IC: The Doll
It was an ugly thing, maybe 8 inches from tip of foot to top of head. Made of felt (horrifically aged), yarn for hair (ratted and split all along the strands), one button eye (the other never quite suited her) and stuffed with sawdust; she was a pitiful sight. The eldest doll, the very first one ever made, it was special. Special like me.
"Is there a reason your interested in her Harpy Baker?" She is so innocent in voice, so soft and light of frame.
"She reminds me of...an old friend, dear Promise."
- - - - - - - - - - -
I remember life on the farm. It was simple, far simpler than this day and age, and life was good. But I was always reminded my place. I was Alejandro, seventh son of a horse breeder. I was destined for nothing...to be shelved as a stable boy or sent to become a baker. My elder brothers all would get inheritance, land, wealth, marriages to good families. I had...nothing. I was to be given nothing, as my father once said. I was to be given nothing, for I was simply an extra farmboy in his eyes. If I wanted something...I had to fight for it. I still wonder if Father taught me that lesson on purpose, if he knew of my grand designs or y great destiny?
My first sibling died of a pox, a curse from god one of the servant girls said. I never viewed it as a curse, but a sign. My father had me apprenticed to a local baker then, I was now the 6th son and would earn the family name one day if I finished my apprenticeship. As I worked on the farm and in the mills, I worked to study everything I could. I would one day be the eldest son...and everything would be mine.
My next brother died from food poisoning, its a shame the labels were switched on the olive oil. The next one was thrown from his horse, something spooked the poor beast it seems and you never quite recover from a cracked open skull back then. The fourth was a knifing, he should watch his gambling debts. The fifth drowned, drinking far too much then taking a bath is unwise. The eldest...well...he just disappeared one day. Soon it was my time, and I would inherit my rightful place.
My father disappeared, murdered most foul. The farm was finally mine...until I met my sire. Then it was back to the bottom again, back to the fighting and the scraping. I knew the Game however, I knew it better than most I was prepared to leave it all behind, risk it all for the chance at greatness. When my Sire asked me what I shall call myself...it was instinctual. Panadero, Alejandro Panadero.
I would take what was given, but would always make my own destiny.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
The way she cocks her head in confusion is so precious. Almost darling and child-like, if I didn't know the predator within. "I once knew a man named Alejandro. He was discarded and thought useless...made from the leftovers of whatever was around him. He fought against the odds, and became a great man in his time. She is much the same...and I wish to remember my dear friend."
When she asks me a price, I feel my Beast rise for a brief moment. Decades of practice allowed me to swallow my thoughts, the sheer insult of asking a price for such...she did not know however. "It is priceless to me Promise...I would dishonor this doll by naming a price for it. Whatever you want, is yours."
She asks that I take it home, and forever take good care of her doll. I want to laugh and cry at the same time, but I simply nod.
I will always take good care of my muñeca del destino.
"Is there a reason your interested in her Harpy Baker?" She is so innocent in voice, so soft and light of frame.
"She reminds me of...an old friend, dear Promise."
- - - - - - - - - - -
I remember life on the farm. It was simple, far simpler than this day and age, and life was good. But I was always reminded my place. I was Alejandro, seventh son of a horse breeder. I was destined for nothing...to be shelved as a stable boy or sent to become a baker. My elder brothers all would get inheritance, land, wealth, marriages to good families. I had...nothing. I was to be given nothing, as my father once said. I was to be given nothing, for I was simply an extra farmboy in his eyes. If I wanted something...I had to fight for it. I still wonder if Father taught me that lesson on purpose, if he knew of my grand designs or y great destiny?
My first sibling died of a pox, a curse from god one of the servant girls said. I never viewed it as a curse, but a sign. My father had me apprenticed to a local baker then, I was now the 6th son and would earn the family name one day if I finished my apprenticeship. As I worked on the farm and in the mills, I worked to study everything I could. I would one day be the eldest son...and everything would be mine.
My next brother died from food poisoning, its a shame the labels were switched on the olive oil. The next one was thrown from his horse, something spooked the poor beast it seems and you never quite recover from a cracked open skull back then. The fourth was a knifing, he should watch his gambling debts. The fifth drowned, drinking far too much then taking a bath is unwise. The eldest...well...he just disappeared one day. Soon it was my time, and I would inherit my rightful place.
My father disappeared, murdered most foul. The farm was finally mine...until I met my sire. Then it was back to the bottom again, back to the fighting and the scraping. I knew the Game however, I knew it better than most I was prepared to leave it all behind, risk it all for the chance at greatness. When my Sire asked me what I shall call myself...it was instinctual. Panadero, Alejandro Panadero.
I would take what was given, but would always make my own destiny.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
The way she cocks her head in confusion is so precious. Almost darling and child-like, if I didn't know the predator within. "I once knew a man named Alejandro. He was discarded and thought useless...made from the leftovers of whatever was around him. He fought against the odds, and became a great man in his time. She is much the same...and I wish to remember my dear friend."
When she asks me a price, I feel my Beast rise for a brief moment. Decades of practice allowed me to swallow my thoughts, the sheer insult of asking a price for such...she did not know however. "It is priceless to me Promise...I would dishonor this doll by naming a price for it. Whatever you want, is yours."
She asks that I take it home, and forever take good care of her doll. I want to laugh and cry at the same time, but I simply nod.
I will always take good care of my muñeca del destino.