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She learned the hard way that time truly was a concept. Pomni counted at least three months in the form of shaky little lines behind the baseboard of her bed, and yet nothing had changed. She didn’t sleep most nights, but the skin beneath her eyes stayed clear and smooth. She expected pimples when she fell asleep face first onto the pillow she had never washed, expected her hair to tangle each morning, or experience the simple action of waking with bad breath and bleary eyes.
It was driving her crazy.
The constant nothingness, the forever clearness of the digital realm. It never changed, she was stagnant in a single moment of time, always suspended between make-believe and hard to swallow truth. Sure, Pomni could admit the adventures were fun. For a little while— a length of minutes or hours that escaped her knowledge— she could pretend this was all a game, and that freedom was simply a button press away. But then the portal popped into existence, shining, spitting sparks an impossible shade between blue and purple, a color that shouldn’t exist, and she was stepping back into her prison.
Bright walls with safe rounded corners to prevent her from smashing her skull in; Blocks that towered above her head, and a tune that looped and looped and looped. Pomni wasn’t sure how Kinger had lasted so long.
That wasn’t saying there was zero material value living in the circus. While everything was digital, the skills she refined certainly weren’t. In the three months since putting on the headset, Pomni had read more books than she ever had in the real world, and many she found herself enjoying so much she took to pen and paper. Drawing with Gangle was fun, and Zooble was a good teacher when it came to explaining the ins and outs of perfecting drink mixing: who knew that adding a dash of barbecue sauce to whisky would taste so good? Most days after the adventure ended were spent holed in her room learning new things about herself she never had the time to explore.
But then the sun would set, and the clunky night track would play awkwardly from the corner of her walls. No amount of pillows could block the sound. Pomni had learned to just go along with it, to find rhythm in the predictability, softness in her new static life.
It wasn’t working tonight.
Pomni tossed in her bed, the bells on her hat ringing out of tune with her discomfort. She felt the corners of her eyes begin to bleed into discordant scribbles, which clouded her vision for only a mere second. Nothing around here could be different for long. She listened as the lullaby looped, letting off the beginning notes: a simple piano and violin duet that sounded like Caine himself had played the parts. She had always wanted to learn an instrument, maybe she could ask the ringmaster for lessons, not that he was any good either.
She stood with a defeated groan, pulling at the rubber skin beneath her eyes before letting it snap back in place. Pomni dug through her abandoned crafts drawer, projects that had frustrated her so badly she shoved them into darkness hoping to never see them again. She was desperate now, painfully so. Inside was oil paints, which seemed to never dry, and somehow always smudged across her face. Pomni pulled out balls of what should have been folded paper swans, tossing them behind her in a fit of growing annoyance. Surely there was something in the drawer that could offer up a moment of peace, a skill she had yet to master, one that could be mastered here.
Her fingers brushed delicately over a metal tin, which rattled expectantly as it came into contact with her skin. Pomni pulled it out, rolling it around in the palm of her hand before deciding whether or not to toss it aside like everything else. Still, something about it gave her pause, the promise of not only momentary relief, but also of creating change in a world where everything stayed stagnant. She opened the tin with a click, and watched as little needles shook from side to side. And yet, there was no string.
Of course there wasn’t.
Pomni bit her lip to keep back the groan that threatened to split her aching brain in half. She was so tired of the circus and its predictable cruelty— because why wouldn't there be string in a sewing kit of all places? The circus certainly didn’t know.
Before she could think too hard about her misfortune and all the mistakes in her life that led her to this moment, Pomni shuffled to her door and into the hallway. She still held the little tin, as though it were the only thing grounding her. A North Star, her guiding light, a tether to this meaningless, horrible place. But what else was there to do? There was only so much possibility within the walls of this digital realm, and half the things she wanted to do were confined by the concept of time. Paint never dried, bread never rose, and the flowers she had planted weeks ago had never even sprouted. This was something Pomni knew she could do, and she was desperate to prove herself right.
She raised her hand as she came to stand outside Ragatha’s door— the sweet ragdoll who had offered sanctuary when needed, and who most definitely had extra string lying around. A two for one deal, Pomni supposed. It only took until the second knock for Ragatha to open the door, leaving Pomni’s hand stilled in midair.
“Pomni, hey! Whatcha doing up? Having trouble sleeping?” Her voice, though light as ever, was tinged with the slightest bit of anxiety. Her words slurred gently as if waking from sleep, though Pomni could tell she’d been awake just as long as she had.
“Uh, hey. Sorry to bother you—“
Ragatha spoke too fast again, waving her hands to dismiss Pomni’s apology. “You’re no bother at all! Do you want to come in? Have some tea?”
She stepped aside and motioned for the jester to follow her, softly closing the door behind them. Ragatha pulled a teapot down from a shelf hanging above her bed, the soft sound of glass clinking together filled the quiet ambiance. Pomni sat at the table Ragatha had set the teacups on, an old fashioned wooden ranch style with yellowing lace draped delicately on top. She drummed her fingers gently against the table.
“Ah, what kind of tea do you like?” Ragatha turned, finally taking a chance to look at her guest. Her eye fell on Pomni’s wilted expression: furrowed brows, a mouth curved downwards, her eyes darting from ceiling to floor to wall. Ragatha faltered, her own features falling. “Is, uhm, is everything alright?”
Pomni peeked up as she noticed the sudden attention, the beat her fingers tapped gaining speed. She nodded quickly, forcing a smile onto her face.
“Oh yeah, I’m good.” A breathy laugh escaped her trembling lips, the smile hadn’t lasted for long. “Just looking for ways to pass the time, trying not to think about how crazy this place is, how nothing makes sense. Yknow, the usual.”
Ragatha’s expression softened immediately, smoothing down her dress absentmindedly as she discarded the idea of tea and came to sit across from Pomni.
“It takes a while to get used to everything.” She reached for the jester’s hand, before stopping herself. She settled on a reassuring smile instead. “I’m glad you came to me, Pomni. I’m always here if you need a shoulder to lean on.”
Pomni nodded gently, and placed her fingers softly onto her hand, initiating the forgotten touch. “I know, and thank you.” She pulled her hand back, reaching instead for the stringless sewing kit. “I actually came to see if you had any string. I was planning to teach myself how to embroider.”
Ragatha lit up in a way that seemed more genuine than any expression she had ever worn. She went to the shelf that held the teapots and pulled down a box filled with rolls of yarn and string of every color. She set it down on the table with an enthusiasm that crinkled the lace tablecloth.
“I hope this answers your question!” She gestured to the bin. “Take as much as you need, I don’t sew as much as I used to.”
Pomni looked over the plastic box, eyes roaming the slopes of different textures and colors. “Thanks.” She gripped the sides, ready to haul it to her room before she looked up at Ragatha. She stood with a wet glimmer in her eye, lost in the haze of a memory that flitted across her expressions. Pomni watched in silence for a moment, afraid to interrupt whatever scene was playing out in her mind, but then Ragatha shuddered into herself. The jester paused.
“Hey Ragatha, do you think, maybe, you could teach me?”
The doll glanced up, shaking her head to clear the cloudiness from her vision. Her hunched shoulders quickly straightened, the yarn of her hair bounced like the tail of an animated puppy. It was as if Pomni’s suggestion had brought out a completely new eagerness, one she had never seen Ragatha possess before.
“I would love to! I-If you’re really okay with it.”
Pomni nodded, setting the bin back down. She opened the tin case and spread the needles across the table, letting them roll into the grooves impressed into the wood. “I’ll need a great teacher if I’m going to learn.”
Ragatha waved her hand dismissively, but there were clearly splotches of rouge growing across her fabric cheeks. “O-Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m great, just adequate.”
She pulled out the chair opposite to Pomni and started rifling through the colored string. Her voice carried on, steadier before as she settled into her element. “When I was a little girl, I would embroider my horse’s saddle whenever I got bored. My mom would never let me cut her mane like the other girls got to, so I poured my creativity into coming up with new colorful designs.” She hummed almost reverently, her eyes catching her plush hands as they enclosed on a roll of red string. “Maybe that’s why I got put in this body.”
Pomni followed suit, pulling out an array of purples and blues. “I always wanted to learn, but I was so busy. And when I wasn’t busy, well, I could hardly find the motivation to do anything. The only thing that could pull me out of bed was my cat, she’d mewl at me until I opened the windows so she could see outside.”
Her gaze fell on the ragdoll, who was already staring. She looked away quickly, pulling at her yarn hair indelicately as a flush overtook her features. Ragatha pulled up a corner of the lace tablecloth and sunk the needle into it with shaking hands, her face growing impossibly more red.
“Uhm, so embroidery is pretty simple.” Even her voice shook. Gone was the earlier confidence she held, replaced with bumbling sentences, and words that slurred into each other. “You just pull the needle in and out. It’s easier if you already have a design in mind, I guess.”
Pomni watched closely, coming to stand behind Ragatha’s shoulder to study the intricate movements. As always, the doll was elegant in the way she flowed, fingers curling softly around the taut tablecloth, her dress swaying delicately as though a gentle wind befell her every move. Pomni found that she’d almost be jealous, if she weren’t so thoroughly entranced. While time certainly was stagnant, it seemed Ragatha changed with every given moment. At no point was she the same person: the stitches on her skin were different after every adventure, adjusted to fill whatever injury she had suffered. Her dress, too, was altered over periods of time. Sometimes the hem went to her ankles, and other days she sewed it to lay across her knees. She had fully adapted to her environment. Resilient, brave, beautiful. Pomni felt a flutter in her chest. She wanted that confidence, too.
“I was thinking about embroidering something onto my hat.” She watched as Ragatha looked up in surprise, her lips falling in the gentlest of ‘o’s. Pomni quickly backtracked, “If it’s within my skill level, I mean. If not, that's cool too.”
Ragatha snapped her mouth shut with a click. “N-No! I can totally help you! I just, uh, don’t know how you’d do it.”
Pomni blanched. Now that she thought about it, how was she going to do it? It wasn’t like she could take her hat off to see it better, and reaching her arms out of sight with a sharp needle caught in her fingers sounded less than ideal.
“Do you think you could do it?” Pomni scratched at her elbow. “I just need to look in the mirror and see something different.”
Ragatha blinked slowly, and stood with a fragile nod of her head. “Of course. What were you thinking?”
Pomni hummed, “I actually don’t know.”
She furrowed her brow, imagining all the different shapes that could adorn her hat. She never was the creative type, even in the real world. “You should choose.”
Startled, Ragatha scrambled to pick out some complementary colors of string. Already, her mind was beginning to churn with ideas. It seemed she had entered a different state of being, one where words and passing pleasantries were simply out of reach. She leaned in close to Pomni, setting a grounding hand onto her shoulder. From where she sat, Pomni could see Ragatha’s concentrated brow, the jut of her chin as she pondered the elements of her design. Her breath gently fell across her face, blowing the strands of Pomni’s hair like a spring wind, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms, and an odd feeling blooming in her chest. Ragatha’s tongue darted between her lips as her head tilted slightly, strands of her ragdoll hair brushing against the sides of Pomni’s cheeks. She bristled, which made the doll glance down in momentary worry, before Pomni waved her concern off.
Ragatha stepped back with a smile on her face, her fingers still firmly planted on Pomni’s shoulder. She ripped her hand back once she noticed, rubbing at the back of her head with an awkward laugh. “Ah, sorry. I get carried away sometimes.”
Pomni’s stomach sank at the absence of touch, a thought so absurd that she had to swallow down the implications. “You’re alright.” Her gaze fell on Ragatha, who studied her design intently. Pomni added, “And thank you. For helping. And for, uh, being there for me.”
That snapped Ragatha’s attention back to the present. Her face flushed crimson, cartoonish beads of sweat gathering at her brow. “It’s no issue, I’m always happy to help.”
The two looked at each other in a comfortable, but heavy, silence. A moment of understanding passed between the two, Ragatha’s brow gently curved. Pomni swallowed thickly, her breath coming in short.
“I should probably get going.” Pomni said, already beginning to head for the door. “Again, thank you. Maybe we could…do this again sometime?”
Ragatha clutched the edges of her dress, “Yeah! Okay! Sounds good!” Her usual ingenuine eagerness seemed all too real, warmth pooled in the pit of Pomni’s stomach.
Pomni ambled quickly to her door, though she came to a quick (and annoyingly cartoonish) halt as she caught a glimpse of herself in a hanging mirror. On the corner base of her hat in purple and periwinkle string, was a large and elegant horse. Its hooves were draped in tendrils of white yarn that stood stark against the red and blue stripes of her hat. And atop it, sprawled against the saddle, was a cat seemingly enjoying the warmth of the sun against its belly. Between the two animals was a single heart.
Her fingers glided over the embroidery, feeling the gentle slopes of the shapes. It was beautifully done, precise, elegant, and entirely Ragatha. Pomni’s heart thumped heavily in her chest.
For once, Pomni didn’t mind that time was standing still.