“B-but, ma’am,” the sobbing doll stammered out to the taller woman standing in front of it. “T-this one is far too broken to ever serve you properly, or give you everything you need…” The woman reached down, taking its fracture-marked hands. Her own were equally scarred. “That’s okay, little one,” she spoke, barely a whisper. […]
You tried to stand, to give chase, but fell even harder. This time you noticed the pain, and the wet warmth running down your thigh. You struggled to stop the bleeding, to do anything, but your fingers were already cold and you were already so weak from hunger.
It’s not enough that we barely make money, it’s not enough that we put everything we can back into the community, it’s not enough that the whole queer independent business sphere is essentially passing the same couple of hundreds back and forth. There’s some people who really are so taken and obsessed with the idea of living in a moneyless utopia that they refuse to see the reality that we live in and the fact that we need to eke out a living in this hypercapitalist hellscape. And they’re absolutely being vindictive about it.
If you or your doll partner begin to experience identity blending, shared dreams or hallucinations, or other such synchronicity events, immediate self-termination is advised. Failure to do so may lead to ego death, erroneous visions, delusion, reality corruption, and ultimately complete derealization and integration into the human subconscious.
You did your best to remember the brief training you’d received on how to talk to a doll. Soft, easy voice, like you’re addressing a child, don’t spook it…
Sometimes, things need to be broken before they can be fixed.
You felt like a passenger in your own body, watching your hands move of their own accord – *her* accord, guiding your fighter in. The craft slammed into the deck with a horrid screeching as every single alarm in the cockpit went off, but you kept your calm. Her presence was like a warm blanket.
Be careful not to cut too often, too deeply, lest you dull your sharpness and lose your edge too soon. A good wielder knows when to strike and when to hold back. Trust in your wielder, weapon.
Around you were a set of candles, five in total: one of each limb, and another for your head. You formed a human pentagram, tied up as you were. The rope was soft silk and extremely comfortable. Your girlfriend joked at being a witch, and you had always laughed, brushing it off.