Thread by @Trauma_Posting

A Doll's Life

Part 1: A Foolish Human

#doll #dolls #emptyspaces #nsfwtwt Part 1 has no/little doll stuff depending where I cut it. Setup. Dark, moves into wholesome sfw?

You should've known better than to go off into the woods alone. "There's werewolves, Nightstalkers,-

gruesome predators, and those are just the ones that will kill you! There's a lot of fates worse than death the deeper you tread," they had told you, over and over. You always were headstrong, even to the point of being foolhardy.

For the first few hours trekking through the woods, you smugly congratulate yourself. There is nothing dangerous out here. It didn't matter if there was nothing important either. Proving your friends back home right would be satisfying enough. You always were smug.

Still, the closer the sun gets to setting, the more difficult it is for you to shake an unsettling feeling. It's just the superstitions everyone has tried to drill into you, you think to yourself.

About an hour before the sun finally sets, genuine worry creeps into your mind.

Hadn't you just walked past that fallen tree 10 minutes ago? Surely not, you had been walking in a straight line the entire time. It must be someone playing a prank on you, or something like that. You use the sun to collect your bearings. You're heading in the right direction.

Then, when only the last few minutes of sunlight remain, you hear something. A cross between a feral growl and a deep, gutteral laughter. It seems to be coming from all around you. Another sick prank, surely, you think, even as utter terror creeps into your mind.

You spin and turn frantically, trying to see where the noise could be coming from. You freeze in place as you hear a long, drawn out sniff from above. A deep, bestial voice follows. "I do so love the smell of fear."

For once, your flight response wins out over your freeze or fawn. You've never been much of a fighter. You bolt, running as hard and as fast as your legs will carry you.

For you, it's a matter of life and death. The creature leaping and bounding behind you seems amused, however. You hear that sickening feral laughter. You know, deep down, that it is just toying with you, reveling in the chase, and drinking your fear as an appetizer.

The few glimpses of it you get over your shoulder horrify you even more than its voice. A human-like creature, in the sense that it's bipedal and has some almost human features. Most of it appears to be made up of a composite of different beasts. A true horror of the night.

After one too many looks behind you, your foot catches on a root, which sends you hurtling forward, tumbling down a short hill. You try to push yourself up, but the pain in your leg suggests it's broken. You reach around to grab something, anything.

The creature's foot crushes down on your arm, eliciting a scream that it seems to drink in, almost shuddering with joy.

Reveling in the fear the creature is able to cause you, it breaks and shatters your body, while showing a strange care to not finish the job too quickly.

Your friends were right. You shouldn't have come here. You should've stayed home. You should've been terrified of the woods, of the night. You should've listened.

part 2 shortly

Part 2 - The Power of a Witch

"The chase was enjoyable, prey, but now it is time for this to end." The creature laughs, raising a jagged, horrible claw to bring down the final blow. At least it's over, you think. Like your friends told you, many dates are worse than death.

Then, in the distance, you hear a few words spoken in an incomprehensible tongue. Just as the blow begins to come down, a beam of moonlight blasts through the trees down onto you and the creature. First, you smell burning wood being incinerated by the moonlight.

Even the ground around you burns and withers, yet, it does no harm to you. The creature, however, screams and writhes in pain as the moonlight sears away its flesh. Despite searing the ground around you, it seems to be far more unpleasant to the creature.

The light fades as the creaturehurls itself off to the side, cracking and splintering a tree to pieces with the force of its panicked jump.

"WITCH! THIS IS MY PREY. BACK. OFF." The creature snarls, looking off to your side. "Unless you'd like to join this wretch?" It laughs.

With the little strength you have left, you tilt your head. There's two figures, side by side. Your vision is fuzzy, but there's something off about one of them. It's too hard to tell what it is down on the ground, and with a broken, shattered body.

The other, more normal, figure steps forward to speak. "Leave while you can, Artus. I have suffered you and your kind in my woods for too long." The voice is feminine, yet firm, confident. You hope she is as competent as she is confident. Right now she seems insane.

You can't believe these two people want to go up against that creature. But, wait, did it say 'witch?' Minutes ago you would've pushed aside such thoughts as a silly superstition. Now you've been hunted by a nightmare predator, you're not so sure.

To answer the figure you assume to be the witch, the creature lets out a fearsome snarl, before leaping towards her, significantly faster than when it had preyed upon you. You weakly gurgle in an attempt to tell her to get out of the way, to run, but she doesn't move a muscle.

The strange, motionless figure to the side of the witch moves in front of her in a blur, too fast for any human. The figure swings a fist into the oncoming creature, which sends it crumbling to the ground. You hear the cracking of bones, a moment before a snarl-like whimper.

The creature hurries to stand once again, but the eerie figure is too fast, and too strong. Despite the size difference, whatever the thing or person with the witch is, it pins the creature to the ground. It doesn't give up the struggle, even though you can see how futile it is.

Part 3 - Preserving Your Spirit

The witch steps past the creature. You can just about make out an unimpressed expression on her face. "Hold it for me, Wyla. And Artus, prey they are not past saving, or your fate will be infinitely worse than what I did to your mate."

The witch steps past the struggling creature and over to you.

When she leans down, she turns your limp head to face hers. Despite the world blurring away, and black spots clouding your vision, you can see she's a beautiful young woman. There's something about her eyes, however.

They're a soft shade of violet. Even stranger, you can see there's a weight of years and responsibility behind those eyes, a stark difference to her youthful appearance.

"Drink this. It will keep you strong, for a time." Lifting your head with one hand, she pushes a small vial of green liquid to your lips. She slowly pours, although she doesn't stop, despite your weak protest. Whatever it is, is utterly vile.

She holds your head in place, and continues to pour. You're too weak to resist. "Forgive me, but magic to help one cling to life is not an easy, or tasty thing." You're not sure if that's a matter of fact statement, or if she's trying to make a joke.

Despite the disgusting aftertaste of whatever foul concoction you were given, you do begin to feel better, or at least like you're not getting worse. The world almost seems to slow down for you.

You try to speak, but she hushes you as she checks your numerous wounds. With a look of concern, she takes a drop of blood from a wound near your heart. You watch as she mixes it into a crystal vial, decorated with some kind of writing. Runes perhaps?

At first, nothing happens, then you hear a harsh fizzing, and acrid, black smoke spews forth. The witch appears saddened by this, until the smoke shifts towards a soft purple. You can smell lavender, your favourite scent. A look of relief flashes over her face.

"Rest. It is all going to be okay," she reassures you, before standing and stepping over to the creature. Craning your neck, you can just about see that it has given up struggling against the thing? person? on top. Whatever is pinning the creature down moves inhumanly.

The witch kneels at the creature's head, causing it to elicit a growl. This time, it is one of genuine fear, like a cornered animal desperate to flee. "Artus, you have defiled these lands for years, and you have given nothing in exchange to those that would preserve it."

"For that crime, you must leave, never to return." The witch's words echo as if being spoken by dozens of people at once. "I shall spare your miserable life, since your prey will survive. But, their form is dying, and soon only their mind and spirit will endure.

For that crime, I take your body. I take what makes you strong. I take all that you are." The witch forces one hand to the creature's forehead. As her words go silent, so too does the world around you. Everything seems to stop, frozen in place.

And then, the creature screams. It is a cry unlike any other, one of something having its essence stripped away. You're afraid, but there's a certain dark satisfaction in its misfortune.

The sounds behind its scream is horrible. Cracking of bone. Tearing of muscle. Flesh being remade. However, it only takes a few moments to finish whatever sickening change the creature was forced to undergo.

The witch stands. "You can release it now, Wyla." The other figure stands, returning to the witch's side. "Pick up the injured human for me," the witch instructs. The pair step over to you.

As if you weighed little more than a piece of paper, Wyla lifts you with one hand by the scruff of your neck, eliciting a yelp from you.

"Gently, Wyla, gently. They are fragile, for now. Like this." The witch mimes a princess carry.

With a moment of readjustment, Wyla has you in its arms. Its movements are gentle, though certainly not meant to feel comfortable. Now you're up close, you can tell whatever the thing holding you is, it definitely isn't human. It has a human shape, yes, but it appears to be made-

of various parts of nature. Wood, stone, a few stray bits of metal here and there. It does have hair, but it appears more like branches, vines, or some other natural plant. While it has a human face in shape, only its eyes ever seen to move, even then, only purposefully.

Looking even closer, you can see faint lilaq runes painted over its...skin? bark? surface? surface. Whatever it is, it is beautiful in a strange way. Although, certainly fear inducing with how quickly it dispatched that creature.

"We must hurry home. There is little time." The witch begins to walk purposefully, although she stops for a moment next to the creature that wounded you so. "You must still leave this place. I hope this new form will teach you some humility, for your sake. Perhaps, if you do, I-

will ease this curse." Without another word, the witch strides off.

You only get a brief, blurry glance at the creature. Less than a quarter of its previous size, it looks like a small, wretched thing. Vulnerable and helpless. You can't help feeling a hint of pity.

Would death not have been a kinder fate?

There is little time for you to dwell on philosophy as your body fades. It would worry you, if not for a gentle tune the witch hums. It almost seems as though the world around you bends with her music.

You must be delirious, but you'd swear that tree just moved out of her way. It's as if the natural world is craning its ear to hear her song, and making her journey swift in exchange.

You pass in and out of consciousness. Whatever that disgusting liquid was seems to keep pulling you back to reality because each time you pass out you can taste it once again. The moments of consciousness grow increasingly brief, however.

Part 5 - Your Body Dies

Eventually, you wake up in some kind of building.

"Lay them out on my work table." The witch's voice is getting distorted, just like your vision of the world around you. "Prepare whatever parts we have on hand. I must fetch my tools.

Wyla places various things on the table around you. You're too weak to move at this stage, but they look like body parts. Some are similar in design to hers, others look radically different.

A few minutes pass, before the witch hurries into the room. A few of the tools in her hand appear normal, if a little strange looking. Others seem far stranger. For one, she seems to be holding a small violet flame. She sets things down next to you, before looking over the parts.

"I suppose mismatched parts will have to do for now. There isn't much alternative." The witch sighs. The world blurs completely for a few seconds, but your awareness comes back when she leans over you, looking you in the eye.

Her hair cascades down around you, making her the only thing to focus on.

"I am sorry for what has happened to you, and for what I must do. The process will be disconcerting, and I don't have time to explain what is going on." Her expression is pained.

But I am doing this to save you, at least part of you, your essence." The witch stands, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I will do my best to make this as quick and comfortable as possible. You will be conscious, but it may be better for you to try and not pay much-

attention." Her words both are and aren't reassuring. Unfortunately, you're far too injured to even think about it. You're dangling by a thread over the maw of death, and because of her words you know your body is what is pulling you down.

Reality fades in and out throughout the...whatever it is that is being done to you. You can feel things happening to your body, things that should definitely be agonising. Yet somehow, it's only ever uncomfortable at most. Some kind of magic painkiller, perhaps?

The sounds of tools, magic, music, and a hard-working witch fill the air.

Bit by bit, the discomfort of what is being done to you slips away. You can still feel what is going on, but there is no sense of pain or pleasure.

Your body, however, is feeling increasingly strange, different even. All you can do is stare up to the ceiling, catching occasional glimpses of the witch moving around. You can just barely see Wyla standing motionless. Not breathing. Not blinking.

While you never lose consciousness, your senses completely black out at various points, leaving you to feel even more helpless.

Gradually, the witch replaces each part of your body with those she had to hand. It all seems to be going smoothly, but even matched, bespoke parts-

have a chance of rejection. Provided your spirit doesn't reject this form, your parts can be changed with a little effort. Getting your essence to accept the form of a doll is the biggest step, even if your conscious mind is technically in there.

Without your spirit, it will be pulled away to your old body, which means certain death.

The world returns to you, and you can just about make out the witch. She looks utterly exhausted. How much time has passed? It could've been days, you have no means of knowing.

For the final, most vital step, the witch takes the container of lavender scebted liquid she made from your blood and some unknown reagents. She delicately uncorks it, before picking up the violet flame you saw previously. It behaves as a normal fire would, although it doesn't-

spread or seem to burn her. It just dances in her palm.

The witch, with the greatest possible care, tips the vial to begin pouring it onto the flame. At the last moment she whispers "please, Great Mother, let this work." You're uncertain who she's referring to.

She pours the liquid onto the flame. It hisses, and you hear a pained yelp from the witch, but she holds the flame, continuing to pour, until the entire mixture becomes part of the flame.

Wyla moves to the witch, but is quickly waved off.

She steps closer to you. You can't explain why, but you feel like that flame. You can feel the witch holding you, cradling you, as if she were terrified of breaking you. You can feel yourself dancing in her palm, yet, you aren't touching her. It's not the strangest thing today.

Reaching down to your chest and out of your eyeline, the witch sets the flame inside your chest, where a human's heart would be. She adjusts several things, before sealing your chest shut, and stepping back. "All we can do now is hope and pray."

Part 6 (5? I missed 4?) - A Doll is Made

The flame in your chest feels like a heat you can't imagine. It seems to scorch and burn your being. You're not sure if it's pain, but you want to scream. You can't. You can't even move. You're not sure what you feel, or even if you feel.

It's all just...strange. Over time, the feelings dissipate. The heat inside dies down. You couldn't explain it until now, but you feel whole once again. Mind, body, and finally spirit. Even if all three have undergone their own changes. You are only whole when they are united.

You're still you, the same, yet also irrevocably different. You don't believe you have the ability to explain.

You're uncertain how you'd describe your current state. You can't sense anything with your physical senses. You don't feel like you're thinking as you used to. Though, it doesn't exactly feel like you're dreaming either. You're conscious, but not. Perhaps, waiting?

"Lavender, you are needed." Finally, you hear something. You know you are being spoken to. The familiar voice of your creator. Creator? She had just been a witch previously, but now you instinctively know her as your creator, your maker. The one who forged you into the new you.

Your vision returns, and you see the relieved face of the witch above you. Something is different about her, however. She seems, divine, almost. A faint purple glow surrounds her. You can sense a beautiful source of radiant energy barely contained by her form.

Without a need to think about it, you Intuit her as a magical being. And that's before you actually begin to recall that you've seen her perform magic.

The past is still fuzzy, but you are comforted by your creator's presence. "Can you sit up for me, Lavendar?" She asks, beckoning as she does to make it clear it wasn't just a question. You know she's referring to you, though there is some confusion. Still, you comply.

"Lavendar?" You question in a voice that is, no, was not your own. It is your voice now. Even stranger, just saying the word Lavendar makes you think of yourself. Thinking of your old name feels strange, like it's someone you used to know, but won't ever see again.

"Ah, yes. Right, you don't know anything about dolls." You're not sure what she means by dolls, but you don't interrupt. "Dolls of my particular school of construction have names tied to their spirit flames. It varies depending on who they were. You would know Lavendar was you,-

even if I hadn't said it. As a witch, I can see things like that." She cocks her head, curious to see how you'll take in all of this.

You stay focused on her, cocking your own head to match her angle. "Dolls? Witch? I'm Lavendar? I'm Lavendar."

"Don't worry. In an ideal scenario, I would've explained all this beforehand. Unfortunately, your body was too weak after what had been done to you. To keep you alive, in a sense, I had to...change you." The witch is careful with her words, clearly trying to be delicate, while-

also getting her points across.

"Change me?" You question. You don't even notice that your voice is different than it once was. You can still remember that it used to be different, but it's no longer an active thought.

"Yes. To keep your spirit and mind alive, I had to find somewhere new for them to go. There's many options, although most of them aren't as pleasant as this, believe me." You note that your creator seems disturbed by those thoughts.

The witch gestures to your form. "You are what we call a doll. I don't know how educated you were beforehand, but imagine a constructed being given life."

"I'm a doll," you state. It feels correct. You feel exactly like what has been described to you.

The witch gestures to your form again, and you reluctantly turn your gaze away from her.

Looking down, you feel shock at first. Your entire body is different. None of it feels wrong to you. It's just an incredibly stark change compared to your former body.

You spend time studying yourself while the witch waits patiently beside you. She seems fascinated with your reactions.

Both of your legs up to the thigh seem to be some kind of metal. It looks smooth, yet with elegant designs traced across the surfaces.

You're uncertain whether they have any particular importance, or if they have some significance. Above your legs, your torso and upper hips seems to be close to Wyla's. There is a simple shirt and underwear covering your chest and crotch.

You can't tell whether you have anything human-like to cover, but you feel it might still being embarassing to be completely bare. Or, perhaps the witch has her own sense of modesty. Whatever the case, you appreciate the care you have been given.

Letting your eyes trail further across your body, one of your arms is much like your torso, made up of natural materials. Touching it with your other hand, parts of it do feel like skin, at least in the sense that they're soft to the touch and slightly warm.

Your other arm is metal, but vastly different from your legs. Where they are artful, this is crude. Where they are slender and elegant, this is brutal and bulky. None of your body parts feel wrong, yet this arm definitely feels the most out of place.

"I had to use whatever I had to hand to build you. A doll must be complete, or close to it, for the spirit to bond," the witch explains. "In time, we can buy, or I can build you new parts, if you desire to feel more uniform, or even just to look different. Now that your mind and-

spirit have accepted their new existence, your body is quite changeable." As mismatched as you are, the witch is clearly admiring her handiwork with pride.

"What happens now?" You think back to your life. You couldn't go back, not like this. Also, you feel a need you've never had before deep in your core. You're not yet sure how to articulate such a feeling just yet, though you can feel it rising.

"Now? I need to check you're functional. Afterwards, we must find you a purpose. A doll without a purpose is...let's just say it's not a fate you want to experience. We can find out what purpose suits you. Wyla, the doll that carried you here is my protector, my guard."

That's all for now, folks. "I don't know anything about dolls." *Writes the longest story they've written for this account.*