Winter kept on dreaming of mice. Magic circus mice that played a delightful fanfare and jumped around on little striped balls. They had long, sleek tails and cute little cheeks, with whiskers that twitched whenever they blew a tune. All of them, in the dozens, had buttons for eyes.
Every morning, she'd wake up to the doll's shiny pitch buttons. The doll never moved, but Winter couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched. During the day, as she would make her way down the halls, aristocrats gawked at the toy that rested upon her shoulders. The doll stared at them intently, and Winter imagined that it was plotting to kill them all.
She couldn't say for sure that she would've agreed with the doll's prerogative, but of course, it didn't matter anyway. The doll wasn't alive. Winter was just mad. Her tutors, her stepmother, Jacin, all reminded her that she was getting more and more off her rocker with each passing day. It was beginning to annoy her greatly; she had developed a twitch under her eye, on the side where Levana had forced the knife into her flesh, and it always ached and throbbed afterwards.
A week after Alasdair had given her the doll, she decided to ask the queen about the little door. Surely Levana must've known something. In the queen's study, it was well lit and organized, as always. Levana was working, as always. Winter set herself down on a chair.
"My Queen," she greeted.
Levana, seated at her marble desk, tapped away on her netscreen; she was typically ignoring her.
"Good afternoon, Stepmother," Winter pressed on.
"I'm really, really busy," Levana snapped.
Winter looked up at the ceiling. The doll sat on her lap, and she gently ran her fingers through its yarn hair. "Stepmother, do you know where the little door leads to?"
Levana glared at the princess. "What little door?"
"In my parlour. Thaïs told me that it used to be a much bigger apartment."
Levana tapped her fingers against the desk. "It was."
"Why is it all bricked up? And why is it so small?"
Levana rubbed her forehead. "Winter, I don't have time for you right now." She put down her reports. "And you still have lots of assignments to do; Master Gertman has been informing me of your lack of effort this term."
Winter's cheek throbbed again. She rubbed at it. "My face hurts," she whined.
"Stop picking at it."
"Do you think that you could perhaps..." Winter mused, "have someone remove those bricks?"
"Absolutely not."
"Please?"
"No."
Winter closed her eyes. "Step-mother," she whined, clutching the doll to her chest. "I'm so very bored."
Levana let out a strangled sigh, her fingers crimping up her loose bangs. "Will you stop pestering me if I do this for you?"
Winter smiled and nodded her head with much enthusiasm. Levana let out a groan of defeat and stood. Together, and with the thaumaturge that Levana had summoned at the last minute, they made their way across the palace to where the little door resided.
Levana crossed her arms over her chest. Her heels tapped bluntly against the carpet of Winter's parlour. "Do you have the key?"
Winter nodded and produced the button key. She quickly unlocked the door. The thaumaturge, dressed in black, eyed it with scrutiny; but she said nothing more and got to work. Winter waited with bated breath as the thaumaturge got down on her knees, with a drill in hand, and went away at the bricks. Even more dust and debris flew in all directions, but Winter paid it no heed.
A cry of anger left the princess once the thaumaturge backed away from the door; behind those measly bricks hid a wall of solid regolith, dusty and black to the touch. "Another wall?! I don't...I don't get it!" Winter cried. She let the doll fall to the floor.
"I suppose that someone had this made for decoration," the thaumaturge said matter-of-factly.
"But—"
That was when Levana had lost the last of her nerve. She pointed a finger to Winter's chest. "We had a deal! Now, zip it!" She took a deep breath. "Hero, you're dismissed."
The thaumaturge bowed and took her leave. Winter wiped her teary eyes and closed the door. The key was held tight in her grip. The thought of spending yet another day in stiff boredom, alone, made the tears continue to pool down Winter's face. She turned cautiously, and was relieved to find that Levana had gone back to work.
"Well, Little Me," said Winter, scooping up the doll in a crooked arm. "It's just us for now."
She decided to venture and explore, for the thousandth time in her short life, the small nooks and crannies of the palace. Many nobles lounged about in the salons, the courtyard, the gardens. Thaumaturges came to and fro from the underground lava tubes that lead beneath Winter's feet. The queen's favourite pets, such as Aimery and Sybil, were nowhere to be found. She peered into the library, only to find Master Gertman and a couple of his other students milling about the old, dusty books. She made sure to scurry away from there in a hurry.
The menagerie was her next stop. Inside, she admired the white birds, white foxes, white kittens, white ducklings, swans, snakes; she quickly grew bored of the endless sea of albino animals genetically engineered by the royal scientists. She wished there was some colour. Maybe a red fox, or a black cat—
She stopped dead in her tracks. In the wolf enclosure, among the perfect arctic pups, was a scrawny little grey one. She narrowed her eyes. The animal was prowling about the cage in search of food, or perhaps a fight with the other wolves. Winter perched the doll atop her shoulder. "That little one is strange," she whispered. "Do you know why he's here?"
Loneliness settled heavily on Winter's shoulders. A doll was no replacement for company.
"I see that you like it," said Alasdair.
Winter jumped out and let out a cry of shock. He had sneaked up behind her without so much as a sound. Her heart pounding, she quickly held the doll behind her back. "What do you want, Weirdo?"
Alasdair held his hands up defensively. "Princess, please. You don't just go calling people that."
"You don't go sneaking up on others, then!" Winter cried. She brought out the doll and waved it in front of Alasdair's loathsome face. "You don't go making dolls of people, either! Do you think you're funny?!"
"As I've said before," he huffed, "I found it in my mother's chest."
Winter snorted. "Liar."
"I think it might've been her sister's," Alasdair continued. "That might be why she didn't put it in the playroom..."
"I don't care where you found it, because you're a liar. You had this made by someone. If you think that this is gonna make me like you—"
"What makes you think that I like you?"
"You're a classic creep," Winter spat. At that point, she was so frustrated that she didn't care about what spilled out of her mouth. If she would regret it later, so be it. "It's really obvious. Speaking of which," she jabbed a finger at him, "you manipulate me like that again, and I'll make you dance like the clown you are until you die from exhaustion."
Alasdair scoffed. "You don't mean that. And...I apologize for my untoward behaviour. I just wanted to try out something. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear." He rolled his eyes. "It's what my father expects me to do."
"Likely story."
"Girls are not my type."
Winter rubbed her forehead, suddenly tired. She could always hear a tinkling little tune in her ears; she suspected it remained from a leftover hallucination sometime ago. It was incessantly annoying. "What else do you want?"
Alasdair's eyes widened. "Oh, yeah! I wanted you to take pictures of this, please," he said, picking up a clear box. Inside was the biggest, ugliest slug Winter had ever seen. She let out a gasp. "I would like you to take them with me."
Winter made a face as he put his port in her hand. It was already open on the camera function. "I'm not taking a picture with that thing."
"Not you. Me and Slugzilla."
Alasdair was quick to let the slimy creature out of the box. He posed with it near, far, and even pretended to have it come out of his nose. Despite herself, Winter couldn't help but laugh slightly at how ridiculous he looked. After the pictures were taken, Alasdair plopped the poor slug back in the box and had a servant put it back where all the other gross insects were kept. It must've belonged to him, but why anyone would willingly own a pet slug, Winter didn't know.
"Pretty cute, huh?"
Winter made another face. "Slugzilla is the embodiment of beauty." She coughed. "Do you have any other pets here?"
"Scoundrel," Alasdair replied, nodding in the direction of the wolf enclosure. "She's mine."
"The little grey one's yours?"
"Yeah. No one else wanted her, so I did. They were gonna put her down."
Winter walked towards the wolves. They were laying around everywhere, nice and lazy. The scruffy one sat on a rock in the center of it all. She stood at attention, as if she were listening out for something.
"Scoundrel's always on edge," Alasdair yawned. "My sister says she's senile."
"I don't like your sister," Winter declared. Anabel Dunlin was very cruel, especially to animals. Whenever Anabel was in the menagerie, Winter always remained on guard. She didn't want to find all her pets hurt or dead.
"She doesn't like you either. But then again, she doesn't like much at all." Alasdair shrugged.
Winter held the doll close. "If this was your aunt's, why does it look like me?" She asked, apprehensive.
"I wouldn't know. My mother refuses to talk about her."
"I didn't know you even had an aunt."
Alasdair pulled her in closer. Winter was instantly nervous, but she stayed quiet. "My mother had a twin sister once," he whispered. "When the two were little, her sister went missing very suddenly. One day she was there, and then, they never saw her again. I'm pretty sure that doll was hers; why else would my mother keep it?"
"But why does it look like me?!"
"Couldn't tell you. But I just found it funny, and thought that you might like it." He turned his head and analyzed the doll. "It's pretty creepy, if you think about it. Those eyes," he laughed, "it's like they look into your soul or something."
Winter squirmed. "Thank you so much for your gift," she retorted. "I do believe that your mother might want it back, though."
"She won't even notice it's gone."
Winter opened her mouth to say something else, but they were suddenly caught off guard by a woman's shouts. "ALASDAIR! It's time to go!"
The noble boy let out a groan. "Welp, gotta go. The Mom is through here." He nodded. "Thanks for those pictures."
Winter's lips tightened. She didn't like him, one little bit. "No problem," she muttered.
"And hey, if you maybe wanna hang out sometime..." he started.
Winter placed the doll back on her shoulder. Lady Dunlin called out again for her son. "I think it's time for you to leave, Alasdair."
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Alasdair called out over his shoulder. He went off in a trot, and Winter was relieved that she was finally freed from his presence.
Her nose crinkled. "He talks too much," she decided.