194 words (1 minute)
In a house full of dolls—each delicately handled, meticulously kept in pristine condition, all kept immaculate in their display cases when not in service—this one stands out with scuffs and gouge marks, creaking joints, fading paint, wrinkled dress, all the signs of ungentle use.
The little doll was visibly struggling—arms hugging knees, rocking back and forth in the corner—and her witch had a full day ahead.
She leaned over, kissed the top of her head, and whispered comforting words as she deftly twisted and popped the doll's head off her shoulders.
Sometimes the witch—surrounded by tools and trappings of arcane origin—gets lost in her research, book stacked upon open book as she cross-references another lead on some magic gone awry.
Sometimes her doll catches her working late and offers a blanket for her shoulders.
1031 words (5 minutes)
She wraps her arms around me just like always, tilting her head to one side, offering me her delicate neck.
We've done this countless times, but she still gives a tiny shiver of anticipation as my lips touch my favorite place and my fangs pierce deep into my thrall.
478 words (2 minutes)
The doll trundles down the stairs, one uneven step at a time, button eyes hanging particularly loosely from the threads joining them to her face.
Her sisters cast a sympathetic glance her way and clear a path to the kitchen for her. One silently begins filling a kettle.
140 words (1 minute)
The doll setting the table pours two cups of tea from two separate tea pots. "Orange pekoe for Miss and hibiscus for me," it says to itself. "It's okay to have my own tastes."
Its witch overhears and responds flatly, "no it isn't."
267 words (1 minute)
The Spider checking its web finds several moths that wandered in and—oh!—a fairy too. Must save that one for a special occasion, yes.
What else, what else… Hey, is that…?
Ah, yes, it is! A familiar sight, a pretty creature in loose-fitting black robes, a priestess.