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“Ragatha! It’s me, it’s just me!”
Pomni ignores her own injuries and reaches out again toward the shivering ragdoll, sandwiched between and under a few glitching blocks. She flinches away, tears running down her red face, coating the knife in her eye with water. It mixes with her red blood.
Pomni didn’t know that Ragatha’s button had tear ducts. And she didn’t know that her eye could bleed.
Her arms aren’t bleeding, though, despite the knives. Neither is her chest. Not even her real eye– just the button.
She needs mending.
“Come on, we have to– I don’t know what Kinger did, but we have to find everyone!!”
Again, no response, other than Ragatha shoving her face in her knees, the knife being wedged deeper into her button. She’s curled up in a tiny ball. Pomni’s never seen her cry before. Not just crying, she’s sobbing, gasping, like there’s something there Pomni just can’t see. What did Caine do to her?
God, they have to hurry. Pomni doesn’t know what’s happening, but it clearly can’t be good, and her top priority is to find Kinger.
But she has to calm Ragatha down first. Calm down Ragatha, find Kinger, get everyone together, then…
Then something.
“Hey,” she murmurs, completely out of her depth. “Ragatha, it’s okay. You’re alright.”
A small sob, and a mumbled something.
“Can you say that again? Couldn’t hear you.”
Ragatha doesn’t lift her head, but she raises her voice.
“I’m sorry.”
“What–”
“I’m sorry, Mama, I–” Another sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry–”
“Woah, woah, hey, it’s fine! It’s fine, you don’t have–”
Her mind flashes back to the bar.
My mother was… a lot.
I’m sure she doesn’t miss me. I certainly don’t miss the yelling… and the berating… and guilt tripping… and the–
“Fuck,” Pomni mumbles, not even registering the word. “Ragatha, it’s alright. You’re safe. You– she’s not here. It’s Pomni.”
Carefully and slowly, Pomni kneels down in front of her, ignoring the way her own bitten and bleeding limbs protest, taking a deep breath. She can’t rush this. Gently, she reaches both hands out, and grips Ragatha’s shoulders. Ragatha’s head shoots up, eye wide, and she gasps.
“Don’t– n-not again, I’ll be–” her face crumbles and she sobs miserably. “I’ll be good, Mama, I’ll be good.”
“Breathe, Ragatha. It’s okay. You’re safe.” She tips the trembling doll’s chin up, as gentle as she may have ever been in her life. “You don’t have to be good. I’m staying either way. And you don’t have to worry about her anymore.”
Ragatha blinks. Her eyes narrow, then widen.
“Pom–” She takes a hitched breath. “Pomni?”
“Yeah. Just me.”
Ragatha collapses forward, sobbing resuming in earnest. Pomni barely has time to catch her, but she’s able to keep her from falling face-first onto the glitching floor. She tries to bury her face in Pomni’s chest, but only ends up burying the knife in further, letting out a cry of pain at the action.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Pomni murmurs, pulling her face back slightly. “Can I try and pull it out?”
Sniffling, Ragatha nods.
Tentatively, Pomni reaches up and grips the knife. She inhales deeply, then yanks.
Ragatha screams.
Her hands rush to cover her button eye, and she writhes on the ground, folding in on herself.
“I’m sorry, I-I’m so– Ragatha, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–” Pomni tries to console her, but her sobbing only grows worse. All she can do is rub the dolls back as she wails, paying close attention to the knives still wedged into her plush arms. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I’m so– damnit.”
She knows what has to be done. To stitch them up, she has to… fuck.
She reaches forward and yanks out another knife, earning another scream.
Another knife. Another scream. Another knife. Another scream. Another knife, another scream, knife, scream, scream, knife, sob, sob, scream until they’re all gone, her arms free of metal. Plush falls out of her and onto the ground.
She turns her gaze up, betrayed.
But she pulls up enough for Pomni to see that they’re not all gone.
There’s one more, in her chest.
“One more,” Pomni says, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “One more, then you’re done.”
Ragatha shakes her head, sobbing. “Please, n-no–”
“Ragatha–”
Ragatha’s hand reaches forward and takes Pomni’s, grip surprisingly strong.
“L-Leave it in,” she sobs, slumping to the ground and burying her face in Pomni’s lab. The knife wedges further into her chest, and she cries out in anguish. “Just l-leave it- leave it in…”
For a moment, a brief moment, Pomni lets her rest. Gently, she strokes Ragatha’s hair, some of her own blood mixing with the red of the doll’s hair. She hums softly, and Ragatha turns her head to the side so she can breathe through her sobs, and the knife won’t be pushed in again. She lays there, folded up, head on Pomni’s thighs, one hand holding onto hers, the other folded up to her chest. Pomni hums and brushes her fingers through her hair.
But when her thighs are coated in blood, she speaks again.
“One more. Then you’re done.”
Ragatha begins to shake again.
“N-No, no, no no no no no,” she gasps, desperate. “Please, no– don’t– please– leave it in–”
“No! Ragatha, I promise, you–”
“PLEASE–”
Pomni lifts the doll up and yanks the knife from her chest.
Ragatha makes a noise Pomni has never heard in her life– in the real world or the digital world.
It’s a shriek of sorts, animal and guttural, like the sound of boiling blood, gurgling and bubbling over in a metal pot. She writhes on the floor, pulling herself away with all the strength she has left– which is very, very little. She curls up into a ball, shielding her face and chest from the betrayal.
Pomni’s chest curdles with guilt, and tears prick at her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, though the words feel hollow. “I know it hurts. Is there anything I can– I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry–”
She’s interrupted by Ragatha screeching again, but, this time, she launches herself forward, burying her face back into Pomni’s thighs, her arms squeezing around the jester’s back. Tears and blood still running down both of their faces, Pomni cradles the doll’s head and weaves her fingers into her licorice hair. She leans down and kisses the top of Ragatha’s head, then rests her own head in the other’s hair.
“Pom–” her words are garbled and broken. “Pomni, m’ sorry, I’m–” she sobs again. “Hurts, she hurt– she was–”
Pomni’s digital heart breaks for the person–the human–in front of her.
“I know,” she coos, “I know.”
Ragatha’s head rises and she stares up at Pomni, a weak, trembling smile on her lips. She seems to crawl forward, propping herself up as much as she can. “You’re so– s-so pretty…” One hand lifts and shakily cups Pomni’s cheek and moves closer.
Their faces are centimeters away.
“Bet you’re pretty in the real world too…”
She’s delusional from pain.
Still, Pomni can feel her cheeks heating up.
“I– y-you’re pretty too,” she chokes out, stumbling over her words. “And that’s the least interesting thing about you.”
Another sob. Ragatha collapses again and buries her face back in Pomni’s thighs, the pain overwhelming her. She won’t remember this, certainly. To her, it’s already as if the moment never happened.
But Pomni is quite sure she’ll have a hard time forgetting it.
“Hey.” Pomni resumes petting her hair. “You said you had horses, right?”
A sniffle. “Y-Yeah?”
“Tell me about them. How many did you have? What were their names?”
Ragatha relaxes slightly. “B-Butterscotch, Chestnut, n’ Alfredo.”
“Did you have a favorite?”
She shakes her head weakly but vehemently. “No. Loved them all. Equally. N-Not fair to… pick favorites.”
The answer makes complete sense, knowing Ragatha. Pomni feels a bit foolish for even having asked.
“Butterscotch had… pink bows…” Ragatha continues, soft. As she speaks, slow, soft, and stuttering, Pomni gathers the ragdoll up in her arms and holds her closer. Ragatha nuzzles her head into Pomni’s chest, her words growing slurred by the moment.
She mutters something along the lines of “Alfredo hated apples,” then, finally, falls asleep.
Part of Pomni knows she should wake her, stitch her up. They should find Kinger, find everyone, figure out what the fuck is going on. But Ragatha just looks so exhausted, so at peace– such a rare occurrence, for her. And with the state of things, Pomni doesn’t know when or if any peace will ever grace them again.
So she lets her rest, fingers still woven into Ragatha’s hair.
She bets Ragatha was pretty in the real world too. She certainly is here.