Tails Doll. That was the name they gave him. Even now, their faces, their mocking voices were etched forever into his mind. The blue hedgehog, the orange fox, the red echidna…
In those days, he could find solace only in the company of the robots. They all shared that same hate for the organics, that same wish that they would all suffer a cruel and painful death.
But at least he had a soul.
The souls of all those that had been sacrificed to bring him to life. He could still hear their screaming as they begged for mercy, their spirits forever reliving the last agonising moments of their lives as they were ripped apart to feed him. And yet, all their souls were not enough. Still he hungered, and no amount of blood or flesh could satiate him. Their cries resembled the music – if you could call it that – which played constantly from that run-down old tape player in the corner, a tune only the masochistic could listen to without going insane.
But is insanity really all that bad? Perhaps we are all insane…and perhaps what we call insanity is a higher form of existence that we may never truly comprehend…
The mansion he called 'home' was like him in more ways than one. Old and decrepit. Creepy and quiet. He spent most of his time in this one room. It was fairly small and empty, except for that aforementioned tape deck. The wallpaper, once a bright and cheerful orange, was peeling off the walls. It was quickly being replaced with a new kind of wall decoration – patterns daubed and splattered all over the walls in blood. Pentagrams, hexagrams, enneagrams, pictures depicting grotesque creatures, torture and murder, sigils, ancient symbols of black magic and other arcane designs that couldn't be identified by any means.
He had few visitors nowadays. Suffice to say 'none', excluding those adventurous adolescents who met a quick end intruding invited into his lair. However, he'd developed a sort of mutual respect for the millions of insects that dwelled in his home. They'd swirl up the walls, across his feet, buzz before his stitched-cloth eyes, and he pondered their meaningless existence, scurrying about never really accomplishing anything. They lived merely to eat, mate, and die. After all these years living alone, he had thought about a good many things, and had come to the conclusion that there really was no meaning to life. Like these insects, all things are just part of a circle, to be born, give life to other things, take life from other things, and die. And taking life was what he was best at.
He paused momentarily. There had been a break in the silence for just a moment, elsewhere. He floated down the red-carpeted stairs and into the great hall. Yes, his catch had awoken. He watched it, tied down in a small wooden chair, eyes flitting to and fro. Too frightened to move or speak.
As he came to a stop in front of his prey, it came to look at him, as if it recognised him. Or maybe, his namesake…
The cream rabbit yelped in fright, its big eyes widening even more.
"T-T-Tails? Is that you?" she shivered.
The Tails Doll leant into the rabbit's face, and a large blade slowly made its way out of the ground, towards her head.
"Never use that name again, my dear."
