Hey, everybody~ Well, here it is! My Christmas one-shot for the community event hosted by the lovely Alone in the Blight. [: I couldn't come up with an idea for the longest time but I realized I could blend the theme of "gift giving", kindness, and then pop in a bit of lore. I don't actually mention the holidays, though, since I played on a bit of lore and background history to our lovely Painted Guardian friends. I hope you enjoy this - originally it was darker (Dark Souls~ haha) but I figured that for the holidays, we could all use some cheer. Admittedly, I was inspired a lot by Avatar's "Becoming One of the People - Becoming One With Neytiri," by James Horner. It's a neat song - I pretty much played it on repeat while writing this. [: Anyways, enjoy~

Peculiar Doll

In game description:

A strange doll in a strange dress.

There was once an abomination who had no place in this world.

She clutched this doll tightly

and eventually was drawn into a cold and lonely painted world.

The wind blew, cold and harsh, and the wooden bridge he walked upon swayed dangerously. It was old and worn, with rope much akin to the flaky tips of dried paint and wooden planks like broken canvases. Small mounds of snow had clamored on top of the planks and as he walked, they gracefully slid out of his way. Some tumbled off the side and through the wide spaces created by broken planks, blending into the dance of the falling snow around them.

A shiver ran through his frame and with one gloved hand, he readjusted his pale hood. His other hand held tightly to the ropes guiding his way - which he was grateful for since both the wind and swaying bridge threatened his stability. His glance shot downwards as his throat tightened. Unlike the snow, his own fall would not be so graceful.

When his foot hit land, he could not help the sigh of relief as it escaped past his lips. Relief soon was replaced by a quiet sense of astonishment as he climbed a steep path made of stone steps. Great trees stood guard on either side of him and his gaze turned upwards at the ruined, stone architecture. Though it looked exactly like its painted counterpart, the reality of seeing such a structure brought him still. The height seemed to radiate a haunted strength yet the crumbled stones spoke of an unimaginable lack of care and attention. Like the bridge, it too was old and worn but its age was not from use. Generations had not made a home beneath the roofs and the halls did not carry the memories of better times or bright futures.

How long had he stared at this structure from his position? There was little he could recall in his own life, even his own name, but he could vividly remember the way the snow covered trees were painted with great care; how each stone, despite not making up the whole of a home, had been covered with precise brush strokes. The white specks of snow had not been painted to freeze but to cover the darkened world in a blanket of tiny crystals, much like fallen stars there to bring light.

His brothers had stood around the painting without fail. When they slept, it was only for brief moments until at last, sleep was unnecessary. They ate until the taste of food held no meaning and eventually, even such a vital action had been deemed trivial. There was only one purpose for them; to stand watch over the painting and give their lives for it. But why? He swallowed hard, a fluttering in his chest making him feel as though he was standing in the center of the broken bridge again instead of on solid ground. They could not remember. None of his brothers could. They were willing to give their lives for the painting but none could remember where their passion came from any longer.

A screech filled the world, mingling with the echo of the wind and he broke from his thoughts with a jolt. With a deep breath, he approached the stone structure slowly, touching his pocket gently for a moment.

At the top of a small set of steps, he stared at the emaciated form of a Hollow. The name resonated in the back of his mind yet the sight was one he had not been privy to until this moment. The man - or was it a woman? He grimaced, watching as whatever it was labored to breathe, hunching over and letting its arms dangle loosely. Man or woman; it made no difference anymore. The soul was lost - it was nothing more than a creature.

Unhooking his blade from his hip, he carefully stepped forth. Beneath his feet, snow crunched and the sound, at least to his ears, was like wooden sticks being broken over his knee. Yet the Hollow made no movement except for the metronome-like sway of its body. Inhaling quickly, he leapt forwad, grabbing the Hollow by the shoulder. It shrieked and twisted but under his hold, could do nothing. The small dagger in its hand desperately swung, searching for a target but without hesitating, he plunged his sword into the Hollow's spine with enough force to break through its chest. Only some blood decorated the odd, square shape of his blade and what little did was pulled free as he removed it from the corpse in his grasp.

Once the Hollow fell to the ground, he paused, glancing at his sword. Somewhere at sometime, he had learned how to weild it and yet never had his blade taken the breath of another. In fact, it wasn't until recently that he had even seen the sight of a life lost. The man had shattered one of the tall windows on the second floor, face covered with a thin sheen of sweat and a patch of his leather armor torn away at his shoulder, as if he had narrowly dodged an incoming projectile. But his brother's reactions had been immediate. From the ground, he had watched as they leapt towards the man, swords ready. The stranger had dodged their attempts as if they were nothing but children, sweeping around both and plunging his long sword between their shoulder blades. Uneasily, he had watched the man traverse the thin beams. There was nothing he could do from the ground except ready his blade and prepare himself should the man get any closer.

There was little need to worry, though. His brothers, trained for such heights, had ambushed the man. Though their throwing knives did little against his shield, they eventually cornered him. He swung hard but it was clear that he was panicking. Each swing came faster, leaving openings for his brothers to strike until at last, the man stumbled. His foot teetered on the edge and his arms opened wide to catch his balance but it was no use. The body plummeted towards the ground and landed with a dry thud near where he stood.

Another gust of wind shook him from his thoughts and he carried forth, climbing a longer set of stairs. More Hollow blocked his way but these were different than the first - or were they? With no prior knowledge of Hollow, he was unsure whether or not these with engorged heads were out of the norm. Such details did not matter, however. When he entered their line of sight, they each let out a short yell, pulling their bodies forward and thrusting flaming sticks in his direction. He dodged to the side, quickly kicking the nearest Hollow and using the brief second it remained caught off guard to slash his sword along its chest. With a howl that competed with the harsh wind, the Hollow fell but purple liquid gushed from the wound and from its head. He jumped backwards, eyes going wide and only barely dodged the incoming flame from another sickly Hollow.

Turning on his heel, he threw a dagger towards the Hollow and at such close range, the small weapon lodged itself in the center of the enlarged head. The Hollow went down and again, he moved backwards to avoid the purple liquid. With the Hollows fallen, he stood in the silence, able to finally take in the moment.

He had entered the stone structure; the one he had spent so long staring at. No longer was it marks upon parchment; brushstrokes upon a canvas. He could feel the sturdy stone beneath his boots and when he reached out to touch the walls, they were cold against the fabric of his gloves. Laughter bubbled in his throat. It was real.

But this was not the time to stop. He progressed further, catching sight of strange creatures perched on the tops of the towers. Were they Hollows, too? No, not these. These had to be something different. Their knees were bent and swept around their thin frames were massive, black wings. He had seen such wings every now and then in Anor Londo - the small and peaceful birds that would sit on the windowsills and watch the robed men stand guard. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his back into the nearest wall, avoiding their sight. These did not appear to be as peaceful as the small birds that nested in Anor Londo.

Other than the birds, the man had been one of the first in a long time to enter the room he and his brothers stood guard in. One man had come before, but how long ago it had been he did not know. Just like the newcomer, this man had fallen from the thin beams and met the ground with a horrible shake. Several of his brothers had dragged the heavy man into the corner of the room, leaving him to rot and decay until all that remained was the fleshy outline of his skeleton and the black, armored iron plates he wore. But with the death of the new man, the one with the ripped sleeve, he had been the first to the corpse. He had gotten to his knees, checking first for a pulse and finding none - had one been present, he would have plunged a dagger through the man's heart immediately, tasting what giving death felt like for the first time. Yet the man's chest lay still and strangely, he had been relieved.

Something had caught his eye, though. A small piece of fabric sticking out from a pouch on the man's hip. He had glanced up, noticing his brothers as they came near, and quickly snatched the fabric, stuffing it into his own pocket. He had stepped back to allow his seniors to deal with what should happen to the corpse.

His journey through the painted world had led him through broken, stone towers and dark hallways. Hollows seemed to find residence in all corners but they were not alone. Down one wrong set of stairs, he was met with the red, glowing eyes of white rats that showed no mercy in their hunger. They snapped at him and tore at his white cloak but his blade had been stronger than their teeth. Each entrance to the cold met him cruelly and his brow furrowed. He was almost there. Somehow he knew it. Past the slumbering body of a dragon and the eyes of birds, he ran along the straight, stone bridge that held a high archway; something in his gut told him this was his destination. This was what he was searching for.

Standing guard for the painting, he had turned his back to his brothers and taken the small fabric from his pocket to examine it more closely. It had not been a piece of fabric after all but instead a figure stuffed thinly. Staring at two notches in the figure's face where eyes had once been, he had felt his chest tighten. This. This was why they guarded the painting.

Suddenly, he had remembered everything.

There was no reason to guard the painting from him. He was his brothers; their purpose all the same. Cautiously he had backed up, gaining curious but apathetic looks from those around him, until he had fallen into the canvas of the painting. No one had followed him - it was quite possible that they had not noticed his departure. Or perhaps they had not cared. Since touching the doll, his peculiar fall into art had not startled him. He had known exactly what he had needed to do.

Now he carefully crossed through the archway and into the circular tower at the edge of the ruins. Snow piled against the ground yet the tall woman before him wore no shoes, as if the cold no longer could touch her skin.

Her beauty was striking and for a moment, he faltered. Her shoulders were pushed back, elegantly thin yet broad with a silent strength. Her hair, white as the snow falling around them, was swept back away from her face and fell in lacy tendrils just above her waist. Cloaked in white fur that mingled with the thick fabric of her dress, the woman appeared to glow amid the dark world. Her eyes, a greenish-blue, radiated with an expressionless emotion that stilled his heart. Above her brow were the faint beginnings of horns and he swallowed hard - it was true then.

She was the daze that trapped him but as her fingers tightened around the scythe she wielded, he returned to reality.

"Who are thou?" came her voice, breaking the silence that had descended around them. "One of us, thou art not,"

He said nothing - he could not - but his shoulders hunched at her tone. It was as chilled as ice and it froze his spine with little difficulty.

At his posture, the woman blinked and the tail behind her flickered once. Her gaze softened slightly as she purposefully relaxed her hold on her weapon. "If thou hast misstepped into this world, plunge down from the plank, and hurry home," she said, and though her words were hard around the edges, her gaze gentled any possible sting. Turning at the waist, she gestured towards the open space behind her and the plank that stretched out into an open void.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head once, and immediately her expression hardened. Her grasp on her weapon tightened as one bare foot inched forward. "If thou seekest I," the woman said slowly, " - thine desires shall be requited not."

She stepped forward again as her words darkened. Panic began to fill his body and he shook his head once more, holding out a hand, but the woman continued speaking. "Thou must returneth whence thou came. Why dost thee hurry toward thine death?"

It dawned on him then that even if he and his brothers had retained the gift of speech, she would not have listened. Anger filled her eyes but even more so was another emotion. A colder one, much like the world she inhabited; peaceful and quiet but similar to the crumbled stones plaguing the immense structure. He lifted his weapon and as her eyes sparked, he forcibly threw it to the ground.

The weapon clattered as it hit the snow, breaking through to the stone, and the sound echoed against the pillars around them. This action spoke for him and the woman stopped, blinking once as the spark in her eyes diminished.

"But, why..." she mused softly, staring at the weapon before looking towards him. "What seeketh thee?"

Slowly, holding out one hand as if to reassure her of his motives, he reached into his pocket. The woman took a step back, bracing herself, but as he pulled out a ragged item, her gasp was audible. Her scythe fell to her side as her entire posture fell, eyes latched onto what lay in the palm of his hand. He steadied himself as she approached, gazing up in awe at the height and beauty of her. But she was transfixed on what he held.

Placing the scythe down, she gingerly picked up the thinly stuffed doll, cupping it in her hands. Gently, she traced the side of the doll's face with a long finger. "Ahh..." she whispered, a smile growing against her lips as she held the doll's small hand between her thumb and index finger for a second. "I thought it was lost..."

She glanced towards where he stood and he could feel himself melt under the lost kindness of her expression. "I did not expect as much from thee," the woman said quietly and beneath his hood, he returned her smile. Bending at the waist, he gave her the most proper bow he could think of. With a nod of her head, the woman turned her attention back towards the doll.

After retrieving his blade and hooking it to his side, he went towards the plank she had mentioned before, staring down at the darkness below. Was it the only way out? Surely, she would not lie to him - not now. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage, then paused to steal one more look at the woman.

She stood in the center of the tower wearing a smile that warmed all her features. He watched as she closed her eyes, holding the doll against her chest and tilting her head to the side, nuzzling the top of the doll's head with her cheek.

He turned from the sight, all fear gone from his mind. With a smile of his own, stepped from the plank and plummeted into the darkness below.

-End