I've actually been planning this since my birthday. There are 9 updates and now, 6 stories, in correspondence to my birthday: 9/6/96 6:09 p.m. Please enjoy and review.

Ayumi: i don't own Vocaloid. Happy, disclaimer?

"Where should I deposit your purchases, Master Len?" Len looked at his butler, a balding yet fit man by the name of Jakes.

"In my study, on the table. I wish to open them in private."

"Your father's present?"

Len's body immediately tensed. His father, Earl Kagamine, hadn't even bothered to come to their family's country estate, despite the fact that today was his only son's birthday. He had merely sent over some expensive toy he had thought would be appropriate for Len and the usual greeting. Not even a letter. The feelings he had been trying to suppress rose in the boy's chest. "Master Len?"

He inhaled and quickly regained his composure. "In my study, as well, Jakes. I don't think whatever rubbish Father has sent would burn very well in the furnace," he ordered, sarcasm evident in his tone. The butler paid no heed and nodded, departing quickly.

Len gave an irritated sigh before throwing himself on the soft, spacious bed. Ever since his mother had run away, his father had been burying himself deeper and deeper into his work, as if it would cure his grief. Father was selfish, in Len's opinion. Didn't he notice his son had been hurt as well and needed him? No, apparently not. Instead, he had sent Len to the countryside, so that he could as the Earl put it 'focus on his work'.

Crash! The crystal vase on his bedside table now lay in pieces scattered on the floor. Was he really that much of a nuisance that he had to be sent away?

Len felt like breaking every single stupid ornament in the mansion, felt like picking the broken shards in his hand and piercing them into his skin. He didn't care how angry his father would be, no, that was what he wanted.

He wanted his father to show some emotion towards him, his son, his flesh-and-blood. He didn't care if his father scolded him or punished him, Len just wanted the Earl to be there standing in front of him, actually addressing him. He didn't want lavish gifts, he wanted love. He didn't want servants, he wanted his father. Why could no one understand that?

As if in a trance, Len stood up and walked to his closet, the one none of the servants were allowed to even approach. He opened the doors in a rather dramatic fashion and gazed at the object within.

It was a doll, given to him by his mother before she fled. At the time, the doll had been exactly his height, now he towered a few inches above it. The doll had been well-crafted and had been made in the image of her.

The doll had long golden locks that nearly reached the floor, azure eyes that shone like gems and was absolutely flawless, each aspect perfected down to the smallest detail. Its skin showed not a sign it had been shaped from wax or china, whatever material was used in its moulding. In fact it looked rather lifelike.

Without any warning, the memory resurfaced itself, his 7th birthday. The last time he would ever see his mother again.

~.~

"Happy birthday, Len-chan!" she had said and presented him with the most beautiful doll he had ever seen. She propped it up, so that the doll was standing, to allow Len closer inspection. "Do you like it?"

"Yes!" he replied sincerely. Even though he was a boy and was supposed to prefer more 'manly' objects, he was completely taken in by the doll's beauty. "Good. Now, Len, if I'm not here and you feel lonely, this doll will take my place."

"She does look like you, Mummy. She's very pretty." His mother laughed and ruffled his blonde hair, so much like her own.

~.~

Tears stung Len's eyes. He had heard his mother and father argue a few times before that day, but he never thought...

He looked at the doll, and felt a strange sensation pass through him. A pair of scissors lay on his dresser. No, he wouldn't destroy the doll. It was too, precious. But he could do a few alterations, right? It was his after all.

Scissors in hand, he began snipping the doll's hair off in a blind rage. He didn't care how ugly it would become, he wanted to erase that resemblance, even if it was just the length of the doll's hair.

Did his mother think he was so pathetic until he needed a puppet to fill his loneliness? Did his father think he was so materialistic that he substituted his abscence with cold, costly gifts?

By the time Len was done, he was shaking all over and panting. Sweat rolled down his face. The deed was complete.

Once, the doll's elegant mane had nearly touched the floor, now it barely reached its chin. For an inexperienced barber, Len had done a rather good job. The hair-length and layers was roughly even, she didn't look all that horrific, as Len had been picturing.

"Now, what am I going to do?" he muttered, dropping the scissors to the floor. He didn't feel like continuing with his path of destruction, he was too tired, but he didn't feel like going to his study either-"Comb my hair."

Len looked at the doll. Did it just-"Comb my hair. If you're going to trim it, you should at least neaten it as well." The doll wasn't just speaking, it had crossed its arms and was looking at him irritatedly. "Well, hurry up!"

As if in a trance, Len took the comb on his dresser and began brushing the doll's hair, which now sat on his bed. "Now, find me some barrettes and a ribbon, white preferably."

He nodded and found said items in an old box of keepsakes from his mother. He had been meaning to throw it out, but it had some use now, there was no need.

"Good," the doll said after he was done fixing her hair and went to admire herself in the mirror. That's when Len realized what was happening. "Wait!" he exclaimed, taking the doll's hand.

He stopped. She was moving and talking, like a real person, but she was still, cold, like a doll. "What is it?" Len shook his head. "Wait, what are you?" "Me? Well, I suppose since I will be staying here, you may as well have something to address me with."

She put her finger on a chin, pondering to herself. "That's not what I meant and when did I say you could stay-" "Rin!" She gave him a triumphant look. "You may call me Rin. Yes, I like that name. Rin, it is!"

Len didn't respond, rather flabbergasted. His doll had just come to life, made him do her hair and had even given herself a name. He had never named it before, the anger he felt at his mother preventing him from doing so.

He looked at the doll, no, Rin, who was chatting away, oblivious to how strange the situation was, something about bedsheets. Len sighed. He had a feeling that his life was about to become extremely, interesting.

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