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Miku sat in her usual spot in the closet, her stuffing worn and dusty from years of love and then neglect. She could hear sounds of destruction and rage from outside, a stark contrast to the usual quiet or the occasional sounds of joy and laughter. Ever since her owner turned…what? Nine? There have been less and less happy sounds, becoming more rare as time passed. How long had Miku been stuck here? Days? Months? Years? It was hard to tell in this dark, desolate closet, her only companions boxes and old shoes. She missed her owner so dearly, her plush skin burning unbearably with the want, the need to be held.
That stupid blue dress sat in the corner of their room, mocking them. It was form-fitting, sparkly and short. It was everything they hated. It made their body look wrong, well, more wrong than it usually did. They were too curvy. Too tall. Too…everything. They always looked wrong, unlike their classmates, who were petite, skinny, beautiful. They weren't any of that. And their mother had went and gotten a dress for them without letting them come with, picking one that they despised, saying: "Oh, you'll look nice in it! Everyone wants to have your body, all the boys will like you!"
Long hair. Splitting a stupid slice of fruit for dinner when their father wasn't home. Short, sparkly, blue dress. Checking their weight together. Makeup. Comments on how they should 'watch what they put in that school lunch'. Pink shirts with smiles and positive words. Gum and water for breakfast, all the way to lunch.
They heaved, staring at it. Too short. The dress cut off at around the middle of their thighs, they didn't have any shorts short enough to protect themself from others seeing their underwear. It was against dress code anyways.
Their walls were painted a soft pink, with posters adorning the walls, unicorns and fairies and princesses with long, blonde hair and pale skin. On their desk, a ceramic piggy bank. Another unicorn. They picked it up and threw it against the wall, the item shattering on impact. Sobbing. They were in another world now, there but not really there, floating off.
A poster ripped. More delicate items thrown. Mirror shattered, hands and knees cut by the shards. Overwhelming rage. Scissors picked up, hair tie grabbed. Hair put up in a ponytail. Hair cut blunt.
Everything in their room was destroyed, except for the closet. What was in it? They hadn't opened it in years, since they were nine, they think.
Sobbing, shaking, bleeding, they padded across their wrecked room, weakly opening the closet and sobbing harder when they looked down.
Their dusty, worn-out Miku plush. They'd lost it years ago, they thought, at a restaurant. It was hard blue, sticking out like a sore thumb against the soft pinks and purples and yellows.
Juliette sank to their knees, grasping the soft toy, crying into its limp form. This one thing that they thought they'd lost, this one thing that was truly theirs, had been found again.
This figure that had opened the closet door was familiar but unfamiliar. They were crying and bleeding, with dark hair that was once so long, but now so short. They wore a cropped shirt with the words 'be happy' on them, paired with tight booty shorts that had clearly been pulled down in hopes of covering up more skin. The figure's hands and knees were bleeding, as if they fell into something sharp, like broken glass or ceramic. Their room was destroyed beyond comprehension, fairy lights were ripped, Polaroids were bent and seemed to have been victims of what were attempts of ruination, posters were missing their middles, pieces of broken fragile items were everywhere, and an abundance of hair was near a wrecked mirror.
A short, sparkly blue dress hung in the corner, cut straight down the middle sloppily, its bottom half hanging on by a small section of still connected fabric.
But despite all of the destruction around her and the drastic change in her owner's appearance, Miku knew that this was her Juliette.