The Hunter wakes up on the cold cobblestone, screaming, heart throbbing in terror. The same patch of stone, the same grave, the same dream, all meet him, their familiarity calming him. The beasts are not here; his blood is not spilled. He looks down to his chest.
Nothing. No clawmarks, no scars, seemingly vanished upon his awakening.
The Hunter slumps against the nearest tombstone, letting out a shaky breath. Why was he doing this, again? It takes longer to remember each time.
A tiny hand reaches out and grasps the Hunter's little finger. He looks down, greeted by the comfortably disturbing form of a Messenger.
The Hunter pulls down his mask and smiles at the little creature. "Greetings, little one."
The Messenger releases his finger, raising it's own hands toward the sky in greeting, Almost as if praising the sun. The Hunter chuckles, then frowns. "All alone again?" He asks. All systems have a hierarchy, and the messengers are no exception. It seems like this one is ever the outcast.
The little creature gives a groan, turning to face the tombstone. It studies it intensely, so much so that it forgets it can't read. All day it wanders the dream, dutifully cleaning and staring at the graves.
The Hunter hums thoughtfully, then reaches into his trench coat. The Messenger moves closer, curious. A small hat is procured from a pocket, Flat-rimmed with a head covering, complete with a tawny feather on the side.
The creatures milky eyes widen as The Hunter gently lowers the cap onto it's head.
A giggle emanates from behind the strange pair. "Welcome home, good Hunter," says the Doll who inhabits the dream. She holds her segmented fingers over her mouth, laughing once more.
She towers over the hunter, seven feet tall, her pale face sporting a smile more genuine than any found on her small porcelain kin.
The Hunter nods, hastily pulling up his mask before the Doll can see the foolish smile spreading across his face. "Yes, well... It's good to be back," he replies, a bit too quickly.
The Doll giggles once more, blissfully ignorant of the crimson blush underneath his mask.
*
The Hunter sighs, laying in front of the fire with his legs crossed. The thick wooden doors of the workshop are closed; an oddity considering the weather is always calm in the hunters dream.
The Doll slowly stirs a simmering pot, the smell of wild onions and coldblood flowers wafting through the air.
The Doll suddenly speaks, looking up from her pot. "Good hunter."
"Hm?"
"What ails you? You seem unusually contemplative."
The Hunter sighs, sweeping off his mask and tricorn cap due to the mounting heat from the fire. "I have... This feeling."
He swallows, pulling the collar of his overcoat. "A feeling like warm contentment whenever I'm here. Like this is family."
He gestures towards her and the lone Messenger, now relocated and staring into the fire.
"And it makes me wonder about my family back in my homeland. They could be worried, waiting for me to come home, and I've forgotten if they even exist."
The Doll listens in silence before speaking up. "And where do I rest in this family of yours, good Hunter?"
The Hunter whips his head around, unused to the Doll being so inquisitive. "You would be my..." What could he say? Mother? Elder sister? Perhaps even wife? It's more like an amalgamation of the three, but the Hunter wouldn't dare express that.
"Your...?" The Doll asks, tilting her head.
A bead of sweat rolls down the hunters forehead. He takes a deep breath, then jumps up and dashes towards the door. Before he can push open the heavy oak, though, the Doll seizes him around the midriff, slinging him under one arm and walking back to the fire.
The lone Messenger watches, curious as to what these giants are doing.
The Doll plops the hunter down in front of the fire. She has frightening strength, especially considering her... Unique physiology. The Hunters eyes dart toward the door again. Seeing this, the Doll pulls his head down to rest on her lap, keeping a firm grip on his collar. "I am still waiting for an answer, good Hunter." She impatiently taps her left forefinger. "After all that I do for you, you would not grant me an answer?"
The Hunter shifts uncomfortably. One of the motherly traits the Doll possesses: the ability to make you feel incredibly ashamed with a single phrase.
The Doll lightly pokes the Hunter's cheek. "Well?"
"...Grandmother," the Hunter mumbles. This earns him a smack on the nose with a ladle.
The messenger snickers. "Alright, alright! But you have to go first."
"That was not the agreement."
The Hunter pouts, and the Doll sighs. Silence ensues.
Finally, the Hunter responds quietly. "You're my Goddess," he mumbles sheepishly. The Doll moves her head back in suprise. "How could you not be?" The Hunter continues. "You guide me, make me stronger, give me a home, you cook for me, console me... You hold me when the nightmares grow to be too much to bear." He coughs nervously.
The Doll puts her hand on her chest. "I am but a simple dol-"
"No!" The Hunter yells. "Would you call me a mass of flesh, rather than a man? Would you call this place a chunk of land, rather than our home? Would you call a kind, selfless, beautiful person a mere marionette, a mere doll? No!" The Hunter breathes deeply.
"No," he repeats. "You are more than that. You are a person. You are my person. Don't you dare call yourself just 'a simple doll.' If not for you my journey would still be at it's beginning. I would be as weak as I was when I came to Yharnam, unable to defeat a single lycanthrope."
All is silent. Suddenly, a single, tear rolls down the Doll's face, hardening into a stone as it drops to the floor.
"Oh, good Hunter," the Doll weeps, embracing him. He embraces her back, and her shawl drifts over him, warming his back and putting him at ease.
Perhaps, should the night carry on forever, he may yet find happiness.
*
A.N. More to come.
