(A/N) Sorry if it seems a bit choppy, Let me know what you think!


Life feels different now, more fragile. So I think to myself, something must have changed.


Most people never ask why I make dolls. I don't know the real reason why I do, but I tend to admire how a single life can be preserved. Not only is the life preserved; the life is perfected. No faults are shown in any of my dolls, which is another reason why I admire them so.

Often I find myself wondering... Wondering if I am perfect. I don't know if I am a reflection of perfection. When I look in the mirror, I see me as I used to be. But I know I have changed. Something in me seems artificial and fake. I'm envious of my dolls, built of iron and steel, of wax and stone, and even silver and gold. My master's voice rings in my mind sometimes. From that rainy night in November. The night I was replaced and created. I can recall it as if it happened the day before.

Wind whistled and rattled the windowpanes in the mansion, but above the wind a single clear voice rang out...

Build it up with wood and straw,
Wood and straw,
Wood and straw,
Build it up with wood and straw,
My fair lady...

When I listen to this melody, I think to myself: If I'm made of wood and straw, what kind of doll am I?I'm made of crude materials that won't last against harsh rains or a single flame. I'm nearly useless.

When I think to myself of this I have human emotions. I feel like I'm going to cry, but there is nothing to provide the tears. Inside I have but a ghost of a soul. I'm artificial and fake. A replacement for what I used to be, when I was a human. For some certain reason I mourn over this, I mourn for being a human, when I was perfect.

As I sit here, making another perfect doll of iron and steel, I realize I can improve myself. Become another perfect doll. A doll that will last through flame and rain, a single life perfected and preserved forever.