Martha frowned to herself. These passageways had, at first, seemed warm and inviting. Now every chandelier was a prison, and every cobblestone in the wall another tick on her list of things that were slowly driving the doll insane. Along with a new dress, Martha had chosen thick, luscious black curls that fell down her shoulders in pouring rivlets for her hair. Her precious Doctor was kind enough to grant her many sets of hair and stylings to choose from- though he never dressed her up himself.
Today, like all days, she headed down the corridor and pushed open the thick oak doors of her Doctor's laboratory, peeking in. Doll parts lined the walls. Odds and ends of arms, some toes, torsos and feet… all were scattered on tables and work benches, pushed out of the way in haste to make space for his latest project. A new day, a new doll. Or two, or three. The Doctor was constantly trying to immortalize beauty through the perfect woman, the perfect doll. He used to call Martha perfect, you know. A long, long time ago…
"What a lovely day!" Martha asked the coachman to stop and opened the door, heeled feet touching lush grass off the side of the road. She laughed brightly at the neigh of the horses and waved him off to go back home to her family. Martha Coeman settled her bag higher on her arm and slipped off her shoes, before the Victorian beauty walked to the lake's edge to sit. She smiled and sang to herself. Her mother had taught her the best songs… she giggled and smiled at the man beside her. Her husband, her lovely husband. They'd been married for a month now, and for an anniversary they'd come to the lake.
"And what a lovely girl! My little Martha, my little dove." He cupped Martha's cheek and smiled widely. A real smile. "You're so beautiful, so perfect… just like a porcelain doll."
Martha was kicking herself for not running away when she could have. "Doctor," she stepped in, one heeled shoe clicking onto the stone floor, echoing through the lab, "The dolls are cleaned and dressed. I've fired up the kiln and you will find your tools ready at your station." With a meek bow, the most precious doll walked over to his side in her nursing dress and headpiece, hair in thick braids down her sides. Her precious blue eyes peered at her husband, crafted heart shaped lips in a polite smile.
"Thank you, little dove. Now, the scalpel and pin." He held out a hand. With an air of regal obedience, Martha handed over the tools. When he would snap his fingers, she would hand over the materials. The gentle doll watched as, piece by piece, he created a living doll with bare hands. His hands shook, even, with the pressure he put himself under. "Perfect… perfect…" he mumbled, incoherent jumbled syllables filling the spaces between the intelligible. "The most perfect…" He slowly fitted the head onto the rest of the soft porcelain body.
Turning, he stared at Martha with cold, hawlike eyes. "Bake." He ordered. Just the words themselves ran chills up her spine, and the nurse quickly picked the doll up and hurried off to the kiln to bake her to life. Maria laid the body out with great care on a slide out platform, making sure no body part got stuck. This one did... certainly seem perfect. Her curves would be luscious, and the shape of her rosy face stirred love even within Maria's plastic heart. She did not fear so much as know that with the creation of this doll, she was signing away her spot as the one her husband loved.
Leaning down, Maria kissed the doll's forehead, and felt a weight lift from her thin shoulders.