Chapter Text
Before Ragatha even opened her eye, she already knew.
It happened again.
She rolled over with a groan, recoiling from the uncomfortable stinging sensation by shoving her face into her pillow. She knew she should deal with it, but she just wanted five more minutes of rest…
However, despite her attempt to ignore it, the pain grew stronger as her body woke up too, slowly becoming more aware as the seconds ticked by. The want for extra sleep was now nothing more than a dream.
… She needed to deal with herself.
Instead of rising in a panic, Ragatha lethargically pushed herself up and pulled back the covers, wincing as she swung her legs over the side of her bed. She took a moment to rub her eye, in no rush to check the damage. After a long yawn into her hand, she blearily opened her eye and looked down at her lap with a sigh.
It was time for her morning ritual.
Ragatha reached down and grabbed the hem of her skirt, bunching the fabric and pulling it up to reveal her legs. As she did so, small bundles of stuffing spilled out from underneath, rolling across the floor.
On the outer side of her right thigh, her seam had burst wide open. There, fluffy white cotton bulged from the gaping wound, threatening to slip out. The skin around the gash was red and sore, her fabric worn from repeated repairs.
Despite the grotesque sight, Ragatha maintained her composure, more annoyed than anything else.
Sighing a second time, she reached over to her nightstand to grab her trusty needle and thread safely hidden in the drawer. After so many times of waking up to a burst seam, she quickly learned to keep her sewing tools handy… Especially now that it was a near-daily occurrence.
As she prepared the needle, she watched as another bundle of cotton tumbled out of her leg, joining the mess on the floor. Clicking her tongue with a slight roll of her eye, she refocused her attention on looping the thread through the eye of the needle; A skill that never seemed to develop, no matter how many times she sewed herself up.
She knew she should be more concerned about her dilemma. After all, wasn’t losing stuffing the equivalent to her bleeding out? But for some reason, she couldn’t find the energy to care. It’s not like she could die from it, she rationalized. And she didn’t feel much different, other than the occasional dizziness if she stood up too fast. It really wasn’t anything to make a fuss about.
The idea of bringing up the issue to anyone made her stomach sink. Who did she have to confide in about this? What if they thought she was being overdramatic? The idea left Ragatha with a deep sense of shame. No, there was no point in saying anything to the other circus members.
She was too afraid to find out whether anyone cared.
That left only one other “person” to tell: Caine. Out of everyone, he would probably be the only one who would care. (Only because it was his job to.) He could zip up her stitches with a snap of his fingers and save her the trouble of patching herself up every morning.
It would be so easy, but… Ragatha couldn’t bring herself to ask for his help.
It was just a little stuffing! Asking for Caine’s help was excessive. This wasn’t a big deal! Sure, fixing herself was tiresome and painful, but how was it any different than her usual injuries?
Ragatha swept her worries under the rug. No, she didn’t need to bother anyone with this. This was something she could deal with by herself.
Finally, Ragatha managed to loop the thread through the needle. She estimated the length she needed before lifting the spool to her mouth and snipping the thread with her teeth. With her materials ready, she set her sights on her gaping wound.
Her hand hovered over her thigh, and dread settled deep in her stomach. She hated this. She hated doing this. She hated that this kept happening. But she picked her poison, and no matter how badly she wanted to turn up her nose, she was going to drink it.
Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Ragatha gingerly caught the edge of her fabric with the tip of the needle. Her body tensed as she bit back a whine. It hurt. Her grip on the needle was ironclad. Swallowing her pain, she nimbly began repairing her stitches, small cries slipping out each time she pulled the thread through her skin.
Repairing herself wasn’t supposed to hurt. Or, well, not like this. Of course it hurt a little, but it was comparable to a bug bite (multiple times in a row). When she first arrived, she would rather wait for her wounds to heal on their own. Her regenerative abilities were faster back then, and she could afford that luxury.
Her body has changed since then. Was it because of how often she got injured? Or was it because her digital form had aged? She didn’t know for sure. All she knew was that she couldn’t count on her body to regenerate on its own like it used to. What used to take seconds now took hours. What took hours now took days.
Having wounds that wouldn’t close was… Scary.
But it was okay! She found a solution. She could kickstart the healing process by sewing herself up rather than waiting for her seams to close on their own. That way, her body could focus on more important stuff, like creating more stuffing to make up for the amount she’d lost. Besides, it wasn’t too much trouble to quickly mend herself here and there.
A choked gasp escaped Ragatha as she pulled the thread through her skin, only for the edge of the fabric to rip, ruining the stitch she had just sewn. She doubled over herself, clenching her knee with her free hand. She panted as she caught her breath, her heart beating loudly in her chest. She eyed her wound. She was a little over halfway done. She could do this.
Resetting the needle, she plunged the tip down and to the side of the ripped fabric, gritting her teeth to stop herself from crying out again.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt. However, after repairing the same wound over and over again, her fabric was weak and sensitive. Each stitch stung, every pull burned. She made sure to sew these stitches extra tight. God forbid she burst open in the midst of an adventure in front of everyone.
She wondered how they would react. The idea of someone, anyone, consoling her made her stomach flutter. To have someone concerned for her… Just the thought of it made her heart glow.
But it was just her imagination, she reminded herself. She had to remember the more realistic outcome.
Chastising. Berating. Anger.
The glow of her heart quickly flickered out. Right. That’s what would really happen if they found out. Which is why she had to deal with this quietly. Nobody could know. She couldn’t bear their judgment.
Finally, Ragatha reached the final stitch. She used the tip of the needle to delicately push a small tuft of cotton back inside before finishing off the seam with a double knot. The tension melted away, her shoulders sagging in relief. She was done. For today, at least.
With a single finger, she softly traced along the freshly sewn seam, shuddering at the stinging pain. Despite being sewn shut, the pain of the wound hadn’t fully dissipated. It would take a while for her body to regenerate and accept the foreign thread as her own. As soon as that happened, she could pretend this never happened.
Satisfied, Ragatha stood from her bed, the skirt of her dress unfurling around her. Now that that was over with, she was ready to prepare for whatever adventure Caine could have possibly cooked up for them.
Or, at least, that’s what she was going to do before her right leg buckled underneath her, and she crashed to the ground.
Ragatha blinked in surprise on her hands and knees, struggling to register what just happened. Why did she fall? She didn’t trip over anything… Shakily, she pushed herself up again, her fresh seam pulling tight against the fabric of her thigh… But, wait, why did it…?
Managing to crawl back onto the bed, she scrambled to pull up her skirt a second time to inspect her right thigh again. On the outside, her leg looked normal enough. The seam didn’t rip, nor did she miss a stitch. No, whatever was wrong, it was on the inside.
Ragatha bit her lip as she reached to squeeze her leg and test the new seam. Luckily, it didn’t burst again. However, her thigh felt emptier, like a well-loved dolly in need of a restuffing. As she let go of herself, rather than the cotton under her skin perking back into shape as usual, it remained deflated and loose.
Ragatha gasped in horror, quickly tossing her skirt over her legs to hide the sight. She clenched her hands to her chest, biting her thumb nervously. This was a new symptom. She had never lost so much stuffing that she struggled to walk. How much did she lose last night?
Carefully, Ragatha stood from her bed a second time, testing the weight on her flimsy leg. Fortunately, she didn’t collapse again. She breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that when she stood the first time, she wasn’t careful enough. If she couldn’t stand at all… She would have had to call for help.
She shuddered at the idea, her cheeks burning at the mere thought. How humiliating that would have been. God forbid if it was Jax who heeded her call. He’d rather point and laugh at her misery than help her up from the ground.
Ragatha stepped over the fluff on the floor and leaned over the bed with one knee on the mattress. She reached for her comforter and ripped it off with a flourish to reveal a shocking sight.
Ragatha’s stomach sank like a stone. The amount of stuffing on her bed was sickening. Was she sure the mattress hadn’t ripped? There was enough stuffing to completely restuff her horse plushie.
She ripped her eyes away from the sight, turning away from the fluffy gore. Out of habit, she clutched her hair and tugged at it, trying to calm her beating heart. That was a lot of stuffing. Too much to be healthy, digital form or not. Sure, she had been losing a lot recently, but this seemed like a lot for one night. How much had she lost in total?
Crawling up on the bed, Ragatha nervously moved her pillows away to reveal her hidden stash of spilled fluff.
Normally, any stuffing she lost disappeared on its own. But now that she was losing stuffing faster than it could blip out of existence, she panicked when she realized how much of it was accumulating. Quickly realizing she couldn’t leave that much stuffing out in the open, her first instinct was to hide it.
Of course, the easiest spot was at the head of her bed, behind the pillows, and pressed between the mattress and the wall. There, the stuffing could disappear on its own, remaining out of sight and out of mind, as Ragatha preferred.
However, as she pulled away the pillows, her stomach continued to sink deeper. Fluffy white cotton was compacted between the bed and the wall, equal in height to the top of the mattress. If what she lost this morning was enough to restuff her plushie, this was enough to restuff both her pillows and more.
Ragatha cursed herself. Her anxiety felt like static in her chest. How had she not noticed she lost so much stuffing? Surely more would have disappeared by now. What if there were other side effects just waiting to happen?
Ragatha bit her lip, fear gripping her heart. She reminded herself that she couldn’t die here. She could be uncomfortable, she could be in pain, but she couldn’t die.
Slipping off the bed, Ragatha scooped up the bundles of stuffing from the floor and tossed it onto the mattress along with the rest. Then, with one arm, she swept the collection of cotton off the bedsheet and into the crack between the wall, adding to the ever-growing heap. After compacting it down with the rest, she quickly made her bed and placed her pillows back in their spot, sealing away the spilled fluff.
It was like it never happened.
But, as she took a step back and her leg gave out from underneath her, she was reminded that this was not a dream.
Bending over, Ragatha grabbed her horse plushie, Butterscotch, from the ground, hugging her tightly before flopping on her bed. As she rested her head on her pillow, she was overly aware of what lay hidden underneath. Anxiety dug its claws into her and gripped her tight. She squeezed her eye shut, praying the problem would solve itself.
She wished things were as simple as restuffing herself with the spilled stuffing. However, the only time she tried, it didn’t end well for her. She twisted Butterscotch’s synthetic mane around her finger as she recalled the unpleasant memory.
It was her first big bleed, and of course, she woke up late. In a panic, she shoved the stuffing through her incision, biting back mewling cries as she endured the stinging pain. After shoddily sewing herself up, she joined everyone for their daily adventure, struggling to remain upright the entire day.
The burning agony inside her was too much to bear. Each step felt like a fire flaring inside her leg, eating her from the inside out. Despite that, she somehow managed to maintain a smile, albeit a strained one.
The second the adventure ended, she excused herself from the group, hoping nobody noticed how off her mood was. (Nobody ever asked about it.) Slamming the door shut behind her, she collapsed on her bedroom floor and desperately ripped herself open, easily breaking the stitches to remove the offending cotton.
The old stuffing was a sickly yellow in contrast to the pure, fresh fluff. It was a nauseating sight. It wasn’t yellow when she put it inside herself... Did it get dirty? Or did her body register it as foreign, just as it did with newly sewn thread?
The sight of her understuffed leg resurfaced in the ragdoll’s mind, making her stomach churn uneasily. She felt backed into a corner with no way out. Sewing her stitches by herself was one thing, finding a way to restuff herself was another.
Maybe she would ask Caine for help just this once. There was no harm in a stuffing transfusion, right?
She squeezed Butterscotch tighter. Surely the others were starting to congregate in the common room by now. The thought of asking Caine with them present, being vulnerable in front of everyone… Jax, Zooble, Gangle, Pomni…
Ragatha bit the inside of her cheek. No, she could hold out until after the adventure. When everyone slinked away to do their own thing, she would pull Caine aside to ask for his help, hidden from judgmental eyes.
Her grip around her plushie relaxed by a margin. Having a plan helped her feel at ease.
… Speaking of congregating, what time was it?
Ironically, it seemed history was repeating itself. Realizing she was running late to Caine’s mandatory morning meeting, she jolted upright from the bed with a gasp, quickly running to her dresser mirror to get ready.
Or, she was heading there before she realized she was still holding onto Butterscotch. She backtracked, still taking the time to carefully set the plushie on the bed, nestled between the two pillows. Just as she was about to turn her back on the horse plush, the sight of her needle and thread on her nightstand caught her eye.
Contemplating for a second, she grabbed them from the nightstand and tucked the needle into the spool, shoving them deep into the pocket of her dress. She could never be too careful, especially given her current condition. Lord knows what crazy adventure Caine had planned for them today.
After giving Butterscotch an affectionate pat on the head, she rushed back to the mirror.
Living in the circus had its perks. She never had to worry about picking an outfit, or what to do with her hair, or how to apply her makeup. All she had to do was wake up, and her default outfit would be equipped, whether she changed into pajamas the night before or not. No matter what sense of individuality one tried to have here, it would be erased by morning.
As seemingly convenient as that was, it sure made it difficult to feel human.
Which is why, despite not needing to, Ragatha took pleasure in taking care of herself. Whether it was showering or brushing her teeth, she built a morning routine to prepare herself for the day. Besides, if her mother found out that she rolled out of bed without any maintenance, she would have a fit.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. “Don’t forget that when you step out of this house, you don’t represent yourself,” she spoke sternly, “You represent your family. You represent me.”
In front of the mirror, Ragatha found herself reflexively smiling, as if her mother were there to see. “Don’t worry, mama,” she replied out loud as she wiped the crinkles out of her dress, “I remember.”
Since she was running late, she didn’t have time to prepare the way she preferred. Sewing herself up and having a mini panic episode robbed her of that. Instead, she had to settle with a quick once-over, just enough to make sure she was presentable before joining the rest of the group.
And thank goodness she took the time to do so! She reached above her head and tightened her bow with a two-handed pull, fluffing it up and straightening it out. How embarrassing it would have been if she waltzed out of her room with a crooked bow! In that moment, she felt gratitude toward her mother’s teachings.
As she lowered her arms, her hand hesitated before she twirled a curl around a finger, watching it bounce back into place as she let it go. Her chest felt heavy. All these thoughts about her mom… She missed her, despite their disagreements.
Realizing her depressive thoughts were dragging her down, Ragatha quickly shook her head to clear them away, smacking her cheeks. No negativity! She had to remember her mom’s lessons about that, too. Before joining the rest of the group, she had to make sure she wouldn’t be a Debbie Downer.
Ragatha continued to scrutinize her appearance. Same button eye. Same triangle nose. However, her eye was missing a sparkle. Taking a deep breath, she mustered a smile, using her fingers to push up the corners of her mouth. She let her hands fall to her side, but the smile remained.
There we go, she thought to herself, her grin marginally growing wider. There’s the smile her mom loved. With it as her armor, she finally felt ready to take on the day.
Just as she was making her final touches, Ragatha was interrupted by a knock at her door. She turned toward it in surprise, wondering who could possibly be there. Had Caine sent someone to grab her? Hope flickered to life in her chest. Who did he send? Zooble? Pomni? She selfishly wished it were the jester. It would be nice to have her as a walking buddy. Maybe then they could finally grow closer as friends.
“Come in!” She yelled out, adjusting her bangs nervously. She hoped she looked okay. Wait, she picked up all her stuffing, right?
Just as she started scanning the floor for any leftover fluff, her bedroom door slammed open, causing Ragatha to jump in surprise. To her disappointment, it wasn’t Pomni. Nor was it Zooble. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t any of the other circus members.
Instead, a large, white glove stood in her doorway, a glove that looked suspiciously like the ones Caine wore… And it was waving hello to her.
Ragatha was speechless, unsure how to respond to the situation other than tentatively waving back. Shamefully, disappointment weighed heavily in her heart. Was it too much to ask for someone to come after her? Or did nobody volunteer? Trying to remain optimistic, she rationalized with herself that Caine probably didn’t even ask anyone to check up on her, believing himself to be the faster option.
Ragatha jolted as the gloved hand walked forward, using its pointer and middle finger as legs. Ragatha instinctively took a step back, knowing she wasn’t going to enjoy what was about to happen next.
“G-Good morning, Caine!” She greeted stiffly, holding her arms to her chest defensively. “Or… I’m not sure if you can hear me… Do hands have ears?”
The gloved hand rapidly stomped forward, its footsteps heavy. Ragatha was pressed against the dresser now, the edge digging into the small of her back.
“I’m sorry for being late!” She apologized, the words spilling out of her mouth. “I promise I was just about to leave; there’s no need for-”
Before she could finish, the gloved hand rushed forward, easily grabbing her. She wheezed as it squeezed all the air from her lungs. It seemed to notice, its grip loosening marginally, but still firm enough to keep her from wiggling away.
“Caine, wait-”
Her words fell on deaf (or nonexistent?) ears. She interrupted herself with a yelp as the hand suddenly jerked forward, dragging her out of the room and out the door, zooming down the hallway like a screwed-up rollercoaster.
Despite the extreme motion sickness of being dragged around like the ragdoll she was, Ragatha stayed positive. At least she didn’t have to walk all the way to the common room on her flimsy leg!