I do not own Ella Enchanted. Or the lyrics quoted at the start of the chapter.
"I am
Doll eyes
Doll mouth
Doll legs
I am
Doll arms
Big veins
Dog baitYeah, they really want you
They really want you, they really do
Yeah, they really want you
They really want you, and I do too."
Hole—Doll Parts
Chapter 1
Hattie had always loved dolls.
Pretty, pristine little things, always built of porcelain, adorned with the prettiest finishes, clothed in the finest of dresses. They were free from imperfections, free from movement and free from a voice. They were toys, the perfect, emotionless toy...
When Hattie was a child, on her sixth birthday her mother had found a beautiful doll, just for her. It was an ivory-skinned beauty, with long black hair, and clad in a green velvet frock. Its eyes were painted green, shining brightly. The second she laid her hands on her, it was love. She combed its hair, smoothed its dress—she even named it.
Ella was its name, her pretty little Ella. It was always with her, wherever she went. The mere thought of having to leave it at home sent her into a frenzy of a temper tantrum.
Ella was far too important to let out of her sight.
As Hattie grew older, the doll still kept its place in her heart, but she allowed herself to leave the house without it. But her mind was always on it. Every second of every outing, her thoughts drifted to smooth, porcelain skin. To bright, emotionless eyes and the thrill of her hand slipping just so beneath the velvet dress-
The very thought of it sent shivers down her spine.
She can still remember clearly the very first time her love for the doll had seemed to cross a line. She was thirteen, and beneath the thick covers of her bed, she found herself stroking the doll's legs. Ella had just been looking so pretty lately, and she couldn't help herself. Hattie bit her lip, wondering what it felt like up there. With shaking fingers, she let herself feel up up up Ella's dress. There was soft porcelain, but it almost felt warm, and with a gasp—a shudder—Hattie slipped her own hand up her dress.
She barely managed to muffle her screams with her pillow.
Such moments became a normal nightly occurrence, and the thought of being without them was absurd.
The day of the funeral had finally come.
Hattie's mother was set to attend the funeral of the late Lady Eleanor, a woman who her mother claimed to have been intensely close to. Hattie doubted this; her mother had such a difficult time getting close to anyone. She pondered this while brushing Ella's hair. She smiled as she watched the soft, shining black hair slip through the brush's bristles. It was such a beautiful sight, and no work of art would ever compare. Ella was a work of art all her own.
"You can't keep that doll forever, dear."
Her mother said, fussing with her hair as they prepared to leave for the funeral.
"Yes, I can. She was a gift from you, after all."
Her mother only sighed, and Hattie grudgingly tucked Ella into bed, kissed her on the head, and departed.
The funeral was a dreary affair.
The casket was open, and Hattie could see the face of the Lady Eleanor. Her expression was terribly serious, and Hattie had to stifle giggles; the dead always looked so serious. Her mind though, soon wondered to Ella, whom she'd left tucked in bed. She wondered if she was alright, if she missed her—oh, how ardentlyHattie missed her little doll. She wished she could take it everywhere again, wished she could keep it close and safe. But no, her mother had put a stop to that as soon as she'd turned eleven. She had cried, ran upstairs to her bedroom, slammed the door and resented her mother and hated everything (except Ella) for a month. It had taken an intense bout of coaxing and bribery for her mother to so much as get her downstairs for dinner.
Chancellor Thomas finally finished droning on about Lady Elanor, and when he did, her husband and daughter both made their way to the casket. The daughter's hair, Hattie noticed, was black as midnight. The same exact shade as Ella's. Hattie's attention was immediately captured—she sat up slightly, stared, watched as she closed the casket, the lid shutting with a deafening creak. There was a split second of silence, before sobs began wracking the girl's body. And as she ran from the church, Hattie noticed the faintest flash of ivory skin and green eyes.
Hattie felt her pulse quicken, and she quickly told her mother how worried she was over the poor girl, before nearly bolting from the room, in search of (hopefully) her living Ella.
She found the girl beneath a weeping willow tree, sobbing like a child. The dress she was wearing would be ruined now, and that made Hattie grimace. The only other thing she liked as much as Ella was clothes. Taking a shaky breath, Hattie knelt beside the girl, placing a hand on her back. She jumped—looking towards Hattie, and the second their eyes locked, Hattie felt her insides twist and contort and her stomach heaved and the apex between her thighs moistened and ached so terribly...
Bright, green eyes, flawless, pale skin...all of it, everything, was sitting before her with tears running down her cheeks.
"What do you want?"
Hattie simpered, "I just came to see how you were." It was a lie, really. But Hattie was a good liar, and each word slipped effortlessly from her tongue.
"This is embarrassing," the girl said, wiping her eyes and sighing in irritation when she noticed the mess she'd made of her dress.
"Bertha will never be able to make it smooth..." she mumbled, and Hattie couldn't stop staring.
"What's your name?" She asked, and the girl looked up, before answering simply "Ella."
A/N: I'm tackling doll fetishes now. Granted, the story has a lot more substance and meaning than that, but hey.