The Doll sits at the foot of the great tree, nestled away among twisting roots and soft, lush grass. Only the echo of the wind can be heard, the rocks and greenery blocking out the elements. Her stark white finger strokes the bark. She can't feel it, per se, but she can sense the rough texture, the bumps and ridges, and the dents and nicks it has accrued from her bouts with the Hunter. The Hunter...
How could he not know how Maria would make her feel? "Stupid tramp... With her urine-colored hair and her moronic equestrian hairstyle." The Doll mutters. She had been lazing about the dream ever since the Hunter had embarked on a reconnaissance mission with Maria. The fact that it's a search for information to help the Doll still doesn't improve her mood.
"Idiotic Hunter, with his useless bandages and impractical weapons. Saws are for wood, you simpleton."
A tremor goes through her body, and she frowns. Ever since Maria's appearance, strange feelings well up in her chest. Her body would grow warm, and she would unconsciously clench her slender fingers. Whenever she thinks of the Hunter and Maria together, it becomes difficult for her to breathe, and an agonizing ache settles in her chest. Are these feelings normal for humans? Or is this unique to her, a punishment for being an abomination made in the likeness of another?
The Doll draws her knees up to her chest, folding her arms atop them and burying her head in their crook. Her face contorts, scrunching and clenching, fighting back tears.
But the small stones still litter the ground after she leaves.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Doll is practicing with her oversized kusarigama when the two Hunters return from the dream. Maria is laughing heavily, and the Hunter has a wide smile upon his face.
I'd like to wipe that smile off with my foot, the Doll thinks, the vitriolic sentiment surprising even herself.
"Oh gosh, you did not, you buffoon," Maria says. "Only you would try to propel a cart with a whirligig saw. So? Did you fail spectacularly or just regularly?"
The Hunter looks sheepish. "It worked a little too well. The cart was small and light, so it was quite fast. So fast, in fact, that the wheels were snapped when I attempted to turn. Next time I'll attach it to the front..."
Maria bursts out laughing once more. "You're going to 'drive' yourself mad." She punches him 'lightly' on the shoulder, and he is knocked off balance, overcompensating and falling on Maria. The two collapse to the ground in a heap.
"My, my, Hunter," Maria coos. "How forward." Her eyes widen, and she grabs the Hunter and rolls to the side. The Doll's Church Pick comes flying down, burying itself in the cobblestone and sending shards of rock across the courtyard.
"Beg pardon." The Doll says flatly. "My hand slipped."
"You could have killed us!" Maria shouts, pushing the Hunter aside.
"The Hunter would have just woken up at the headstone," the Doll replies.
Maria scowls. "What about me? I'm not tied to the Dream!"
The Doll glares at her. "Like I said..."
Maria's eyes widen. "You vindictive harpy! Get your own face!"
The Doll glares at her, the murder in her eyes telling Maria that she had struck a nerve. Satisfied, she whirls around and stalks away. "Come on, Hunter." She grabs his arm, her immense strength yanking him up like he is a doll. "I found a lovely corset, and I need you to help me put it on." She smirks at the Doll, the Hunter blissfully unaware of the veiled jabs between the two tall beauties.
The Doll grabs his other arm. "This is my Hunter," she growls. "Perhaps you could help relieve a blood addled hunter, though he might be a little too civil for you." The Hunter sucks in a breath, sensing a storm brewing.
"let's go, Hunter," Maria says hotly. "You've spent plenty of time with her. I have been alone for years, stuck in that dreadful clocktower."
"Good Hunter, I forbid you from galavanting about with this hussy!"
"Hunter, she doesn't own you!"
"Good Hunter!"
"Hunter!"
"ENOUGH!" The Hunter roars. With a mighty heave that nearly dislocates his shoulders, he yanks the two tall women together, where their heads collide with a painful SMACK!
The two pale-haired women fall backard, landing on their shapley behinds.
"Cut the shit!" The Hunter yells, grabbing each of their collars and pulling their faces close to his. "You think I'm not having a hard enough time without you two sickly-looking ghosts bickering!? You think it's easy to be friends with someone who looks exactly like your love?! Do you think I don't feel like scum for liking both of you!?"
He roughly shoves them both away and stands, turning to leave. The Doll and Maria both scramble to their feet, grabbing for him.
"Good Hunter-"
"Hunter-"
"SHUT UP!" He swats their hands away. Each time they speak, he is further reminded of who they are. The Deserter and the Replica. The Lady and the Love. Karina and Maria. The same coin.
He kneels at the headstone, and vanishes into the waking world.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The stale Yharnam air shimmers, and the Hunter shifts into existence. He stands, taking a deep breath, recognizing the scent of wood, soil, and the faintest hint of the blood and rot that chokes the city.
The Old Workshop creaks, and a garbled scream echoes over the chasm from the city. Ironically enough, the place responsible for training the most skillful hunters is also the safest. If one wished to reach it, they would have to fight through the blood soaked streets of Yharnam, pass the incense barrier to Oedon Chapel, ascend the elevator without being pumped full of quicksilver bullets by a townsman, fall distances not survivable by any human, and finally unlock the door to the workshop with a special key.
The Hunter had stumbled upon it quite by accident; foolishly, he had used a weak hand lantern instead of a torch, and he plunged through the darkness of the chapel tower. After a few painful impacts, he landed on a wooden platform facing a large, ornately carved door.
The Old Workshop had become his refuge, away from the hunt, the Doll, Maria, and everything and anything. It's so isolated that one can feel detached from any problem, the Cherrywood and coldblood flowers giving it a warm, hazy atmosphere.
But most of all, it housed someone... Something he could tell his problems to, his darkest secrets. Something new, yet familiar. Something inanimate, yet friendly.
Something that may be the key to saving his love, should the dream fall.
It housed a doll.
