It feels. That’s all it can do right now. Feel. Sensations it can’t interpret, can’t understand. All over its new form, feeling, stimuli. Something. Holding it. Something rubbing it. Something cutting into it—ahhh…it doesn’t hurt, not exactly. It’s just, what if the knife slips? Cuts deep? Too deep? It cuts, it cuts, shallow cuts, deep cuts… it’s frightening. So many cuts before the blade is pulled away. It’s. Fine. It’s safe. A soft sensation, a digit, a finger, rubs over its entire form. Smooth. Gentle. Wonderful. Suddenly it’s set down, and all there is to feel is the surface beneath it.
It lays in Stillness, there, the entity, for it is not yet a doll. It is just a block of wood, well, four or five blocks of wood, that have yet to become arms and legs and a head and ball joints. The surface vibrates as things move around it. People, Animals, various Things. Voices rendered into vibrations it can only feel. A door slamming in its frame, more vibrations. It starts to notice cold and hot as well. A window left open feels colder. A cat dozing nearby feels warmer. The warmth of the hand that finally picks it up again, is warmer still, and it brings it to the stove to work on it in the firelight, which is warmest yet. An ear is carved, and it can hear.
Voices. Voices it hears first, and the crackling of the fire. The one holding it has the sweetest. Another one, nearby, has its own music. The voice of the fire is anxious, a bit, its proximity seems to be causing a thumping, thumping, in that one’s chest. Low to the ground, one last plaintive voice. The cat. The one holdng it carves a second ear.
“Won’t you start on that commission. Please, dear.” That was the further voice.
“I will, tomorrow,” says the one holding it. “I just want to finish carving poor dolly’s head.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“It’s been waiting for a month already.” The one holding it brushes sawdust out of its ear and it can hear more clearly. “It’s just been sitting on my desk, sometimes I even forget it’s there I’m so busy. I’m shocked the cat hasn’t batted away and lost half the pieces.”
“I just don’t know what use a doll of that size can be,” says the first voice. “And with rent coming up tomorrow…hmm?” She’s interrupted by a clanking noise. “Yes Duckie?”
“Mistress, supper is served,” says a new, eerily flat voice.
“Well, never mind. Put that down, come eat.”
“I’ll be right there,” says the one holding it, as the other one leaves. She adds a tiny detail to the left ear, and then the right. Satisfied, she carries that one back to the desk—one, two, three, four gentle footsteps—saying “Its use? Its purpose? Only to be loved, only to be loved, and to love me in return.” A finger runs along that one’s new head, over its new ears, and she hums, gentle and satisfied.
The entity that is not yet a doll finds it can mark the days now. Voices say things like “Good morning,” “time for dinner,” “it’s late, come to bed.” Gathers that the one who holds it is a witch named Felicity, beloved Felicity. The other is her partner Leticia. They run a shop together, New and Used Dolls, Drones, and Puppets—Felicity carves them new out of wood; Leticia scouts out used ones to refurbish and sell. Two dolls live with them, a wood doll of Felicity’s, Fifi, who scrapes a broom across the floor a few times a day, and Duckie, a refurbed bot, who calls them for dinner. Finally, there is the cat, with the plaintive voice, and the sweet, gentle purr. The entity can feel it jump on the desk and settle next to it and start purring. This means they are friends.
Days pass and sometimes it feels its witch’s hand on its form, sometimes she picks it up, fiddles with it, attaches a limb. One afternoon when the shop is dead she steals a whole hour and manages to affix its head onto its neck. She swivels it back and forth and all the way around, pleased with the smooth movement. Then Leticia comes in. Her voice almost sounds hurt. “Weren’t you going to help me with that refurb? I thought—”
“Ohh…” Felicity sets her project back down, almost ungently. “Sorry, I thought… Sorry.” She leaps up. “Yeah we can do that now.”
The entity that is not yet a doll feels so close. Its head is attached. Its limbs are attached. From the conversation it has heard in the shop, it believes it still lacks things called eyes, a mouth, clothing, hair. If it is to be a marionette, it will need strings. Felicity will get to it, someday. It knows she will. It can’t wait for the next moment she has time to pick it up, run her hand along its back. It thinks about that every few moments.
Seasons change. Hair is installed, in phases. A painful process where holes are drilled into the top of its head. “I don’t remember what my original vision was, anymore,” Felicity mutters. Her voice has changed, somehow. The texture of her fingers. A new person lives in the house with them. A child. The child’s voice is beautiful.
“What’s that, Mommy?” the entity, still not a doll, can hear it ask.
“Oh, it’s a work in progress,” says beloved Felicity. “Your mama gave me that beautiful wood, just enough for a small doll.”
“A little dolly like that would be just the right size for, you know, a little girl.”
“Are you trying to hint something, darling?” the witch says, laughing. “Maybe I teach you to make your own, hmm?”
The entity hears the child shriek with joy as the witch scoops it up and carries it away. It feels an ache, a knot in its chest.
Months pass. Sometimes the child picks it up, unfinished as it is, and carries it around the room. Puts it on the cat and laughs as the cat gets up and it falls to the ground. Pours it tea—which smells divine. (It received a nose at some point.) Reads to it from its picture books. Helpfully describes the pictures to it since it doesn’t have eyes. Felicity walks in on this one day. “No!” she cries, snatching the not doll away. “No, no, no, Alice, you mustn’t touch that… it’s Mommy’s. It’s mine.” She presses it to her bosom, her hands shaking. That one feels so warm, shivery almost. It feels a sob in Felicity’s chest.
“Sorry, Mommy,” Alice says, ashamed. “I thought…”
“You have your own dolls, don’t you? Beautiful dolls, so many beautiful dolls. This is all Mommy has. Don’t you understand? I’m sorry for getting upset. It’s just, this is Mommy’s special doll.”
“B-b-but…” Alice starts to wail. Mommy puts the doll down, hastily, on the desk, and goes to comfort her.
“Look, darling,” Mommy says.
“You haven’t touched it in months,” the child wails, “so I thought I could play with it. It’s probably lonely. Don’t you think it’s lonely?”
The Doll hardly notices as Alice lashes out at Felicity and Felicity weeps. It hardly cares that it’s alone on the desk again, still without eyes, a mouth, a single stitch of clothing, the ability to move. For what is a doll? For some it is an entity that will carry out orders, cook or clean, fight for one’s cause. But for this one, it is to be loved, to be loved, and to love in return. It is a Doll.
For the next several years, Felicity only manages to paint a single eye (muttering “doesn’t look quite right, does it”) but that is enough for the Doll to finally see the faces of its family, Alice, the distant Leticia, Ducky, and Fifi. And the wonderful Felicity so beautiful but oh! so frail, so delicate compared to the others. She hardly works with any wood anymore. Something to do with her health. She spends more and more time upstairs, where the Doll has never been. Alice is learning the trade. She prefers making dolls with cloth. She prefers working with the refurbs. She sews that one some clothes in her spare time, along with an even smaller doll to keep it company. The cat, an old lady by now, steals it, though. Then one day, Felicity is carried downstairs and out the door. The Doll never sees her or hears her voice again. Months later, Leticia comes to clean off the desk and throw things away. She comes across the Doll, and touching it for the first time begins to weep.
End.
(inspired by absentwriterdoll’s Work-In-Progress and glitch’s Resin)