AN: Because I received such fantastic reviews from everyone, I continued this. Although CC is really really appreciated-the idea is fantastic (thanks very much RekiaReium)-but it didn't turn out the way I wanted to on paper.
...........................
Do you like dolls?
I do. I love my dolls.
My dolls are the best; better than yours, and better than anyone else's, because they're real. Bet you can't beat that.
My dolls are always pretty, and they're always the best because they don't talk. I can choose my people, and the nurse makes them into my dolls so we can be together forever. I can do whatever I want...and the thing is, they're here, alive, warm in my grasp. But they don't talk. And they don't make fun.
They'll never leave me again.
Not like father...
But I made sure mother stayed...I made her mine. Mine.
You see, mother always hated the way I looked. I looked like him, the bastard they called my father, and she hated me for being his. And I could tell she wanted me to suffer, to have the same fate as hers; a lonely bitch of a spinster, shamed to stay in the mansion whilst society gossiped.
She locked me away and shattered my leg. She took away my friends and told me to play with my dolls like a good girl should. And I hated her for it...
...At first.
I grew to realise that dolls were better than real people, because you could make them do whatever you wanted. They didn't argue, but I missed warmth. I missed the feel of real skin and the sight of bright eyes. I wanted to entomb those things to make them last forever...and so ideas began to form.
Why should I be locked away in a lonely house? Why me? Why should I have no friends and why did people always. make. fun? I only had dolls, but I wanted revenge; I wanted to lock away those people in houses of wax and make them suffer as well.
My dolls were always mine...and so what made more sense than to make my very own doll? And I used mother, and I made sure she suffered just as much as me. She became my first project, and I watched her beg, smiled as she cried sightless tears when her body was slowly paralyzed, and laughed when she was unable to scream as I encased her body with wax.
And I had control.
I had maximum power over mother and it was an addiction.
I loved it, because finally, mother didn't have a scowl on her face. For the first time, she looked lifeless but I knew she was crying, and I knew she hated me.
But the fact still remained; she was mine.
Mine to play with, and mine to punish. And she was no more than a puppet, worth nothing to the outside world.
My precious dolls were controlled by me, and I could dress and make them into pretty little things like the puppets they were. Because they stayed still. And they didn't move. I owned them, and they had nothing against me. Nothing to blame, nothing to say; they didn't age, they didn't grow...perfect toys who had no thoughts of their own because I wouldn't let them.
Ageless, immortal dolls that didn't grow bitter and angry at people because they were better. I had my friends again, and I would be there for them...to celebrate and play with them at my will.
Because for the first time in my life, I had something worth owning.
They were my friends.
Mine.
fin
...........................
Do you like dolls?
I do. I love my dolls.
My dolls are the best; better than yours, and better than anyone else's, because they're real. Bet you can't beat that.
My dolls are always pretty, and they're always the best because they don't talk. I can choose my people, and the nurse makes them into my dolls so we can be together forever. I can do whatever I want...and the thing is, they're here, alive, warm in my grasp. But they don't talk. And they don't make fun.
They'll never leave me again.
Not like father...
But I made sure mother stayed...I made her mine. Mine.
You see, mother always hated the way I looked. I looked like him, the bastard they called my father, and she hated me for being his. And I could tell she wanted me to suffer, to have the same fate as hers; a lonely bitch of a spinster, shamed to stay in the mansion whilst society gossiped.
She locked me away and shattered my leg. She took away my friends and told me to play with my dolls like a good girl should. And I hated her for it...
...At first.
I grew to realise that dolls were better than real people, because you could make them do whatever you wanted. They didn't argue, but I missed warmth. I missed the feel of real skin and the sight of bright eyes. I wanted to entomb those things to make them last forever...and so ideas began to form.
Why should I be locked away in a lonely house? Why me? Why should I have no friends and why did people always. make. fun? I only had dolls, but I wanted revenge; I wanted to lock away those people in houses of wax and make them suffer as well.
My dolls were always mine...and so what made more sense than to make my very own doll? And I used mother, and I made sure she suffered just as much as me. She became my first project, and I watched her beg, smiled as she cried sightless tears when her body was slowly paralyzed, and laughed when she was unable to scream as I encased her body with wax.
And I had control.
I had maximum power over mother and it was an addiction.
I loved it, because finally, mother didn't have a scowl on her face. For the first time, she looked lifeless but I knew she was crying, and I knew she hated me.
But the fact still remained; she was mine.
Mine to play with, and mine to punish. And she was no more than a puppet, worth nothing to the outside world.
My precious dolls were controlled by me, and I could dress and make them into pretty little things like the puppets they were. Because they stayed still. And they didn't move. I owned them, and they had nothing against me. Nothing to blame, nothing to say; they didn't age, they didn't grow...perfect toys who had no thoughts of their own because I wouldn't let them.
Ageless, immortal dolls that didn't grow bitter and angry at people because they were better. I had my friends again, and I would be there for them...to celebrate and play with them at my will.
Because for the first time in my life, I had something worth owning.
They were my friends.
Mine.
fin