Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Look who's gone and started another story without finishing off any others! Ha ahahaha ha...yeah.
Alison
Gracefully turning, twisting and dancing through the midnight black, cloth arms stretched out in a wide embrace for it's master. Dust loved windows yawned openly to allow the familiar guest pass through once again into the dwelling. Pinpricks of light gazed afar onto the scene wearily and knowingly, light dimmed with wisdom, reluctance and unease. Slithers of silver moved comfortingly towards the object, experienced with years yet not rusty, fluidly bringing it away from the open window, aged flower splayed wallpaper and bitter cold of the night.
With an overly practised finesse, the delicate being was gently placed down onto a burgundy wooden tablet, the sides of which latched onto sturdy leather strips, strapping down the salient vandals keen on destruction. Trusty scissors were brought to the pink material with confidence, slicing through the once faultless dress up to the head of the doll. Needles swiftly pried off the pink and white dress to reveal the tanned cloth that made up the doll's body, keeping everything important inside.
Turning the doll over to face it's maker, a large weave of cinnamon wool composed the hair, falling past the doll's shoulders with one almost invisible stray wisp. Not sparing another moment, wry needles pinched the closest strand and pulled,the wool following in a marching line as it relinquished the fabric scalp. Glaring jet buttons faced the needle hands, but the string supporters were quickly severed, leaving the disapproving problem in question to be ripped out and put away in neat drawers for a later date.
Like quicksilver, a blade was picked up and ran across the length of the mouth's stitching allowing for the confined cotton to burst forth from the rosy lips and cheeks. Holding it by the middle, the hands turned the doll upside down and tentatively took hold of the stuffing before pulling it out and letting it fall mercilessly to the floor, alone.
Silent, with a petulant gaze, the empty doll looked with hollow sockets in query to it's master, awaiting to see what it will next become. Honed fingers skilfully reached into the gaping mouth past the thread teeth and down to the feet, grabbing a hold of them and rapidly pulling them back out, reversing the material to it's original beginning.
Cradling it's head like a mother would a child, sand of age was poured into the agape mouth at a steady pace, breathing life into the doll as it's chest began to rise. Once that task was complete, the creator soon placed it back onto the familiar wooden tablet before accurately putting string through the withered eye of the needle.
Sepia thread wove it's way through the soft material of the mouth, blocking the stuffing from escaping. Reaching down to it's side, the doll maker pulled on an engraved and dainty iron handle, opening a drawer filled with buttons of all sizes and colours. Scanning over them briefly, silver spikes quickly decided on the most suitable pair, steadily placing it down onto what would soon be the face. Prodding it's way through, the needle pushed through the first hole with ease before being turned slightly so the hand could grab it and continue the tedious task that awaited the creator.
Crocodile tongues greedily consumed dirty blonde strands of thick wool that were continuously being placed onto the fake head. Outlines of blue and white garments were snipped out of their material swiftly. Pins pricked the modest folds of fabric and held them snugly in place. Wry conjoined metal rested against a cobweb covered wheel for a fraction of a second, like a carpenter would re-unite with his well used tools, before pushing it into a turning motion, throwing the cobwebs off onto the floor as moonlight thread spun along the top like a figurine would in a music box. Following the thread through metal jumping hoops, it was made to swim through the baby blue sea and the frilly white froths of the waves.
Holding up the finished masterpiece, the creator gave itself a moment to admire the beautiful product. Flaxen hair fell down in pigtails past coconut milk skin, small blemishes that could be called freckled discretely coated it's cheeks. A modest pair of wire ripped glasses perched upon the small indent of the nose. Fluttering in the slight breeze, a lengthy blue dress supported the small white apron which held a dainty pocket on each side. Satisfied with the completed project, the maker silently led the doll to the open windows and let it float out into the starry night sky, determined to lure another one in.
Alison would only be one of many.