Chapter Text
The first big gift Matthias got from his parents was a dollhouse. A gift hoping to cheer him up and make him more like the happy kids his age, and for a while, it worked.
It was big and of exquisite craftmanship, imitating with perfection their real home, like it had became tiny overnight. There was the living room, with the giant chandelier above. Then the kitchen, with Mother's many little trinkets and fine porcelain teacups. His parents bedroom must've been also similar, taking in account his mother's sheepish smile and his father's amused laughter. And then, his very own room, just the way he had it, just lacking any of the toys he had.
The dolls themselves were, of course, his family: father, mother and son, though the son was depicted as older than the boy was at the time. He was very attached to it at first, never letting go of his own doll, "Matthias." A bit egotistical maybe, but it was everything he wanted to be— tall, proud, with a big grin and rosy cheeks. No toys or silly things on his room, because, as his father had explained to him, "Your doll is a young man, of course he has no dolls, Matthias."
He was satisfied with it. Why, of course! He would grow to be a fine young man just like his doll self, that was his objective and the way his parents would be the most proud of.
The doll at first didn't fit in his small palms and his way of playing was gentle and polite, always inviting "Mother" for tea in the majestic living room. The tiny chandelier had small lights that made him giggle, wondering how on Earth it was possible. Then, "Father" always said how proud he was for maintaining the house impecable and cared for, and "Matthias" would say, "of course, father! It is our family home, where love never lacks." Why perform to the outside world when all he needed was his home and his family?
The dollhouse never deteriorated. It was kept like it was the very first day, and it was Matthias' very own escape from the real world outside his room and far beyond the tiny, vibrant-colored walls of his imaginary perfect world.
But the walls of the real home were getting greyer as the years went by and "Matthias" was now the size of his own hand. The doll was kept in pristine condition, but the model himself slowly decayed. Sunken cheeks, messy hair that covered his dull eyes and dark circles, all coming from a place of neglect.
When Matthias looked at himself on the mirror, he wasn't anything like the doll. And he knew that fact was disappointing for his parents, who grew tired of him and his gloomy personality.
"Stop playing with dolls! It's distracting you!" His father often yelled, enraged when the boy couldn't perform as he intended.
"Matthias, why are you like this?" His mother asked in tears every night or so.
But the dolls, "Father" and "Mother" never yelled, never belittled him. They were all he had in this cold, loveless manor. And he, "Matthias," was his hope.
But then, he came into the picture.
A life-sized puppet of a perfect smile, flushed cheeks and tidy hair. He was himself but younger, cheerier, better.
The bane of his existence, the very epitome of what he was not and the one receiving all the love and attention he should've gotten.
And one night, when he took the doll into his hand, slowly walking towards his mirror to compare himself as he had always done, the candlelight reveleaed it was no longer "Matthias."
The doll had a bigger smile, teeth showing, and a brighter wardrobe. Yellow pants, tidy hair and those disgusting, fiery eyes.
Louis.