There once was a small girl named Ayanami Rei, who lived with her mother and father far out in the forest. Her father was a prominent merchant, but the y only had a very small house, as the father was a kind man and gave greatly to the poor. Still, they could not complain; they loved each other very much, and no dearth of money could stifle that. Every morning, just as the sun rose, the father would walk down the misty forest path on his way into town to sell his wares to the urban folk. And every morning, just as the sun rose, the sound of the door closing would awaken little Rei, who would then stand by the window and wave goodbye to her father until the mist obscured him away. As her father worked diligently out in town, little Rei would remain inside, and learn from her mother. She taught Rei how to cook and clean, but also took her out for walks in the woods, to have her become familiar with the surrounding area, should she ever become lost. Most of all though, her mother told Rei to never go down one certain path into a certain valley; it was said that a horrible presence lived that way. In spite of the grave advice, Rei continued to be happy with her family, and they lived happily as Rei grew into a beautiful child of around eight years.
But on one winter morning, just as the sun rose, Rei awoke without the sound of the door closing. She looked around, and saw her father standing over his bed, head in his hands. She got up, and walked over, clinging to his trousers as she looked on. Her mother lay in bed, pale and shaking; a dire look seized her whole face, and horrible coughs interrupted her pallid silence.
"What's going on, father?"
"Rei, your mother is…very sick."
"Is she going to be alright?"
"I don't know, Rei. I just don't know…"
And so, for the first time since Rei could remember, her father did not leave down that misty path, and her mother did not teach her and talk with her. From dawn until dusk, Rei and her father sat on the edge of the bed, trying to comfort her in her sickness. She tried to calm Rei, who couldn't hold back her tears upon seeing her mother in such pain. At one point, she asked the father if she could speak with Rei in private. He obliged, and went outside briefly. Rei's mother then reached under her blanket, and retrieved a small wooden doll, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It appeared very plain, and lacked any facial features save two dark deep pits for eyes. She gave it to her daughter, and closed her hand around it.
"Rei," she said through her coughs, "be sure never to tell anyone of this little doll, but carry it with you at all times. If you are ever in need of any help, take it out of your pocket; give it a little to eat and drink, and it will come to your aide. Take it with my blessing, and no harm shall come to you. This I promise." And so she blessed her child and called the father back inside.
Once night had fallen, Rei's father put her to bed, and told her not to worry.
"Just go to sleep, Rei. Things will be better by morning."
She answered through her tears. "They…they will?"
"She won't be suffering any more. This I promise."
Although, surely an eight year old child could not possibly have understood the grave nature of such a promise…
The next morning, Rei could not see how her father could have kept his promise to her. Her mother was not better; she had died while Rei slept. Still, at the same time as always, Rei's father walked down the misty path into town, though he pulled a small cart behind him, which carried the body of Rei's beloved mother. Rei, true to her habits of happier days, stood by the window and waved goodbye to her father for the day, and her mother forever. All that day, having no one to talk to, she stayed in her bed, crying into her hands with great bitterness. At length she remembered the doll her mother had given her, and took it from her pocket. She sat it down against the wall, and put before it a piece of bread and a cup of water, part of her supper from that evening. She got down on her knees in front of it, and implored it to help.
"Little doll, here's something to eat and drink. Please help me; I feel so alone without my mother around. I don't know what to do."
To Rei's great surprise, the doll's pit-like eyes began to glow like the flames of two candles, and it sprang to life. It stood up straight and stretched as a human face began to form on its blank wooden head. It ate a morsel from the bread and took a sip of water, and looked up at Rei's surprised, tearful face.
"Don't despair, little one; just go to sleep for now. The night seems long and bitter if you stay awake, but the morning will bring better things."
"Thank you, little doll."
At that, the doll became lifeless once again, and slumped back against the wall as it had been before. Rei took comfort in the doll's words, and fell asleep quite easily in the comfort of her bed. She kept the doll safe in her pocket that night, glad to finally have a way of coping with the sadness in her life which, unbeknownst to her, was about to grow.
