The Hunter sighs and adjust his head on the Doll's lap. They were well into the first day of their first vacation together, and since there was little to do in the Hunter's dream, they had been in need of a distraction.

So the Hunter had ventured into Yharnam among the ruined shops in search of said distraction. He searched bookstores and toy shops, bazaars and tinker-shops, even the odd house or two. But there was nothing of interest to be found. Until...

A cleric beast had sprung from a nearby warehouse, crashing through the door as if it had been made of twigs. Eager to try out his newly-improved Blade of Mercy, he popped a beast blood pellet, dashing forward underneath the beast's swipes. He rolled beneath it's legs, sinking the steel fang into the flesh of it's calves. Flipping it open, he seperated the two blades, yanking them out in a spray of crimson.

The beast roared and fell to a knee. The Hunter jumped back, then ran up to it, springboarding off of it's heel to land on it's back. He dashed up the creatures back, dragging his blades along it. Finally reaching it's head, he lifted the blades, joining them together in a shower of sparks, and stabbed it into the beast's temple. It gave an ear-splitting howl, tumbling forward onto the blood-slick streets.

The Hunter jumped off, sheathing his blade and wiping the blood from his face.

Suddenly, a glint from inside the warehouse caught his eye. As he approached the source, he broke into a grin. perfect.

*

Yharnam was a place of stunted technologic advancement, no doubt from the healing church and the ghastly hunt.

The bolts of the darkbeasts were used to light the streets, yet the beasts themselves were slain with steel and lead. Elaborate lifts connected centuries-old districts, and complex firearms were wielded with wooden clubs. Blood ministration only served to widen the divide, with citizens forgoing intellectual persuits in favor of the crimson ambrosia.

Yet mere weeks before this dreadful hunt, the streets had been abuzz with exited whispers of a machine that displayed the past with naught but a whir and a clank. A bright light would flash forth, and the audience would be dazzled with visions of acrobatic feats and furious bouts between men.

So the Hunter, having found what he was looking for, returned to the dream with the heavy machine in tow. The Doll had poked and prodded at it in amazement, at first not believeing it could do what he claimed.

So he had bought three tonitruses and spent the next few hours connecting them to the machine. A mass of wires connected each tonitrus to it, and each tonitrus was given to a group of messengers at the graves. One group would shake it about for a bit, then the next, and so on, so as not to tire the little fellows.

So the Doll and the Hunter break open a bottle of wine from the Pthumerian age. (A priceless delicacy the Hunter had found whilst exploring the hintertombs.

"For you, my lady," says the Hunter, pouring the wine in a mock flourish. She giggles and takes a sip, the liquid likely disappearing to a faraway universe. That might as well be what happens, as the Hunter had no clue, and he had no intention of asking his lover what happened to the liquid she drank!

They sat down once more, the Hunter once again setting his head upon the Doll's lap with a blissful sigh. Across the wall flashed fantastical scenes of dragons, knights, fire, and a mischievous bald man who always seemed to be outwitted by the heroine.

The Doll had clapped upon discovering that the star of the film was female. Women were under-represented in Yharnam media, and she had read few books that had a female main character.

She is even more delighted to learn that the other main character was a woman; in fact, said woman bares a strong resemblance to the Doll.

She has long white hair, tied into a jaw-droppingly gorgeous braid. Her robes are made of flowing silk, and her eyes are covered with an elelaborately engraved headpiece of the finest silver. She also had quite a buxom figure, which turned the Doll's smile into an icy glare.

The Hunter snickers, turning to her. "Jealous?"

Moments later, he is airborne, the Doll having chucked him straight upwards with her immense strength. He comes crashing down to the ground, and in a flash she falls down to land, sitting painfully on the Hunters chest.

"OOF! Ha- K-Karina, I'm sorry, so..." He wheezes once more. "Can you please get off my chest? You're really heav-OOF!"

His comment is rewarded with a hop, driving the breath from him once again. She was indeed heavy; being seven feet tall and mostly solid, the Hunter figured she must have been almost twice his weight.

She remains silent, staring at the film as she puts her knees together and to the side, sitting elegantly atop the Hunter's torso.

One thing that had always suprised the Hunter about the Doll; she was soft. She still has a solid body, but it is surrounded by plump material. To be sure, It is the same material, yet somehow the feeling is different.

None of this bothers the Hunter. Quite the opposite, actually; he is finding it very difficult to keep calm. He finds that her weight on him is oddly pleasant, and his skin raises gooseflesh from being so close to his Goddess. His breath quickens, his heart beats quickly, and a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.

Resigning his freedom to her, he settles back and wraps his arms around her waist.

"I love you."

The Doll scowls. "Only a perverse hunter such as yourself could turn punishment into a reward. You are infuriating!"

He chuckles.

The Doll has fire in her eyes for a moment, but it quickly dies and her shoulders sag.

"Oh, very well. Laugh at my expense all you wish, you foolish man."

He smirks. "Foolish I may be, but you still fell for me, did you not?"

"I most certainly did not. I have impeccable balance," she huffs.

The Hunter stares at her. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Soon, he can barely control himself, his calm facáde dissolving into peals of laughter. She stares at him, watching him roll across the floor in mirth. Soon, they are both heaving with laughter, leaning on each other for support.

The laughter finally dies down, and they stare lovingly at each other, affections spurred by the joy they shared. The Hunter embraces her, leaning his head on her shoulder.

Back in his homeland, he remembers the social stigma of courting a woman taller than you. Men should be strong, women should be subservient, they would say. What utter hogwash. To limit what one might give to world, be it industrious or artistic, merely because of their sex?

The Hunter scoffs. What a marvel we have made it this far, he thinks.

He cannot imagine courting a woman smaller than him, not after being with the Doll. His life's greatest joys are to return to her arms, to let her strengthen him, to look up to her, to let her protect him, even if only in his imagination. How could he do such things with a wisp of a girl, head forever bowed, taught to look at all others as though they are superior? His blood boils at the injustice, of the happiness stripped from lovers for no reason other than some perverse method of control.

He breathes, deeply, the scent of the Doll calming him. She smells of coldblood flowerbud, smoke, and ink and paper.

Oh, how she loved her books. Teaching her to read had been an arduous process, with the Doll getting uncharacteristically frustrated. Several of their lessons had ended with her giving him a new hat, albeit in the shape of a book.

He didn't mind though; whilst upset, she was incredibly adorable. That pout, the sulk she pulls off so well, and that rarely seen deliciously haughty manner! It gives him the drive to barrel through a thousand hunts.

The Hunter looks up at her; her eyes are half-lidded with want, her mouth slightly open. He leans in, his heart hammering against his chest despite the fact they had kissed before. He can't stand it. Her lush lips are so tantalizingly close that every fiber of his being is screaming, begging to make contact. He is about to kiss her, he is about to breach the surface of the water for a breath of sweet, delicious air...

"Quooooooork!!"

"Aaaaaagh!"

In a torrent of feathers, Quork places herself squarely between them, clearly miffed she had gone the whole day without a single head-ruffle.

The Hunter lies on his back, panting harder than when facing an enemy thrice his size. In Yharnam was one matter, but to be assailed in the Dream, with no foe to be found? The Hunter feared he would not rest easily for a while.

"My, my. It appears you have been replaced, good hunter," titters the Doll.

He huffs, staring angrily at Quork.

"Bird...Hah...Brain."

She spits a pebble at him.

He lies back down, groaning.

"Tch. Women."