Or what the Beldam saw that led to the creation of Other Wybie.
Seated behind the worktable of her grand sewing room beneath The House, The Beldam fingered the scraps of fabric before her, and pondered.
A long bolt of black waterproof fabric, shiny and thick, even to the prod of her wedge point needles. A length of white reflective plastic that promised to be quite unkind to her scissors. Four balls of yarn, one burnt umber, one seal brown, one sepia, and one chocolate brown.
One sharp finger agilely edged the sepia ball out from amidst its comrades. A prod and a little wrist-flick made the ball spin idly as the Beldam's thoughts turned as well…
Should she even bother?
Eyes flicked upwards. There, on the gold-framed little mirror that hung above the worktable, the little Coraline doll stared out from Coraline's bedroom window, looking down at two figures standing in the middle of the rolling, knee high mist. Canary yellow and Egyptian blue, sepia-brown and black bobbed amidst the marshmallow white waves.
"Well…" a wave of sharp-needle hands shifted the scene, the focus now level with the colorful blots, as if standing next to them: Wybie Lovat waved a length of chiffon yellow around, dangerously close to Coraline's distinctly unamused face. A flicker of worn black bobbed amidst the foggy waves as That Thing lay witness to the scene as well, and a burst of maroon-lined, black anger curled into a ball at the Beldam's breast.
That Thing…
A breath of air to her lungs cooled her insides back to oxblood red, even and pliant, good for thinking thoughts and plotting plans.
If the Beldam were to make her decision based simply on the scene playing out before her at that moment, it would have been easy: the ideal world of Coraline Jones would contain no Wybie Lovat. By her own admission, Coraline had already boxed him in neatly along with her parents as a non-listener, which would be upsetting to encounter here. His chatter would also run interference to the delicate knitwork of her Wonders, blinding Coraline to the full effect of their charms.
And that chatter of his…
Wybie was a skeptic. For all she knew, the Living Sand might carry the trait over to any double of his that she created.
That chatter. That endless, prodding chatter...
The Beldam's mood began to scale higher up the spectrum. The chatter engaged Coraline far too much with the real world, awash as it was in gainsboro and slate gray, coaxing out begrudging roots in her little Lily of the Valley, anchoring her to its earth and its firm, unreachable reality.
Away from her.
Really, Wybie Lovat was not to be suffered to wreak any sort of havoc into her -
Ah…but what was that?
Wybie's already slouched back had just a little more curve, his eyes were a little more skittish than when he talked to his grandmother (The Beldam remembered, how her doll had languished upon that shelf in that old room, magenta wallpaper buried beneath the ash gray to create a pale, sickly pink, fitting to a place like that, a mausoleum to a lost sister), to the few adults in his life…Coraline could well be the only girl he'd ever really met but-
Oh, then that was the game? The Beldam's fingers tapped a rhythm upon the scarred tabletop, games, oh games…
Puppy love. That was it. Tender, salmon-flesh pink puppy love, brought on by her precious little girl's flagrant contrasts. The only splotch of color in a world of monochrome, blurred in the rain.
Hmmm…
Perhaps the boy wouldn't be such a waste of the Living Sand after all. With the proper adjustment to that chatter…
Needlepoints sank into the black waterproof fabric with relish.
"Hello, Other Wybie."
Other Wybie smiled at her, with just a hint of a confusion, something that tasted new, like harlequin green silk, as she cut the thread, freeing her needle and the excess from the final stitch.
He'd never made a sound, even as she'd sewn his eyes into his face, painful procedure – and now, with all the work done, he never would.
"Such a wonder, being alive, is it not?"
Other Wybie's smile became a little longer (not wider, a wider line wasn't possible with a mouth not made to move) moving to clasp his hands in front of himself, like a good little boy ought to in front of his elders.
Only she hadn't yet put them together, so he was crossing the empty sleeves of his trench coat instead. He radiated a good-natured gladness at her question, an off-pistachio green hue to its friendly mildness.
"I'm glad to know that. Now…what shall we do about Coraline?"
Other Wybie's smile was suddenly very peculiar indeed – every line is his new burlap body became alert, and his emotions were the color of limes in the summer. A glad color, a color full of energy and wonder.
"I see. Well, that's perfect," and here the Beldam touched the side of his face kindly, because even her creations were to be subdued by her web if they were to be truly hers, "because you see, I've made you for her."
Other Wybie's face went slack with surprise, sepia yarn eyebrows arched high over his button eyes. Surprised joy, hot pink and cyan and sunshine yellow, wonder and gratefulness, like confetti at a parade.
"I am so very glad. We'll go over the finer needlework later, once I'm done with the pumpkin. For now, tell me my little darling: what are you supposed to do about Coraline?
The Beldam was surprised at how clear and near tangible the emotion that Other Wybie radiated towards her at that moment was. It wasn't a color, or an impression: it had the disturbing monochrome solidity of honestly spoken words.
I will live for her.