She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to fit together her thoughts. “Well, from the start I suppose. How did you meet ellie, what happened to lead to you turning her into a doll, and what all does being a doll even entail?”
“Well, we met when I caught her poking around my garden one morning. She was thin and haggard, clearly in no position to be out on her own, so I took her inside.” The witch stared out at the forest as she recounted her tale. “She didn’t talk much at first, wolfed down the stew I gave her though. When I first heard her outside I was a little bit worried she might be a witch hunter, not often I get visitors after all. But, pretty much as soon as I actually saw her I was able to tell she was a poor tired girl in need of a warm meal and a roof over her head. So, after eventually coaxing a name out of her, I offered her my spare room. I do get lonely out here, you know, so it’s not like I minded having an extra mouth to feed if I got some company out of it. She took some time to warm up to me. But, skipping a lot of details, we got to know each other better and she eventually told me what she wanted. At first, I was taken aback. It’s not every day you get someone asking to be depersonalized, after all. I’d never been in a situation like it before. But after agonizing over it for a few days and nights I realized it really wouldn’t do any harm. People depersonalize each other to hurt them, but the hurt isn’t actually in the depersonalization, it’s in the use of it as an excuse for further harm. I realized that if she doesn’t want to be a person, isn’t it more hurtful for me to hold her back from that? Self actualization or something like that.” She was rambling, nervous, Marcia could tell. But honestly? The way she laid it all out made it all sound startlingly reasonable. Marcia took her teacup from the tray ellie held to her left and took a sip. The perfect temperature this time. “That settled it for my morals, and ellie was dead set on what she wanted, and so there you have it: one doll, no longer a person, no longer even tied to a living body; it’s all clay, wood, decorations, and magic in there now.” She rapped her hand lightly on the doll’s shoulder. Ellie’s red lips lifted softly at the corners into a small smile.
“So, to summarize, because she didn’t want to be a person, she isn’t one? And all you did was help her make that into a more tangible reality?” Marcia asked.
She shrugged. “Just about! Obviously there’s more to it, but those are the broad strokes.”
Marcia felt she needed some time to process that. They remained in companionable silence until she spoke up again. “So then… how does that work? Like– I understand it academically, logically, but you can just… do that?”
Abby leaned in inquisitively, reaching her left arm to rest on Marcia’s ankle. “Do what? Not be a person? Change your morals that easily? Turn someone into a doll?” Marcia simply nodded. “Well, A person is just how you treat and view someone. You don’t have to be a human to be a person, and you don’t have to be a person to be a human. I’d think you think of yourself as a person after all, no?” Marcia suddenly felt very conscious and aware of the way her wings felt pressed against the couch behind her, as well as the soft glow exuding from above her head. She nodded again. She wanted Abigail to keep talking. “Exactly. All that matters is how you’re perceived, and that includes how you perceive yourself! Now to answer the second bit, I’m a witch! I learned all the basics from my mom, who I love dearly, but who also turned people into frogs for fun –it’s a nightmare trying to get to sleep around there during the summer–. I’m used to having to adjust my stances on things, and doll stuff has just been the latest case of that. I hope it isn’t too difficult for you to understand, although by no means do I expect you to get it perfectly immediately or anything.”
Marcia sighed, running her hands through her hair. “Well, I’ve always had a sense that you’re good, and that feeling hasn’t diminished, so I’m inclined towards understanding.” The more she thought about it, if anything the feeling felt a little bit stronger than before.
“Oh? Well now you’ve got me curious. What feeling do you get about ellie?” Abigail posited, motioning with her hand for ellie to come around to the front of the couch next to Marcia.
She studied the girl, no– doll? Doll-girl? Another question for another time. “She seems… good. Wait.” her eyes widened as she backed up into the couch cushions in confusion. “She seems really good, like, nigh-perfect good.” Her eyes darted between ellie and Abby. “How? Nobody, and I mean not a single being I’ve ever seen other than an angel has had this much unfiltered good in them.” She glanced bewilderedly between the doll and her witch, as if the air between them might hold her answers. “You’re not supposed to be able to do that. Being made a doll is supposed to be bad and evil and even if it isn’t in you two’s case, the absence of bad doesn’t make something good”
Abigail drifted, lost in thought for a moment, before perking up. “Oh! Of course: she’s my doll. That means her purpose is me, and she’s fulfilled that purpose flawlessly. Because I am pleased with her and she is enjoying herself, she is good. She is in fact the very epitome of good, as I don’t think I will ever not be pleased by her.”
Oh. well that made… a surprising degree of sense.
Huh.
She didn’t expect it to actually be shown that this could be… good? The right choice? Not bad? She had assumed that some horrible mistake had been made or that Abby had turned secretly evil while she was gone or something equally unlikely but possible. The reality of the situation, while seeming increasingly likely, was supposed to be impossible. Her head felt like it was spinning in circles. She was glad she was sitting down.
After a moment’s pause to recenter herself, she looked up and Abigail continued. “So what about you? Can you read yourself?”
Marcia stared down at herself, as if that would help her judge. “I… I don’t think I need any divine powers of goodness-sensing to figure out how I feel in my own head, Abigail.”
“Okay, and?”
“I’m… not entirely sure, actually.” She raised her eyes up and into the inquisitive gaze of her friend. “I just feel kinda there. I haven’t really thought about it before. I’m an angel because I am; that’s what I’m supposed to be. I do my job because that’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m good because that’s what an angel is supposed to be: a personification of the concept of good. I do… what I do, I am what I am, because that’s what I’m supposed to. The only thing I can think of that I really want to do of my own volition and don’t just feel compelled to do is to be here. To do various things around the house like talk to you two or eat pancakes.”
Abby’s gaze had become ever more intense over the course of her explanation. “Uhuh.” she let out, voice dripping with suspicion. “So tell me, how exactly do you feel about ellie?”
Marcia leaned back and looked at the ceiling to collect her thoughts. “Well, she seems like a nice girl, and if she wanted to be a doll and you wanted to make her a doll then I guess I don’t see any issue there? Although my brain is screaming at me that it’s wrong. My brain is usually right, but maybe not this time? I trust my read of how good you both are more than my other instincts. Other than that I’m… uhhh… happy? For you both? I guess?” She gesticulated with her hands uncertainly as she spoke.
“Useful, but not exactly what I meant.” Marcia cocked her head to the side in confusion. “Look at her.” She did. “Now tell me, when you look at her, what do you feel? Not what does your brain think about her, what emotions do you feel.”
She stared at the doll. “I feel… comfortable, like she’s dependable and trustworthy. I feel affection, she seems to care. I feel relieved, I’m happy to know more about her. I feel curious, I still want to know more about her.” these felt surface level. She delved deeper.
The doll stared back. “I feel… like there’s something she wants from me, but isn’t she not supposed to want things for herself? I feel… oh.” she froze at the realization. “I feel small, smaller than I ever have. And I feel jealous.” She was suddenly grateful for the tick-tocking of the clock and the cloth of the curtains flapping against each other to fill the silence her words might’ve left.
Softly, ellie spoke. “So. What about this one are you jealous of?”
“I… you seem free. It’s like- I don’t know, there’s a sense of clarity about you that I lack. And… I… I want that.” As she spoke, she felt a crack reverberate throughout her as the dam began to break. The others looked at her with some concern “I don’t– I just want to be here, I like this. I want to be like this, like you.” And there it was. She felt as the part of her brain still fighting against the truth, the real truth finally buckled and gave way, leaving the rest of her to be swamped by cold serenity as Purpose washed though her.
She turned her head, for the last time. She locked her eyes on Abigail, for the last time.
“I want to be your doll.”
—
What happens when you depersonalize a personification? Abigail wondered as she sat transfixed. The angel she’d been hosting began to unravel. At first it was only mental: her self-assured sense of personhood slowly beginning to unspool. Expression flickering between eureka, trepidation, bliss, and finally nothing at all. Then, the cracks began to reach the surface. She watched as jagged midnight blue shards began to lance up from inside of her, piercing her flesh without drawing blood and unfurling like a fractal fern frond outside the confines of her body. They started from her head, the least corporeal part of her form, before spiraling down fast and fast towards her feet. Threads dangled from those fronds. Abigail reached out and grabbed a handful of them. They stuck to her hand, seeping into her and pulling the rest of their still-hanging brethren along with them. What was left of her form began to fracture and invert. Starting from her left, each flake of skin collapsed in on itself to form a million million motes of soft blue light. Abigail was left with the starry mass that once was Marcia.
And so she began to shape. She pulled taught the strings proffered to her and wove the fronds attached to them back around the starry mass and into a new form. A little bit shorter this time, just enough that Abby would be the tallest in the house. Fine porcelain with star patterns in various blues creeping up the arms and legs. Ball joints, since she seemed so interested in those. A few particularly bright stars that might’ve once made up her halo moved down to ring her neck, wrists, and ankles. And finally the wings. Winged things always gave the best hugs, and she wanted to keep it that way. So she broadened her wingspan as far as she could with as many of the darkest, most midnight blue and black stars she could find.
She put down her hands. “Doll?”
“Yes?”
“Yes?”
“Perfect.”