Doll House

There was an old, abandoned manor outside the town, the road leading up to it overgrown and half-swallowed by vegetation. There were plenty of rumors surrounding it.

One said that years ago, a powerful sorceress had lived there, and one day, she had vanished without a trace.

Other rumors said the place had belonged to a terrible woman who kidnapped people off the streets to turn them into monsters, and one day, the gods had struck her down, banishing her from this world.

Some whispered that the manor had been a meeting place for an obscure cult that wanted to revive a dead god, complete with blood sacrifices and ritual chants.

But no matter the rumor, they all had one thing in common: the manor was haunted.

Plenty of friends dared each other to set foot into the manor, and by now, it had become something of a rite of passage among the youth. But no matter who went inside, they all ran back out screaming, terrified down to their bones, and a number of them had returned bruised and bleeding.

Some babbled about headless creatures, the next talked about living shadows, and others still whispered that there was a terrible prince of the underworld calling the manor home, his hair red as blood.

You remembered a year when the mayor decided to get the building either torn down or renovated, but no matter who had shown up, be they priests or adventurers, they all had been chased from the manor without fail, each and every one of them refusing to go back in.

These days, there was a standing order to leave it be, the mayor hoping that the manor would rot and erode away and its inhabitants would disappear along with it.

You had never set foot into the manor yourself, too busy working and running errands for your parents, but you had glimpsed it a few times here and there on your way to visit a neighboring town.

It was a tall and ominous building, and after every storm, it looked just a little more worse for wear. Mostly, though, you put it out of your mind. You had more important things to worry about than a building that didn’t hurt anyone so long as they didn’t set foot into it.

"Welcome home," you heard your mother call out as you entered the house after a day at work. "Would you join us in the kitchen? A potential husband is here to see you!"

You bit back an aggrieved sigh, a dull headache immediately starting to pull at your temples. For weeks now, your parents were of the opinion that you had to get married, regardless of your opinion on the matter.

In your opinion, they were just miffed that their neighbors had made such good matches for their children, marrying their sons and daughters away to merchants and rich farmers and even to the daughter of a famous adventurer in one case.

You, on the other hand, had no desire to marry, and most certainly not when the other person was a stranger. You wanted to marry for love, which was a sentiment that had brought you quite the derisive lecture from your parents a few days ago.

Love didn’t matter when money and stability could await you, instead, they had said. They conveniently didn’t mention their envy for those around them with good fortunes or their jealousy if someone did better than them.

Your parents were braggarts who liked to spread tall tales about themselves in the tavern, at market day, and with any travelers they spoke to. They hated it when someone could brag and they couldn’t either brag alongside them or even out-brag them.

You knew your parents had once been richer than they were now, that they had gotten tricked into giving up a chunk of their savings. The charlatan had escaped with their money, and as a result, they had been forced to give up a number of luxuries.

It had left your parents bitter and angry, and since they hadn’t managed to build their fortune back up on their own, they were now counting on you to do it, instead.

Their bragging had brought people to their doorstep in order to meet you and ask for your hand, but, well, you were very ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that plenty of people had described you as quite plain in the past. Mediocre at best.

Taking a bracing breath, you took off your cloak and boots to put on your house slippers, and you walked into the kitchen without a smile on your face. You weren’t going to lie to these strangers who had gotten lured here by your parents' promises of your talents and gifts and good looks, especially since your dowry was rather modest.

The thing was, you did have a talent. You had a little spark of magic. No one knew where it had come from, since no one in your family was capable of using magic, but your parents hadn’t hesitated in selling your services to anyone who wanted to pay enough.

For you could fix anything that had broken with just a touch of your hand.

So far, your lack of good looks and your parents skirting around the topic of your dowry had ensured that all prospective partners had bowed out graciously once they met you. Rather quickly, even, in two cases.

The fact that you didn’t want to get married had caused a few of them to leave as well, citing that they had no desire for a spouse that would end up resenting them for taking away their choices.

When you saw the man sitting across from your parents at their table, you knew immediately who he was. There had been rumors surrounding him for months now, whispers about the exiled-lord-turned-merchant. The wealthiest merchant of their lands, the man whose fingertips supposedly turned copper to gold.

The man who was rumored to collect magical folk to gather a powerful force to one day take revenge on the people who had ousted him from his position on the king’s council. Who had taken his nobility away from him.

You met the man’s gaze, finding it cold and calculating and pleased, and you knew with a bone-deep certainty that he’d wed you. No amount of plainness, no matter how paltry your dowry, and no refusal on your end would change that.

"My dear," he said, all refined grace and gentle tone and sweet smile and hungry eyes. "You are truly radiant."

What a fucking liar.

"Your fiancé is truly generous," your father said with a jovial tone and equally hungry eyes. "He’s paying us your dowry in exchange for a swift marriage."

So, your parents would have to give nothing away. Well, nothing aside from you, that is.

The former lord kept smiling like the sweetest, gentlest man, and you knew to others he would have looked like a dream. Rich, rather good looking, and with plenty of business connections for his wealth to keep growing.

"No," you said, lips numb and heart pounding in a way that carved fear into the inside of your ribcage with every beat. "I don’t want to marry him."

The looks your parents sent you almost made you flinch, threatening and dangerous, their smiles suddenly made of blades.

"There will be a wedding," your mother decided firmly, and the former lord nodded amiably, like you hadn’t said anything at all. "We will meet you at the temple tomorrow, good sir."

Your father got up, his hand clasping your shoulder. What would have looked friendly and encouraging to outsiders was, in truth, a painfully tight hold that kept you from escaping.

You barely heard the rest of the conversation, your knees feeling faintly weak. A part of you reasoned that there was no need to be this scared. That it was a bit nonsensical, in fact, to feel this strongly.

You had heard nothing but rumors about the former lord, and rumors were hardly ever completely true. He had been nothing but polite, and even as he left, he offered you a little bow.

But your gut instinct was yowling like an angry cat, raking claws down your spine in warning and tugging sharply at your innards, demanding that you escape. Get away.

You held carefully still and said nothing when your parents berated you immediately after closing the door behind their guest. You stared at them blankly, fingers cold and shaky.

They started to talk about all the fortune you would bring them, that you had to think of your parents, for they had raised you, after all, had given you food and a roof over your head and clothes to wear. Weren’t you going to be a good child, they loved you after all, didn’t they?

The cold numbness was replaced by a sudden surge of anger. It burned the ice away and gripped your heart, made your spine snap straight, and your lips itched with the instinctive desire to pull back and bare your teeth.

"I’ll head to bed," you said, interrupting their lectures and cajoling and needling. Their guilt-tripping, as if you had been at fault for all their bad decisions in life. As if, by them deciding to have a child, you had signed a contract to be at their beck and call in return.

You went into your room, closing the door behind you a bit sharply, ignoring their huffs and reprimanding remarks. You heard muffled steps before the door got locked from the outside.

You were angry enough to scream.

Exhaling explosively, you started to pace, wrangling the anger and betrayal and hurt writhing through you under control so that you could think. You eyed your window, gauging if you could squeeze outside and escape.

You should run, even if you had no money on you. Your ability to repair all kinds of things should help you with landing a stable job somewhere, or you could exchange your skills for money like you had done your entire life as you went. Only this time, you’d get to keep the money instead of handing it over to your parents.

Swallowing, you stood still for a long moment, weighing the unknown of the world against the marriage to a man who would marry you against your will. In the end, it wasn’t much of a decision.

You grabbed what things you could without drawing the attention of your parents by making too much noise. The last thing you wanted was for them to catch on and nail the window shut.

You very gently opened your clothes chest to grab a change of clothes, using a jacket to knot everything into a semi-practical bundle. There wasn’t really anything else you could take, not when your small, everyday backpack was hanging on a hook by the front door, along with your cloak and shoes. You’d just have to do without those things for now.

You sat on your bed and waited, heart pounding strongly. You waited until the sound of dinner came and passed, until you heard the steps of your parents as they headed to bed, and then you waited a little more.

You waited until the moon stood right above the house before you eased the window open. Gently and carefully, bit by bit, so it would be as quiet as possible.

Peering outside, you forced yourself to wait another moment to see if the shadows would move or someone’s steps would rustle the grass growing in the yard.

You listened carefully for someone’s breathing and shifting, any hint that someone was waiting outside to stop you from escaping. You wouldn’t put it past your parents to have hired someone to keep watch.

But there was no one, at least no one you could see. With the bundled up clothes tucked under one arm, you carefully wriggled outside, bare feet finding cool earth and faintly damp grass.

Your heart was pounding hard enough that it felt as though you cradled a giant drum between your ribs. Slipping away from the house on quiet feet, you only allowed yourself to exhale with relief once you climbed over the fence to reach the neighboring yard. All you had to do now-

Hands grabbed you, one clamping over your mouth to muffle your startled yell, and you were hoisted off your feet like you weighed nothing, arms pressing you against a broad chest.

"I was hoping you’d run," you heard the former lord’s smiling voice ahead of you. He addressed whoever had you in their grasp next, "Let’s leave before the parents wake up; don’t let that one get away."

With rising horror, you quickly connected the dots. The former lord would kidnap you, and this way, he wouldn’t have to marry you or pay your parents for your hand. He could play the snubbed fiancé tomorrow at the temple and leave with a swish of his fancy cloak and a scathing comment. Your parents would be fuming, but they wouldn’t find you.

No one would, if he took you, and before long, everyone in town would assume that you had run away, disappearing into the big wide world – just as you had originally planned, yourself.

No matter how hard you fought, the arms that kept you clamped against the stranger’s chest were as immovable as iron bars. The hand covering your mouth gripped you so tightly it was going to leave bruises. Your jaw hurt.

"What a fiery spirit," the former lord laughed quietly once he reached an alley between houses, a carriage waiting for him. "That’s going to be very useful, please hold on to that."

He sounded mocking, and in the dim lights of the carriage lanterns, you saw the way he grinned at you, condescending and triumphant. The carriage door was decorated with a rearing horse with two blades crossing behind it, the metal shining in the low light. It looked like a coat of arms, which wouldn’t surprise you, considering the man in front of you had once held a noble title.

He opened the carriage door with a fancy little flourish, and your captor managed to wrangle you inside with minimal trouble, mostly because when you tried to put a foot against the carriage frame, you realized that they would absolutely just shove you in and break your leg in the process if you didn’t move it.

Apparently, so long as you didn’t die or become unfit for whatever work laid in store for you, it didn’t matter if you got hurt.

You got tossed onto a seat, and the carriage door was slammed shut before you could so much as scramble into a sitting position. You heard a lock click and two people climb onto the coach.

Within seconds, the carriage lurched into motion, and you found yourself falling back against the cushioned seat, head spinning and fear clawing your insides to ribbons.

You had to get out, you had to escape, but when you threw yourself against the carriage door as best you could, it held strong. Your hands scrambled around in the dark, fingertips trying to find some kind of weak spot, any kind of weak spot.

You felt panic and despair beating higher and higher, like an injured bird caught inside a room, frantically bumping around faster and faster with increasing helplessness.

Until your fingertips found a small corner where a window should be and a plank of wood that had been nailed over it instead. You dug in.

By the time you managed to pry the edge away, your fingertips were bleeding and everything hurt, but it didn’t matter. Not when you managed to put your whole weight behind it and slowly pry the plank of wood away, bit by bit. You had to be careful not to grip the nails that poked out on the other side of the wood.

When, at last, you pulled the plank away completely, you were covered in sweat, and you realized the carriage was now on the open road. Peering outside cautiously, you saw the lights of the town growing further and further away, the forest rising dark and ominous to the right and left.

The carriage couldn’t travel too fast here, however, for it was too dark for the horses or the driver to see obstacles well.

This downright slow pace that was meant to avoid accidents was probably the best chance you were going to get. Tossing the board aside, you reached outside to grope around for the handle of the carriage door. You found it, along with the latch that kept the door locked tight.

Fumbling that open, you waited until the carriage slowed a little further to round a bend in the road before you yanked the door open.

You still fell more than you jumped as you tumbled out, but that didn’t matter, not when you managed to roll to your feet again almost immediately after hitting the ground.

You heard shouts behind you, the open door banging noisily against the carriage, and you didn’t waste another second to sprint into the forest as fast as your feet would carry you.

You heard the sound of someone hitting the dirt behind you and heavy steps following, your heart racing faster and faster, and you suddenly, viciously, understood how hares must feel fleeing from hunters.

You certainly felt like a prey animal, running as fast as you could, branches briefly catching against your clothes, your body feeling lighter than it ever had as your panic pushed you onward faster and faster, desperation sharpening each and every single one of your senses.

You had no idea how you avoided running into trees or tripping over roots, but you couldn’t avoid the wrought iron fence that suddenly loomed out of the dark. You slammed into it painfully, and the second your fingertips found something to hold onto, you hauled yourself up.

You reached the top just as someone heavily slammed into the fence a little to your left, and you didn’t dare look back and check. Instead, you just jumped down to the other side.

Staggering upright again, you started sprinting for the manor looming ahead – that manor, the haunted one, you realized – your breathing as fast as your heartbeat.

The manor might be your only chance to escape. Even if you had to face down whatever lived there, be it ghosts or demons or other horrors, they might take care of your pursuer as well. You had to bet your life on that, or you’d end up back in that carriage, never to be seen again.

The property truly was as overgrown and rundown as stories had said, the steps leading up to the front door uneven and worn, and dead leaves crunched beneath your bare feet.

The front door wasn’t locked, to your immense relief, and you threw it open, rushing inside, and you immediately tripped over a fold in the foyer carpet.

Sprawling down painfully, you scrambled to get up, heavy steps pounding up the stairs behind you. You did look back, now, and you got a glimpse of your pursuer, of the blank mask that covered their face. It was too flat to allow any space for the nose, and there were no slits to peer through. It was just one solid piece of metal.

Instinctively, you knew that whoever that was, whatever that was, it wasn’t human. It might not even be alive. You stumbled back without looking away, your heart now pounding painfully hard, each beat feeling like the fall of a hammer against the inside of your ribcage.

You stared at the thing heading for you as unerringly as a force of nature when, all of a sudden, a large shape dropped to the ground between the two of you with a loud, heavy crash that even the thick foyer carpet couldn’t muffle fully.

When the shape straightened, you stared up at an incredibly tall person with strong shoulders and a dancer’s grace. Long legs and long hair that shimmered a dark, bloody red.

"You are not welcome here," a smooth, steady voice said, a man’s voice, and you saw a blade glint as the man shifted his arm. The blade in his hand was lowered but at an angle that would allow a quick upwards sweep. "Leave. Or we will make you."

There was a beat of silence, weighty and tense, and you noticed another moving shape along the ceiling, just barely visible in the dark. Your pursuer stood still, motionless, before taking a single, firm step forward.

The tall stranger’s blade flashed upward, so fast you knew you wouldn’t have been able to dodge it or even see it coming.

Your pursuer failed to avoid the strike in time, something fleshy and heavy hitting the ground, and in the faint light, you saw that one arm and part of the shoulder had gotten cleaved off in a single strike, bone and muscle split apart effortlessly.

Your pursuer didn’t stumble or stop, walking forward once more, and you knew the being wasn’t bleeding just as surely as you suddenly realized that it wasn’t breathing, either. The stranger swung his blade anew, a flash of metal that found its mark as easily as the first time.

The body of your pursuer hit the ground, head neatly separated from its shoulders. You barely had a second to process that when the stranger of the manor turned to face you. The blade remained low at his side, and you couldn’t help but think that he was going to offer you the same ultimatum.

Leave or, well, get chased out. Or die. But the former lord was out there still, and you had nothing, not even a spare set of clothes anymore. You didn’t want to risk running into him and being captured again. You wanted to be free.

"Please let me hide here!" the words burst out in a panicked rush, as you lifted your hands in front of you, hoping to stall the stranger and make him listen. "Please, just until it’s safe for me to leave, I promise I won’t be any trouble!"

The stranger stilled, head tilting a little to the side, and you once again were overcome with the realization that you were not dealing with someone human. It was more instinct than anything else, but now that you knew, you noticed that the stranger wasn’t breathing, either, and wasn’t quite moving like someone made of flesh and blood.

The rumors were true, then, at least somewhat. You had no idea just what you were dealing with, but whoever he was, maybe you could still negotiate for a short stay in the manor. At least until sunrise.

"I can fix things," you rushed to add. "Anything, doesn’t matter what it is or if it’s cracked or broken or bent or burnt or part of it got lost, I can still mend it."

You couldn’t help but gesture at the space around you, the rundown manor in its entirety, "I could even fix up this whole place!"

For a moment, contemplative silence reigned. "Can you repair enchanted things?" the stranger asked, voice still smooth and steady.

"I haven’t tried that before," you admitted, mouth dry, and you nervously licked your lips. "I’m willing to give it a go."

"Very well." The sword was smoothly sheathed. "In exchange for sanctuary, I would ask that you repair myself and my companions."

Oh. Well. You, uh, you could certainly try. You couldn’t help but wonder just what the stranger was and what was going on in this manor when he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.

The lights came on, or rather, some of them did, flickering and dim. It took you a moment to realize they were mage lamps because you were stuck staring at the stranger.

Who was a life-sized, battle-ready doll, with long, blood-red hair, perfect facial features – because, of course, why not – and a massive crack down one cheek, that had taken out one of his bright, almost golden eyes.

In general, he showed some wear and tear, as though he had been in a number of battles or other rough situations. The hand he hadn’t used to wield the sword was so cracked it looked ready to shatter, and his once elegant and fancy clothes were so worn down they were see-through in some parts. One pant leg was sliced open, revealing a chipped leg.

"I’m in the best condition out of all of us," he said, which made you boggle because he already looked pretty bad. "If you could start with my companions, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Of course," you answered, still staring at him like an idiot. He thankfully didn’t seem to take offense, just dipped into a graceful, polite little bow while gesturing behind you at the door leading deeper into the manor, as though to tell you to go ahead.

"Allow me to guide you into the sun-room," he said and his expression was as natural as a flesh and blood person's would be. Nothing about his face was as rigid as one would expect from a doll. Only his movements were a little strange, too smooth and graceful to be human.

You wobbled a quick nod, finally wrenching your eyes away from him.

He straightened and walked past you, no noticeable limp in his steps at all despite the fact that one leg was cracked. He must not feel pain, which made sense, considering he was a doll.

A living – though not breathing – doll that seemed fully sentient. You had heard stories, more rumors and whispers really, about incredibly rare magic some people were born with. The magic to turn dead soil into fertile ground, the ability to create portals to travel through, and the skill to breathe life into things one had made with their own two hands.

You couldn’t help but glance back at the unmoving body on the ground. You did see flesh and bone, but it wasn’t bleeding; if anything, it looked strangely black.

"Necromancy," the doll said, noticing where your attention had strayed. "Though, to create a moving corpse of this level takes a lot of skill and talent and magical prowess. Whoever is after you is not to be underestimated."

You wondered if the former lord was the necromancer, or if someone in his employ had done this. Either way, you had no desire to find out.

Swallowing hard, you caught up to the doll, who led you through double leaf doors that had seen better days and down a hallway that was in sore need of some fixing. Actually, everything here was in sore need of repairs.

The sun-room the doll brought you to must not have seen visitors in forever. Everything was starting to decay; metal decorations were tarnished and windows didn’t close properly anymore, causing a bit of a breeze to slip into the room.

Only two mage lamps flickered on when the doll snapped his fingers, just barely illuminating the room enough to reveal stained wallpaper and uneven, cracked floor boards and windows so dirty it was impossible to look outside.

"I would offer you refreshments, but I fear we have none." The doll stepped to the side towards a little food cart that had once been painted prettily, the colors now faded.

He picked up a tea caddy that probably would look absolutely gorgeous with some love and care.

"Hm, even the tea is gone," the doll murmured, barely loud enough for your ears. He raised his voice, "My apologies, the most I can offer you is some water." He tipped his head to the side, thinking. "No, I suppose even that wouldn’t be safe for human consumption anymore."

"It’s fine," you hurriedly reassured him. "Just letting me hide here is enough already. Um, who do you want me to start with?"

The doll walked to the door and called out, "Justine?"

A moment later, a doll that once must have looked like an elegant young lady, all graceful and proper and beautifully dressed, walked inside. A large part of her head was smashed to pieces to the point that half her hair was gone along with most of her face.

She was missing an arm, her clothes were shredded, and her gait was jerky, reminding you of the puppet theater you had seen once where little wooden puppets had been moved around with strings.

One of the puppeteers hadn’t been as skilled as the others, and things on his side of the little stage had looked rougher and clunky.

"Alright, I’ll do my best," you said, holding out a hand as the doll came to a stop before you. She raised her remaining arm, placing her palm in yours, and you saw three of her fingers missing.

Closing your eyes, you focused, letting your magic unfold within you as your heart calmed and your breathing calmed.

Your magic was a quiet thing, and it made your fingertips tingle. Using it filled your heart with something you could only describe as... peaceful happiness.

You had never minded using your magic to earn coin, to support your parents or give them what they wanted. Not when fixing things made you feel this way, like lying in the sun or curling up under a warm blanket while feeling sleepy. It was a comforting, safe feeling.

You could always tell when you repaired something loved, for it felt like cradling something precious between your hands. As though years of care and love had been left behind like smudgy fingerprints. It was the same when something had been made with love, a carpenter’s or stonemason’s care easy to spot.

The lady doll was brimming with love. As if every part of her had been made with nothing but kindness and hope and adoration and smiles. Whoever had made her, carving wood and handling metal and sculpting her porcelain face, had done so with a never-ending ocean of love.

Her clothes were the same, hand-sewn pieces filled with excitement and admiration and a kind of wry annoyance for pricked fingertips.

When you opened your eyes, a beautiful doll stood before you, looking as pristine as the day she had first been assembled. She looked bright and lively, especially in the dreary, kind of creepy sun-room.

She blinked, reaching up to touch her face, and her expression was awed and surprised and then so grateful that you couldn’t help but think that... these were no ordinary magical dolls. They were truly, fully alive.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice trembling with emotion. "Oh, thank you!"

She reached out to gently take hold of your hands, and you startled when you saw tears appear in her eyes. No ordinary dolls indeed; whatever they were, incredible, breathtaking magic had to have been involved in their creation.

You couldn’t help but smile at her, your heart as glad as it had ever been. "You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help, after all."

"I’ll call for the others immediately," she said, voice brimming with hope, and she turned around with a graceful, beautiful swish of her skirts and left the room with a large stride, heels clicking against the ground.

"Thank you," the tall doll said, and you startled when he dipped into a deep bow. "I cannot put into words what this means to all of us."

"It’s probably none of my business, but what happened?" you couldn’t help but ask.

"It’s a long tale," the doll said, straightening again, and he seemed thoughtful. "That began the day the Lady of the House vanished and left us here. If you’re not too tired by the end of all of this, I will tell you everything, if you’d like."

You might just find out the truth behind the mystery of the manor. Mostly, however, you were glad to have a safe haven for the night, and maybe, once dawn came, the former lord would be gone entirely. Or, at the very least, if he was still around, you could slip past him unnoticed.

The pretty doll, Justine, returned and brought with her another one that was slim and lanky and dressed like a butler.

One someone had attempted to bury, clothes stained with dirt and ripped. One arm was missing along with its entire head. You boggled at that, wondering what it took to destroy those dolls and how they worked.

The butler, too, was an easy enough fix in the end. He had been built with just as much love as Justine had been along with a quiet sort of exhaustion, a wish for help and someone to lend a listening ear.

He was an older-looking doll with an air of quiet, unshakable dignity and a kind face. He, too, thanked you, appearing touched beyond words for your aid.

The moment he straightened from his grateful bow, he seemed to realize just how badly off the space around you was and attempted tidy up with a heartfelt apology and an unhappy pinch to his face.

It was incredible just how expressive these dolls were, as though they were made of flesh and blood and not wood and metal and porcelain.

The next doll was a bit of a strange one: it was spidery with long limbs, most of them cracked like half-smashed glass, and it had a slow, too-smooth way of moving that was distinctly unsettling. The face, however, was shy, and the smile, part of the lips broken away in a big crack, even more so.

This doll had been made with a lot of love, as well, and quite a bit of fancy, as though the creator had been indulging in a certain type of book or interest at the time. This doll was meant as a repair support for the manor and designed to reach all the annoyingly high ceilings better.

The next two dolls were aides around the manor, as well, one a gardener, the other a washing woman and seamstress. Then came a chef, an animal handler, and lastly, a doll who had once played music and recited poems beautifully.

All of them were loved dearly. As you sent the poet doll along, it was crying and laughing at the same time, no longer broken and tarnished, but whole and hale and shining once more.

All of them were meant to be family, you realized, each one crafted with enough adoration and care that it had infused every fiber of their being.

They were helpers, yes, but the Lady of the House had been... alone when she had made them. The world had been cold and empty in her eyes until she had crafted the first doll.

Until she had filled her life with color and sound and movement and a love so profound it echoed in everything.

You turned to the last doll, the tall one that had slain your undead pursuer, and waved him closer. He dipped his head obligingly, politely, and offered his good hand, his touch careful as he placed it in your palm.

He, too, was made with love, but for the first time, there was something more woven into the way he had been made.

I’m sorry, a grieving part of his creator seemed to echo within him, while another part was fierce and sharp as it demanded, protect them all.

He had been filled with protection and guarding and hope-hope-hope that he’d ensure everyone would be safe and happy even... even with the creator gone.

"You’re the youngest," you couldn’t help but murmur after pulling back, the last crack mended. He was a pretty doll, like all the others. Their creator had clearly wanted all the dolls to be the best they could be, giving them everything a parent possibly could.

"I was the last made by the Lady of the House," the doll agreed, then a faint frown pulled at his brows. "You seem a bit unwell, please, sit."

It was only then that you realized just how tired you were, and a dull pressure was building behind your temples, while your joints ached faintly. Your feet, especially, hurt, now that you paid attention to your body beyond the focus on survival and then the focus on using your magic.

"You’re right," you murmured, and the doll offered his arm. You took it, and the arm felt hard and unyielding under your hand as he helped you over to a chair. It creaked alarmingly but held up, and you couldn’t help but touch it for a moment, fixing it up.

The chair hadn’t been made with much love, especially compared to the dolls, nor had it been used much, but the carpenter had been in a good mood when he had made it, and echoes of songs sung were pressed into the wood.

"Did you get hurt?" the doll asked, and you were surprised when he smoothly dropped down to a knee in front of you. His face looked unblemished now, his shiny hair was long and flowing, and his elegant clothing looked freshly made.

You checked yourself over and then shook your head. "I was lucky," you said, and a sudden, big yawn gripped you to the point where you teared up a bit. "Apologies."

"No need," the doll murmured. "I apologize for demanding so much of you. Please, consider yourself our guest for as long as you like. Would you like us to ready a room for you? It is dreadfully late."

You couldn’t help but huff an amused little noise; it was either that, or you’d start crying, and you were too damn exhausted for that. A part of you also didn’t want to cry and admit just how much your parents' betrayal had hurt. Or how terrifying it had been to get snatched up like a child in a fairy tale encountering an evil witch.

"Thank you," you said instead, and the doll rose to his full height, briefly stepping out of the room to speak quietly with someone. Once he returned, he helped you to your feet, and you bit back a wince at the painful throb in your soles.

You must not have been very successful, since the doll paused and leaned forward a bit to meet your eyes. "May I carry you?"

Inanely, you thought that you hadn’t been carried by anyone in years. Your parents had stopped by the time you had been four or five, citing that you were too heavy.

"I’m not light," you warned, and he blinked, then offered a smile that looked unexpectedly sweet.

"You won’t be heavy," he said, voice carrying a sort of gentle, soothing warmth. "I promise. May I?"

You hesitated, then nodded. The doll was careful, one arm sliding around your shoulders as he bent down, the other slipping beneath your knees, and then you got lifted off your feet as though you weighed nothing.

The doll hummed and offered you another sweet smile. "Indeed, light as a feather."

You couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh, and the doll’s smile gained a pleased note. He started walking, and you noticed just how smooth his gait was. His chest was hard and solid, as were his arms, and he wasn’t warm the way a flesh and blood person was, but his hold was secure and safe.

The doll carried you down the hallway and up the stairs, towards a door the butler was waiting in front of. The door was opened with a polite, elegant little bow, and you peered inside.

The other dolls clearly had done their best to make the guest room presentable, but one look at the moth eaten, half-rotten bed told you your powers would be necessary.

You were set down on the bed with such care that it briefly left you speechless, and something within you wobbled dangerously like you might cry. You swallowed the feeling and thanked him quietly.

"Shout if you need anything," the doll said as he took a respectful step back. "We’ll hear you."

At your nod, he left the room, closing the door with a soft click. You took a moment to fix the bed until it felt less like you were going to catch some kind of ancient illness if you dared to lay down. Or that it might suddenly cave in beneath your weight.

The bed had been made with a sort of focused care, to ensure it would last and look as pretty as possible for as long as possible.

The second you laid down on the freshly-fixed bed, the sheets smelling clean, you immediately fell asleep.

You woke to murky sunshine, and it took you a moment to realize that it was because of the dirty windows and not because you were caught in some strange dream-like space.

Sitting up, you winced at all the aches that flared to life, and as you took a moment to check yourself over, you realized that your legs were covered in scratches. You remembered the branches and bushes and tearing through them heedlessly, barely feeling the pain that poked through your clothes.

Your mouth was dry, and you felt parched. As you stood up, you realized that the soles of your feet were rather bruised, as well. It was painful to walk, but there was no way around it.

Limping to the door, you opened it, peering out into a rundown hallway. You called out hesitantly, your voice coming out more hushed than intended in the silence of the house.

When it remained silent, you left the guest room, eyeing the floor closely in case there was glass or other broken bits anywhere. You just might really get the infection of your life if you stepped on anything sharp in this place.

As you wandered down the hallway, you wondered if the dolls were asleep. You briefly considered the possibility that they only came alive at night but discarded the thought. People had broken into the manor during the daytime in the past and had gotten chased out, as well.

You wondered how much of the damage the dolls had sustained over the years had come from people who had broken into the manor or if other things had hurt them.

You walked past a set of double doors, only to jump in startled surprise when one half creaked open. They did not open fully like doors did in old, scary tales meant to frighten the listeners. It was more the sort of movement that was caused by drafts of air.

You could see an office beyond the doors with old papers and warped books and a stained carpet. The windows were closed and dirty, but to your surprise, the space wasn’t neat like the other rooms had been despite the decay. It looked like someone had ransacked it multiple times.

The tall doll had told you that the Lady of the House had disappeared seemingly without a trace. You doubted that the dolls would still be here if they knew where their creator had gone or why she had left.

Maybe you could help. Your powers restored things to how they had been before getting destroyed or broken, and that included books and papers. It wasn’t like you had anywhere to be, nor did you know where to go. All you wanted, for now, was to avoid the former lord that might still be lurking outside.

If you could help the dolls, they might let you hide here a while, or, at the very least, you could leave knowing you had helped them figure out where their creator had gone. No one should wait fruitlessly for a loved one’s return until only grief and questions remained.

Even if you had no idea if their creator was still alive, they might at least figure out what had happened to her.

Peering up and down the hall and finding no dolls in sight, you inched the doors open a little further. The floorboards creaked in a long sigh when you stepped into the messy office. Strangely enough, the entire space felt like it was holding its breath, anticipation coiling through the air.

Or, no, that was just you. You exhaled to shake off some of the tension that drew your muscles tight, and you snuck further into the room, reaching for the first fistful of papers. The documents straightened and turned pristine between your fingers, the previously mostly faded writing returning in a looping, pretty hand.

The papers were written correspondence with some clients who had asked for dolls for their children, along with other toys. There was no mention of them being magical, nor was it reflected in the prices.

It seemed the Lady of the House had made her money with her mundane craft, her magical abilities kept a secret.

You looked through more papers, carefully sorting them off to the side as you got lost in the work. There were documents about materials purchased for the Lady’s work and for repairs around the manor, but nothing that stood out as strange or unusual.

The books were printed with no hidden notes or anything added to them between lines. They ranged from all sorts of topics from agriculture to history to tales both fantastical and based in reality to books about other countries and their cultures.

At last, you found handwritten notebooks, though they were well-hidden, and you only discovered them because the furniture you fixed up in passing was proud of its secret drawer.

The notebooks were dedicated to the process of making the dolls, which materials to choose, how to work with them, and how to paint and craft and enchant everything.

The creator must have had naturally-gifted magic like yours since there were no sigils needed, no spellcraft mentioned, just... a touch. A touch and an intent and a vision. It was the kind of special magic one was born with.

However, as interesting as the notebooks were, they too contained not a single hint as to where the Lady had gone.

You had just gone through everything in the vicinity when the floor creaked in a very deliberate manner. Startling, you looked up to see the tall doll, his long, dark red hair shining like freshly spilled blood in the murky sunlight.

His eyes were the color of topaz, you realized. They looked like perfectly polished gems in the light of day. It honestly wouldn’t surprise you if his eyes had been made with gemstones.

"I would get angry," he said, voice quiet as his gaze wandered over all the repaired papers and books, as well as the desk and shelves, "but you’re undoing the damage left by the tooth of time and our desperate searching. I am grateful for that, even though I know no one is supposed to be in here."

"I’m trying to figure out what happened to her," you said, gesturing at the documents around you. "Maybe there is a note you couldn’t find because it got ruined."

His face softened, and he walked inside, steps silent now despite the manor’s noisy floorboards, and he fluidly knelt down before you. He pressed his hand to his chest, where a human’s heart would be, and bent his head.

"Please," he said, voice heavy and solemn, and if unspoken hopes could have a certain tone, that was what he sounded like. "If you can find anything, we’d be forever in your debt. Please, help us."

"Of course." You ducked your head to meet his gaze, offering a small smile. "I’ll do whatever I can. If there are any other documents or books or... really, anything, please bring them to me."

"I will tell the others," the doll said and rose, only to pause when someone gently knocked at the door. You both looked over to see the butler standing at the threshold, prim and proper and with a grateful, painfully hopeful gleam in his pale blue eyes.

"I will extend my eternal gratitude for your aid, as well," the butler said with great dignity and yet a hint of vulnerability. "In the meantime, I will endeavor to find proper sustenance for you. Is there anything else I could acquire for you?"

"No, but maybe keep an eye out for other people?" you couldn’t help but request. "Someone might come looking for me, and I do not wish to be found."

The tall doll’s face turned hard and unforgiving, a fierceness in his eyes that hadn’t been there previously. "I will ensure you won’t come to any harm," he promised. "The body from your pursuer has already been disposed of, and we’ll handle any other issues in the same manner."

You certainly wouldn’t shed a single tear if the former lord died, not after what he had done. What other things he might have done to you, had he succeeded in kidnapping you. You firmly pushed that thought aside, just like you pushed aside all thoughts about your parents.

You would like to think that they were worried about your disappearance, but you knew better. You knew that they would be angry more than anything else, calling you ungrateful and wondering where you had run off to, saying that you’d return soon enough once you realized how harsh life on the road was.

Instead, you focused on the study around you, fixing up other things as you went along. The floorboards smoothed out with only a touch but yielded no hidden spaces beneath. The walls returned to their beautiful glamour the same way, but all you found was a small ring that had gotten wedged in a corner ages ago.

You found no lost writing or secret notes anywhere, not even as you patted down the chairs for any hidden bits. You sat back with a heavy sigh, one arm still draped over a freshly-repaired cushy chair, when your gaze fell to something you had ignored entirely up until now.

The fireplace.

Surely not, you thought, but you still got up and walked over, patting away bits of dust from your hands as you crouched down.

There were, of course, limits to your magic. If something broke and was remade into something new, there was no undoing that. It had stopped being the old thing, after all, and therefore, there was nothing for you to fix.

Similarly, if something got burnt to nothing entirely, there were no pieces left for you to grasp and repair.

And yet, right there in the cold and dusty ash, you spotted bits and pieces of burnt paper. Little things that had survived because they were just corners with nothing written on them. It hadn’t been important to continue burning what held no information, after all.

You reached out, carefully picking up the first corner, and you closed your eyes and focused. Thankfully, it was just a sheet of paper; if you had to reconstruct something large out of a leftover sliver, that would have quickly left you drained.

When you opened your eyes again, you looked down at a letter in which a fancy hand had written words that were harsh and unforgiving. And right at the bottom was a sigil stamped onto the paper. A rearing horse with two crossed swords behind it.

Hurriedly setting the letter aside, you dove for the other bits of surviving paper pieces, and you began to repair the papers as quickly as you could.

You had a bit of a headache by the end, largely because you had been using your powers for quite a while now, and a break was in order, but at long last, you had found what you were looking for.

The former lord had threatened the creator of the dolls after finding out about her talent. He told her he’d reveal what she was capable of, and he had enough influence and power to ensure she’d be tried for witchcraft. That she and her creations would be hunted to the end of the world.

That her children and companions would burn to ash before her body had grown cold.

It wasn’t hard to figure out how the Lady of the House had answered, even without her letters in the mix, since the Lord’s responses said it all.

And at the very end, there was a letter that demanded she meet him for a proper conversation. The date at the top was the most recent one among the letters – though even that dated back twenty years.

It was the last letter the creator had ever received, and you were willing to bet the clothes on your back that she had gone to meet the former lord. That she hadn’t returned since.

The same former lord that was now after you. A man rumored to collect magical people for his vendetta. Bitter anger bubbled up within you, right up until the moment that you realized the creator of the dolls might still be alive. The dolls might yet get their mother and dear friend back.

Gathering everything, you pushed to your feet, briefly pausing when a wave of dizziness gripped you, before you rushed out of the room with limping steps.

"I found it!" you shouted, only to scream in alarm when the long-limbed doll dropped from the ceiling, silent as a ghost. You gasped, hand pressed to your heart, "Oh, oh dear, I am so sorry about that."

"Oh no, I am sorry," the doll murmured, shrinking back, long limbs getting tucked in, and they offered a chagrined little grimace of a smile. "I was cleaning up a bit when I heard you. Would you like for me to fetch Floric?"

Was that the tall doll’s name? Now that you thought about it, you hadn’t asked for their names nor offered your own. Considering the horrendous night you had had, you couldn’t really blame yourself. Still, you rectified that quickly, introducing yourself properly and the spindly doll perked up.

"I’m Rav," they said. "I’ll go get my brother."

They left swiftly, and you barely took a few limping steps before Floric bounded up the stairs. He had his long red hair in a single braid now, one someone had decorated with blooming weeds and little wild flowers.

You thrust out the papers, feeling excited despite the lingering worry about the former lord that gurgled low in your gut. "I know what happened!"

His eyes widened slightly, and he took the papers, reading them so quickly it was startling. He closed his eyes for a moment, emotions heavy on his face, and you could see anew why their creator had gone to face the lord alone instead of involving her dolls in this. They were truly alive with emotions and independent thoughts all their own.

Had you made those kinds of creations yourself, you would have set fire to the world to try to keep them safe.

Floric swiftly folded the papers to safely put them in a pocket, and then he reached out with his hands, hesitating before he touched you. Without much thought, you opened your own arms, and then you were pulled into a hug. His body was hard and cool, but the way he gathered you close made you feel precious.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice thick and heavy with emotion. "Only last night you arrived, and already, you have done what I feared was impossible. You repaired us and gave us answers. I don’t know how to thank you enough."

You had no idea what to say until you remembered the former lord and what he was doing. That, like the Lady, you, too, would have disappeared without a trace, never to be seen again.

"I want to help take down this man," you said. "I was running from him last night."

With a sudden, sharp gasp, you pulled back, gripping his arms as he looked down at you in surprise. You hurriedly added, "He might still be in the area, if we hurry, we might be able to catch him."

"Allow me," he said, urgent and with a tone that would have been excited if not for the darkness that now bled into his words, and you barely managed a confused nod, before you were whisked off your feet.

Instead of the bridal carry of last night, you now found yourself actually sitting on one of his arms, your knees to either side of him as he turned and practically raced down the stairs.

The other dolls swiftly crowded close, confused and concerned, until Floric told them what you had found out. The painful, naked hope mixed with furious anger made all of them look even more alive than they previously had.

"We shall stay to guard the house," the butler said, offering a slightly moldy bag of tarnished coin. "Please, buy anything you need, our Lady will understand."

"Be careful," Rav requested, frowning in worry and wringing their long-fingered hands anxiously. "Please come back."

"We will," you found yourself promising, voice fiercer than it had ever been. You would not fall into the former lord’s hands again. No matter what, he had to be stopped, and this time, you weren’t alone. With Floric, you had a chance against him.

With the coin secured in Floric’s pocket, he left the house with a large stride, swiftly trotting along, and you realized within moments that you really must weight nothing to him and he had no need for breath either. He could likely keep this pace up for a long time even with you perched on his arm.

The carriage was gone, of course, and there were too many tracks in the dirt, courtesy of the big market today, to tell where he had gone.

"Let’s head into town in case he went back to look for me," you suggested. "If worse comes to worst, he’s gone back home, and we’ll ask around until someone can tell us where he lives."

Floric nodded and turned on his heels, striding down the road with sharp focus. But all the while, his hold on you remained secure and gentle.

The former lord, of course, was not in town when you arrived, but plenty of people seemed startled and then confused to see you. The very first person you spoke to, a cobbler whose tools you had fixed with your magic last week, told you all about what had happened that morning.

How your parents had told everyone that you had spurned a most fortunate match and had decided to run away instead. How hurt and devastated they were at your actions.

You weren’t even surprised anymore, though the anger that gripped you like a sudden, acidic burn when the cobbler scolded you for treating your parents like this did come as a surprise.

"You speak of things you know nothing about," Floric said sharply while you found yourself speechless with bitter, hurt fury. He sounded angry enough on your behalf that it gave you the chance to breathe and sort your thoughts while the cobbler looked affronted.

"They sold me," you bit out, the man falling silent, eyes widening. "And when I left, I was then kidnapped by the very same man they wanted to sell me to. Because he wanted my magic, and he didn’t want to pay my parents anything for me. Haven’t you heard, good sir, just what they want in exchange for my hand in marriage?"

The cobbler looked uncomfortable at that, and you shook your head, deciding, "We’re done here."

Floric, thankfully, didn’t hesitate to carry you away. You had felt a tad embarrassed upon entering the town on his arm, but now you were too upset to worry about that. Besides, people hurriedly parted ways in front of Floric and his imposing stature, as well as his determined stride and sharp gaze.

And, well, your feet were still pretty banged up, and it would have been too painful to walk for too long.

It clearly didn’t take long before news reached your parents, and just as you had wheedled some information out of a chatty merchant, you heard your name called across the marketplace.

Floric glanced over his shoulder while you leaned back a bit, trusting that he wouldn’t let you fall. You spotted your parents weaving their way towards you, faces full of blustering, self-righteous anger.

Your grip on his shoulder tightened and you felt the way he tucked you slightly closer against his side.

"Enemies?" he asked quietly, and it was so unexpected and yet also accurate that you had to laugh.

It was a hard, almost bitter sort of laugh, but it broke through the ugly knot of hurt and betrayal that had started to wrap around your heart like black brambles. When you gave his shoulder a pat, he gently set you on your feet.

To your surprise, he turned to stand beside you, hand falling to the blade at his side, supportive and encouraging and protective.

You hadn’t talked back to your parents a lot in the past. You had loved your work too much to be upset at the long hours you often worked, and you had liked making them happy.

But you knew, with the same certainty that rivers flowed and winds blew, that you had to do something now.

They had already sold you once before. They had already shown what you were worth to them and what your wishes were worth compared to cold, hard gold.

You had been willing to do a lot for them; you loved them, after all. Even now, a part of you loved them, though that love was drenched in bitterness and bleeding betrayal and deep down, a child’s wail after it had learned that the world was not always just and fair. That the ones meant to cherish and protect it would turn their backs on it willingly and readily.

"No," you said as your parents reached you, your voice filled with a strength that you hadn’t known you possessed, in a tone you had never heard yourself use.

It was hard and unyielding, like a centuries-old oak, and you would not allow them to cut you down so their lives would be warm and bright while yours burned.

Your parents drew short in surprise, rearing back as though you had slapped them. You could see their mouths fall open in affront, anger spreading like flames fanned, and you stepped forward, your hurt feet forgotten for the moment.

"You have no right to me anymore," you snapped out in that same hard, unyielding tone, and your teeth suddenly felt sharp in your mouth, like powerful fangs. Your lungs felt bigger and filled with heat, like a dragon had lent you its fiery breath, and strength surged through your limbs like a swelling tide.

Like something within you had just mended itself, now that you finally chose yourself at long last, put yourself first rather than someone else.

This far and no further, your entire spirit sparked and snarled.

"I will not have it!" you nearly shouted when they sharply inhaled to talk over you, and you were only half aware of how silent everyone around you had grown, townsfolk staring with wide eyes. "You sold me to a monster to further your own gain. For years, I gave you everything I had, my powers, my money, everything you could want, and you couldn’t even care about me enough to let me choose a spouse I love."

There were tears welling up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, that same snarling fierceness keeping the hurt away from your heart for the moment.

"We are done," you said, each word loud and clear. "You will get no more from me. I refuse to die groveling at your feet."

"You ungrateful shit!" your mother bellowed while your father looked ready to pop a blood vessel. "We did so much for you-"

"You don’t get to blame me for your choice to have a child!" you interrupted, a brief, hard, and humorless laugh escaping as you spread your arms. "These are the consequences of your actions; I hope you enjoy them. Floric, we’re leaving."

He effortlessly slipped into place at your back as you walked away, each step a sharp pain along the soles of your feet, the cold stone and grit of the marketplace unhelpful.

You managed to walk all the way out of town with your silent companion, and the moment no one was around anymore, you felt your breath hitch. Pressing your palms over your face, you tried to stop yourself from crying, but all it took was Floric’s gentle hand on your shoulder, and then you were sobbing.

He offered a hug, and you let your head fall against his hard chest, his arms circling around you. He held you gently, one hand rubbing between your shoulders until you pulled back, sniffing and grimacing.

"Sorry you had to see that," you murmured, reaching up to scrub roughly at your face.

"No," he said quietly, and his hands briefly touched yours, making you pause. He reached out, carefully and slowly enough to ensure you welcomed his touch.

His fingertips gently brushed your tears away before he cradled your face in his hands. "There is no shame in emotions, no weakness in vulnerability. Thank you for letting me guard your back."

And the tears were back but for an entirely different reason this time. Floric just patiently brushed each one away, and when you at last inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, you felt bruised inside but... strangely lighter.

Like you had shaken off shackles, and now that you were free, you could heal from the wounds their too-tight grip had left on you.

"I fear we forgot to buy supplies," he murmured, and you huffed out a helpless, watery little chuckle.

A thought found you, daring and perhaps stupid, but you felt like it was only fair. "I’ll guide you to my old home," you said. "Let’s grab everything we need from there."

Floric smiled, almost a grin, pleased and mischievous. "Gladly. May I?"

At your nod, he scooped you up once more, and you guided him back into town, through alleys and a barn, once, to remain unnoticed.

Your parents weren’t home yet, and you grabbed what you needed, along with your pair of boots. Even if your bruised feet didn’t much like wearing them, they were warmer and safer this way.

Lastly, you grabbed the saved-up money your parents had hidden away. Money you had earned through your dedication to both them and your work. Money they had wanted to spend on luxuries once they had enough to regain their old lives.

You left with a backpack of food and supplies and a satchel heavy with money, Floric insisting on carrying everything since he wouldn’t notice the weight anyway.

The town was left behind quickly, and while a part of you was sad, you were fine with that. With turning your back on your old home. Perfectly fine, in fact. You had no friends, after all, not really, not with how much you had worked, and you had no desire to combat all the gossip you would face if you stayed, either.

Besides, there was a former lord to topple, and, should she still live afterwards, a Lady to rescue.

Floric seemed more than willing to carry you again, both because there was no way you’d be able to keep up with his pace for too long, and because your feet still hurt quite a bit.

Your hometown was left in the dust as the two of you traveled towards the city the former lord called home. Where at first you felt anticipatory determination, your mood mellowed out as the first hour passed, and you soon grew tired of being silent.

"Tell me about yourself," you asked, and Floric seemed to perk up a bit.

"I enjoy feeding the animals that visit the manor," he answered, his small smile soft. "I developed quite the friendship with the resident crows. They like to bring me things."

That was incredibly sweet. Floric turned to you with quiet expectation, as though hoping you’d tell him something about you, as well, in return. Only, there wasn’t too much to you, was there? You worked, and you loved your work, but there hadn’t been much time for hobbies.

No more, you told yourself firmly, straightening a bit, and he slightly adjusted his grip to ensure you remained comfortable. "I want to see more of the world," you decided. "I’ve always wanted to learn horseback riding, as well."

Floric offered you a warm smile, his eyes reminding you of autumn sunsets in this light. "I always wanted to pet a horse."

And with that, the two of you started to talk about things you had always wanted to do, well-known and secret dreams alike, little ones and big ones, things you had longed for in the quiet hours of the dawn and late at night before sleep found you.

It was a surprise to find out that the dolls could rest, though they could also choose not to. Many slept anyway, if only to make time pass quicker.

You reached the next town at noon, and while you asked around for more information about the former lord, Floric left to take care of a few more purchases.

When you stepped out of the tavern, you saw Floric waiting for you - with a horse. It was a pretty chestnut mare with perked ears, and when you hesitantly reached out, she had the softest nose. She nosed at your palm, looking calm and sweet.

"Why?" you whispered, and something bruised and aching within you grew tender and soft.

No one had ever gifted you anything. Your parents certainly hadn’t. You had kept enough of your earned money to buy yourself clothes and a few other things, but that wasn’t the same as... this.

As being thought about. As being worth either the effort to create something by hand or the expense to have things purchased for you. You hadn’t even been given plucked wild flowers before.

"This is too much," you found yourself protesting as Floric held out the reins. Stupidly, you felt like crying again.

Floric’s face was as soft as you had ever seen it. He reached out, and you didn’t fight him when he took your hand, lifting it and turning it up, pressing the soft leather of the reins against your palm. He closed your fingers around them.

"It’s not," he said, quiet and soft, like the words themselves were as precious as the impossible gift he was giving you. "After all you did for us, this is nothing in comparison. She’s yours, if you want her."

"You just got tired of carrying me," you half joked, blinking back tears, and a watery laugh wobbled out of you.

"I’d never," he said, still smiling, but his words were earnest. "Though, I find I like seeing that smile on your face more."

You fumbled around for words for a moment. "Flatterer," you said at last, and he laughed. It was a beautiful laugh, clear as a sunny day and so infectious that you found yourself chuckling along with him.

"Alright, help me into the saddle," you said, giving the mare another gentle pat, her fur so soft it was a marvel. "If I fall, I’m going to blame you."

He held out his hand to you, eyes warm and shining like autumn sunsets. "I wouldn’t let you fall," he promised.

You believed him, and there was something about his steady support and this unhesitant trust you had that made you feel fearless in return.

In the end, it took nearly two weeks to track down the former lord’s home. It was a big estate, well-maintained and with a number of patrolling guards.

You had left your sweet mare, who truly was the best, tied to a tree, well out of sight of the estate. You and Floric had climbed up a tree to peer across the wall, the foliage keeping you hidden from the guards should they bother to look up.

"I can see a way in," you murmured, Floric’s grip on your knees keeping you secure as you leaned forward a little further.

You were standing on his shoulders to get a higher view, since the other branches were too thin to support either of you.

"But let’s not forget that necromancer in his employ," you added. "Who knows what will await us inside."

"I will deal with any threats, don’t worry," he promised as he looked up at you, expression serious, and his eyes looked more like dark amber now. "No harm shall befall you."

While that was incredibly touching and very reassuring, you didn’t want him to get hurt, either.

"I know," you said, shifting to get off of his shoulders, and he helped you, keeping a secure hold on you until you were standing solidly on the branch beside him.

You looked back at the large manor. "Let’s both be careful, though. It would be for the best if we can avoid being spotted for as long as possible."

The two of you settled in for a long and ultimately boring watch. It seemed like nothing in particular was going on. The sun began to set, and then it was time to move.

The patrol pattern of the guards hadn’t changed once during the day, so Floric leapt down the tree first and then caught you when you followed him. He set you onto your feet and followed you over to the estate wall. Scaling it was easy enough, especially with a doll who could easily toss you all the way to the top, and there was plenty of shrubbery on the other side to duck into to hide.

Floric was silent as he followed you, and the window you had spotted earlier was still ajar when you reached it. No one had closed it once the entire day.

Peering inside, you saw nothing but an empty, ostentatious room. It seemed to be some kind of study, with plenty of books on the shelves and a very tidy desk. No wonder that the window had remained open if a cleaning servant had forgotten to close it and no one had come in since.

Slipping inside, Floric followed you and snuck over to the door to check the hallway, while you eased a few drawers open to check the contents. Nothing, but plenty of blank papers decorated with the rearing horse and the crossed blades behind it.

Apparently, the former lord was so rich he could have a study room just for show. Or perhaps for guests who felt like writing fancy letters during their stay.

Floric waited until you joined him, and the two of you snuck down the hallway, opening doors and peering inside. You found nothing but empty rooms full of gorgeous furniture and polished decorations.

Even the paintings on the walls shimmered a little here and there, as though crushed gems or gold powder had been mixed into the paint.

The hallway led to a big entrance hall with a gleaming crystal chandelier and stairs leading up to the next floor. Two guards were stationed by the entrance door; one yawned briefly, but otherwise they were awake and calmly focused.

You and Floric eased back before they could notice either of you, and instead, you looked for alternative routes. You had searched through most of the first floor, avoiding patrolling guards twice, before you found a set of stairs that led down. The stairs were behind a rather well-hidden door, tucked out of the way, as though intended to go unnoticed.

The steps were made of cut stone and so worn down in some places that the edges had rounded. The stairs wound down in a tight spiral, and you and Floric listened for a moment for any movement before entering.

The air smelled cold and a bit damp, and the moment Floric closed the door behind him, the gentle light of the hallway lamps disappeared, plunging everything into pitch-black darkness.

"I can see just fine," Floric whispered, his hand finding your shoulder. "I can guide you."

"Thanks," you whispered back, and Floric helped you, carefully and slowly, to descend the steps without you slipping and tumbling down.

"Looks like this is a dungeon," Floric murmured softly when you reached the end of the stairs. "Wait here a moment."

You felt a brush of his fingertips against your arm as he left, and then you heard nothing until flint struck stone and a torch was lit, revealing your surroundings. It was indeed a dungeon, old and musty and utterly silent.

It did, however, smell like iron down here, and you weren’t sure if it was the slightly rusty doors or something else until you walked forward and stilled. There were bodies in the first cell. Butchered apart and piled off to the side. The cell was big enough to fit a surgeon’s table, as well.

Symbols had been etched into the table, forming a complex, sprawling magical network, and atop it laid a body, neat stitches keeping it whole after it had clearly been assembled from different parts.

When you reached out to touch the door, it opened easily. You heard Floric call your name, questioning and quiet, and you stepped inside, unable to form a single word.

This was... awful. You had no idea how to describe how horrifying this sight was, and your gaze fell to a surgeon’s kit off to the side, the metal of the tools glinting in the torch light.

You grabbed a scalpel and turned to the table, bringing the blade down on it. The blade made a horrible screeching-scrape sound as you ruined the sigil with deep carves until you hoped it could no longer be used.

Until no more corpses would rise and walk again. And, hopefully, no more people would be kidnapped and killed.

Floric was waiting in the hallway, and he was silent when you rejoined him, his face solemn, but there was a sense of satisfaction to the way he moved, as though he was glad about what you had done.

There were two more cells with bodies, all of them bloodless and cold and clearly spelled to not rot and decompose.

And then, in the next cell, the torchlight reflected off of some sort of crystalline surface. Stepping closer, you and Floric leaned in until your faces nearly touched the iron bars of the cell. It took you a moment to realize what you were seeing, and by the time you did, Floric had burst into a flurry of movements.

Bodies sat in the cell, encased and suspended in big crystals. The door was locked when Floric tried it, but that didn’t stop him. With a single, powerful yank, he ripped the door off its hinges and tossed it across the hallway, making you wince at the truly horrendous amount of noise it made.

Floric didn’t care, or maybe he was no longer aware of his surroundings as he rushed towards one of the crystals. A woman was inside, dressed prim and proper, and she must’ve laughed a lot, for there were little wrinkles surrounding her mouth and crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes.

"Mother," Floric breathed, fingertips brushing the crystal, before he turned to you. "It’s her, we found her!"

You joined him in the cell, frowning in worry. Was she still alive? The crystal clearly had been made with magic, but could it be cracked open safely? Or would she die if you tried to forcibly free her?

The sound of heels clicking on the stairs made both of you still.

"My, and here I thought I would have to pay mercenaries to find my little miracle fixer." It was the voice of the former lord; your heart leapt into your throat. "Tell me, why are you here?"

Had he spotted only you on your way through the estate or was he aware of Floric’s presence too?

Your thoughts raced, before you gritted your teeth, and you reached out to grab the torch from Floric’s hands.

"Hide," you whisper-hissed at him, and you quickly interrupted him when he looked like he was going to protest, "He might talk about all of this if he thinks it’s just me who’s here."

You jerked your head towards the crystals and stepped out of the cell, your heart pounding so hard you felt it pulse in your neck and wrists. Your mouth was dust-dry, but you straightened your shoulders and lifted the torch high enough to illuminate the space around you.

Just in time, for the former lord entered the dungeon, looking so self-assured and perfectly put together that you knew he hadn’t gone to sleep yet. He had still been awake when something had alerted him of your presence. Perhaps some kind of hidden alarm that you had triggered unknowingly?

He also certainly seemed to think that he had the upper hand, and that made you very wary.

"I see you found my collection," he said, gesturing to the open cell to your right, then to the cells behind him. "And my colleague’s."

When you didn’t speak, he was more than happy to continue, "I have to say, I am surprised to see you here. Have you perhaps changed your mind about being in my service?"

That did give you a good opening. "I might work for you," you lied, and he smiled, smarmy and superior, and you wanted to smack him over the head with the torch. "But I heard a number of bad things about you and I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t walk to my doom."

"Certainly not," he sniffed, and you pointedly tipped your head towards the cell with the crystals. About five people were in there. He rolled his eyes. "They’re just... waiting. For the day of reckoning."

For his revenge, more like.

"Why wait?" you asked. "You seem to be in a good enough position already."

"Of course, I could take back my seat as a lord now," he answered, confident and arrogant. "But that’s not good enough for me anymore. You see, it’s been so. many. years." He spat out the last three words individually with an amount of loathing that almost made you step back. "There are certain slights that need to be repaid in kind."

He wanted to be king. Either that, or he wanted to wipe out each and every noble house that had once turned against him and claim his seat at the very top. To sit upon a throne of bones and blood.

"You are the last puzzle piece, you see," he said, shifting his weight to stand more firmly, and his smile was sharp and dangerous. "The one who can repair and fix everything. With you, I can restore something powerful."

Most likely some kind of magical artifact, something that was capable of either great destruction or great chaos. Something that, once made whole, gave him far too much power.

"How did you notice me?" you asked, mind still racing. "I thought I was pretty sneaky just now. And why did you come alone? Why not bring a guard?"

He smirked and lifted his hand, snapping his fingers. A crystal, of the same hue as the ones that held the five people captive, appeared above his fingers.

"You’re no danger to me, we both know that, and my colleague is very aware of every heartbeat in my home," he said. "She’s waiting upstairs since this conversation between us doesn’t concern her."

Your grip around the torch tightened, and his smile turned into a mean grin that looked downright villainous.

"You’d look quite wonderful eternally preserved," he mused. "I will be sure to admire you until the time comes when I have need of you."

A sudden chill gripping your body was all the warning you got before crystals started to grow rapidly, encasing your feet before you could even try to dodge.

Floric used that moment to lunge out from the cell behind you, the former lord’s eyes growing wide in alarm. He stumbled back, but Floric had already drawn his blade, the sharp metal resting at his throat in the blink of an eye.

The crystals stopped growing near your hip, and wherever they touched you, your body felt strangely numb and far away, as though your legs were no longer part of you.

"Undo it," Floric demanded in a dark voice, an unspoken threat wrapping around his words.

The former lord was gaping for a second, eyes wide and scared, but then he blinked and the smirk returned, if a bit more shakily. "Kill me, and you lose them all forever."

The crystals started to grow again, and for the first time, you saw Floric looking unsettled. Unsure and downright haunted, his blade didn’t waver, but considering the way his gaze darted around, he didn’t know what to do. If he killed the lord, he could save you – most of you – but lose his mother.

If he did nothing, he’d lose you, but there might at least still be a chance to save everyone later. Unless he got destroyed, then he couldn’t save anyone.

The crystal reached your ribs, and your hands fell against it. It didn’t feel cold, strangely enough, but not warm either. Weird. Wrong. And numbing.

It was nothing but sheer desperation and a last ditch effort that made you use your magic. It was a mindless decision, your heart in your throat and your stomach squeezing so hard you were afraid you were going to throw up.

The crystal was filled with the lord’s malice and a downright starved hunger for vengeance. To regain what had been taken from him and ensure it would never, ever happen again.

Except, his powers weren’t meant to be used like this. The crystal was meant to become something, to take shape, and it had once been used to create toys and decorations and expensive, beautiful artifacts. It had once brought great wealth to a man born into the lowest noble house of the kingdom.

The second your powers took hold of that crystal, you realized that by encasing you in it and nothing more, it was forced to remain incomplete in order to trap people within. It created a timeless space where the crystal waited to be given a final shape. It was like it was holding it’s breath, hoping for its master to return and finish what he had started.

It must’ve been sheer fucking dumb luck for the former lord to discover what he could do to other people by simply only using half of what his magic was meant to do.

But your powers guided. They repaired and fixed and restored and made sure things took the shape they were meant to. With your magic surging into the crystal, it could become what it was supposed to be.

The numbness disappeared from your limbs as the crystal shattered and reformed and where it had almost encased you, you now saw a rearing horse forming before you. Beautiful and shimmering in the light like it had rainbows trapped within itself. It was a priceless masterpiece.

The former lord’s eyes were wide as he stared at you and he suddenly looked ill. "No," he whispered, but a twitch of his hand was rewarded with the press of Floric’s blade, blood beading at his throat.

Staring at your hands, you inhaled sharply and turned towards the cell. The former lord shouted once more, and you heard a scuffle, Floric most likely pinning him thoroughly.

You slapped your palms against the first crystal and let your magic surge. The crystal downright sighed with relief as it turned into dozens of rabbits that looked like they were made of perfectly clear glass.

Floric’s mother stumbled forward with a gasp, her gaze wild, and she reared back when she saw you, startled and then confused.

"Floric’s outside," you gasped, already rushing to the next crystal.

The former lord was howling, thrashing in a way that told you Floric was holding him captive.

The other crystals fell away with relieved sighs as well, turning into more animals that fell to the ground without suffering a single chip. You had no idea who the other people were, but they too were startled and disoriented, and when you hurried out of the cell again, they followed you.

Floric had the former lord in a headlock, the man looking furious and desperate and thoroughly humiliated, as he fought fruitlessly to get free. Floric didn’t even sway at the lord’s desperate wrenching and shoving, and even the kick the man aimed at him had no effect.

No, Floric just stared at his mother with visceral relief, and she looked back at him relieved and worried and proud all at once.

"I kept everyone safe," Floric said, and then she was moving. Floric knocked the former lord out and dropped him in time to wrap his arms around her. She tucked his head into the crook of her neck and whispered something, fierce and with tears in her voice.

Floric gripped her back with the desperation of a son who finally, finally had his mother back. Who knew his family would, at long last, be alright again. That the time of grief and uncertainty was over.

"I’ll tie the little shit up," one of the people behind you murmured, stepping past you to grab the former lord and rip his jacket to pieces to secure him.

You barely had a moment to really bask in the bone-deep relief that swept through you now that danger was averted before you remembered the necromancer.

Floric went up the stairs first, you and the others following him with great determination, but the hallway beyond the door was empty.

"I’ll contact the king right away," a slightly scruffy looking man murmured with a huff, and his eyes started to glow faintly. "We’ll have this sorted in no time. And thank you, truly, for saving us."

Floric’s mother turned to you, and before you knew it, you were dragged into a hug, as well.

"Thank you," she whispered, fierce and trembling with gratitude. "Thank you so much."

Floric joined her, wrapping his arms around you and his mother, his forehead gently resting against your temple.

"We have so much to tell you," he whispered. "Everyone missed you so much. Don’t ever leave us behind again."

"I will always protect you, no matter what," his mother answered. "This I can promise, I will never leave you behind willingly."

Floric’s grip tightened slightly. "Then we’ll simply have to go with you," he answered, and you couldn’t help but grin at his tone. "Family sticks together, isn’t that what you always said?"

His mother laughed helplessly and pulled back. "How cheeky you became," she said with so much fondness that it almost made your heart ache. "Alright, alright. Family sticks together."

She glanced at you, then at the way Floric had one hand resting on your shoulder, the clear and unhidden comfort between the two of you, and her eyes suddenly gleamed.

"Oh, you truly have much to tell me, don’t you?" she smirked, and you would have felt embarrassed if Floric’s hand hadn’t slid down your arm to ever so gently take your hand. The curl of his fingers around yours was hesitant, and you intertwined yours with his decisively.

"Much indeed," you said, and from the corner of your eye you noticed the truly brilliant smile that appeared on Floric’s face. It was only then that you realized you, too, were smiling, a little breathless and nervous, but earnest and hopeful.

"Mother, please meet the one who saved us all," Floric said, gesturing grandly at you with his free hand, looking proud, and there was a happy shine to his eyes as he met your gaze. "And whose brilliance and bravery brought us all the way here."

And what else could you do, but hold his hand tighter and stand taller and smile back with all the gladness in your heart?

It took less than a month before the king’s forces had captured the necromancer. She, along with the former lord, were put on trial, and you and Floric were invited to the capital to be lauded as heroes who had thwarted a great threat against the kingdom and royal family.

Floric’s mother, who told you that you might ask for her son’s hand in marriage at any time, had accompanied you to the capital to make sure no one found out that her son was made of wood and metal and porcelain. Or that the rest of her family wasn’t made of flesh and blood, either.

All the dolls had met up with their mother by then, and all of them had cried when they had hugged her, before hugging you as well, whispering their gratitude over and over.

The grand estate of the former lord was gifted to you and Floric by the king, along with a massive bag of gold, as thanks for stopping a truly insidious plan to kill all the nobles in the land. It seemed the former lord had indeed planned to reclaim his old title and more still through a massive bloodbath.

The old guards had left the estate by then, and a number of them had been imprisoned, for they had known enough about the former lord’s plans that they were considered complicit.

You and Floric invited his mother and the other dolls to live at the estate with you, since their manor was... well, it was in a terrible state. You had offered to fix it, only to be told that there was no need, that it had served its purpose.

And the estate really was stupidly big for just two people even as you tried to fill it with life, two dogs and four cats now running around. Your sweet mare had other horses for company as well, horses you and Floric had chosen.

It got more lively when the dolls and their mother moved in, and Floric’s mother was already busy setting up a new workshop to make more dolls to fill up the household.

Your parents, who had heard of your great fortune, showed up exactly once, only to be unceremoniously told to never visit ever again. Floric stood ready at your side as you sent them away, and his mother and all the other dolls were rather angry on your behalf, as well.

Your parents left, huffing and puffing and shouting, wailing almost, about your ungratefulness and what a terrible daughter you had grown up to be.

You were glad to see them go, to finally build a life you had chosen for yourself, in which you could be truly happy.

"Promise me you'll be careful," Floric’s mother said, half a year after the whole mess with the former lord had gotten sorted out, "and write us plenty of letters!"

"We’ll be back before winter," Floric promised with a soft laugh and indulgently let his mother help him put his backpack on.

Your mare stood beside you, tacked and ready to go, and Floric turned to you with a smile that never failed to make your heart feel soft and warm in the best of ways.

"Ready?" he asked quietly, holding out his hands to lift you into the saddle.

"Of course," you said as you stepped into his hold, and you grinned up at him. "Let’s go."

There was a whole world to explore out there, after all, and who knew, maybe an adventure or two awaited you as well.

You looked forward to it all.