A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors
The workshop was calm, a serenity unmarred by the passage of faux time.
A sweet scent passed through the open doors, filling the space with a pleasant aroma, complementing the peace within. The fireplace crackled, logs tumbling as they burned, shooting an array of sparks into the room. The moon hung high, its pale light illuminating all, gentle rays that removed all shadow and darkness from the world.
The workshop was a place of peace and respite, a resting point for the most tested of warriors.
But it was not empty.
The doll lifted the lid of a small wooden chest, hinges creaking from age and disuse, dust wafting into the air from lack of care. Pale hands, moving with a deftness that belied their artificial nature, lifted a wooden tray up and toward the nearby workbench. A dozen small jars rocked on the tray as it was placed, the glass yellow with age and covered in labels with unreadable text. With care, the doll gently lifted each jar, placing them next to a device of copper and polished bronze, a metal instrument that ended in rubber tubing.
Within minutes the task was complete, the doll turning back to the chest and carefully closing the lid. She stood, hands coming to rest toward her front in a demure manner, and observed the efforts of her labor, a gentle smile gracing her features.
Dozens of jars, of various sizes, sat in cabinets and on desks, waiting to be filled. Small vials filled with quicksilver sat alongside empty auto injectors, liquid metal resting languidly within the faded glass. The work desk had been tidied up, clamps cleaned of rust and tools set aside in neat order, awaiting the hands of their master. Bowls of tin sat on dusted wooden shelves, a fine white power contained under unassuming lids. The metal blades that hung rusted and worn against the wall now gleamed with wicked promise, their polished edges glinting from the firelight, blade teeth sharper than any razor.
The workshop looked renewed, alive and vibrant with purpose that it had lacked, as if awakening from some long slumber.
The doll's smile widened imperceptibly.
She turned and departed, her walk graceful and calm, her footsteps soft as they carried her through the back door and out into the night air.
A dirt trail laid before her, a path peppered with white flowers and grass, stretching downward in a bend, rounding the outside of the workshop back toward the front entrance. Several meters below sat a small basin, a bath, in an alcove, the ground wet as if recently use, the water gleaming with an ethereal light. Along the right side of that path were several grave stones, evenly spaced along the trail and worn with age, stone crumbling and overgrown with moss.
The doll made it a few steps from the workshop door, her shawl blowing gently with the wind, and made a half turn to her left, pale eyes coming to rest on a single tombstone.
It was of average size, faded and weathered with age, standing resolute over a plot, the ground disturbed as if recently filled. Its text was unreadable, words scratched through, as if by a blade, and warped by the worn stone.
The doll's delicate brow dipped, furrowing in a manner of confusion. She raised her left hand and reached out toward the gravestone, a beckoning motion, as if grasping.
To a memory. To a dream.
She stopped, her hand raised, artificial fingers extended lightly, reaching out toward something intangible.
To a life that earned its peace.
The doll retracted her hand, an unreadable expression marring her porcelain face. Returning the limb to rest by its partner she continued her walk, away from the grave and its secrets.
Her boots clicked softly against the cobblestone as her stride carried her swiftly down the inclined path, her posture at ease with the world. Coming back to the front of the workshop she turned and looked toward the lone bath sitting in the alcove, its ornate surface gleaming as if wet.
A small smile graced her lips, eyes crinkling in joy. Quickly the artificial woman made her way over to the small bath, her steps fast and excited.
As she approached the water within the basin swirled, a conflicting rotation that seemed without direction. Upon her final steps the water sprung to life, a series of small bodies, pale and malformed, erupted from beneath the liquid, their small torsos crowding around one another. They heads were twisted, many without eyes or mouths, and wore small top hats, the fabric worn with age. A low moaning began as the dozen small things greeted the doll, their arms lifted toward her as if preparing for an embrace.
The doll laughed, a small chuckle she hid beneath a hand, pale eyes shining with amusement.
"Oh little ones, you are quite excited. It is the young hunter, yes?"
The moaning increased in intensity, the withered creatures beginning to sway as if to some unheard melody.
The doll smiled, hands coming to rest at her front as she regarded the creatures with warmth. She spoke, her accent coming through, "Yes, it has been some time since a hunter has visited this dream. Perhaps she will find her worth before she awakens. You must watch over her, little ones. A hunter's life is filled with hardship, and I fear she will encounter much on her journey."
The moans quieted, the creatures shifting forward, as if listening, misshapen heads bent in an attentive manner.
The doll continued, pale eyes intense in their gaze, an unreadable expression over her porcelain face.
"Use great care little ones, lest you wander into a nightmare."
The moaning ceased, a silence overtaking the workshop, an oppressive thing that seemed to smother the world with its presence. Just as quick the moaning returned, the small things as loud as they were upon their arrival, the doll smiling at their antics.
She tilted her head, an inquisitive motion, white hair drifting with the wind. She nodded, as if in understanding, and spoke, her tone comforting, "Do not worry, little ones. The young hunter has been through much. She is as hesitant in her interaction with yourselves as she is with everything else after such a change. I am sure it is nothing personal, so just give her time."
The moaning seemed to increase slightly, the small things reaching out toward the doll in a pleading manner.
Her smile grew, her amusement clear across her artificial features. She spoke, her voice light and placating, as if talking to a child, "Then perhaps a change is in order. Something to draw her attention."
The moaning quieted, the small creatures growing still, as if unsure. One withered being, toward the back, pulled off its top hat, the headgear falling away into the water. It donned another hat, a wide brimmed brown top with a brown strap around the base. The hat sat forward slightly, its beady eyes hidden beneath the brim, leaving a hanging jaw with too many teeth as its only visible features.
The doll looked fondly upon the small thing, her words light and filled with mirth, "Yes, I'm sure that will do." She chuckled openly as the rest of the small creatures quickly replaced their hats, each pulling a brown copy from nowhere, their moans increasing in measure in seeming delight.
The artificial women lightly shook her head as she stepped away, leaving the creatures to revel in their own ways.