Opening to the Fic, as seen by Ko-chan
Each piece was individually selected for utmost quality, and lovingly connected to the next. Hands to arms and feet to legs, the doll was perfectly formed. The paintbrush slid over the once flawless porcelain, red like blood as it streaked in a fine script over the torso. They were the lines of a curse once carved into the flesh of a beautiful, living doll, who now slept in a hospital bed miles away. The wig selected for the doll was made of the same hair that adorned the living doll's head, trimmed the night they had met without the little one's knowledge. It was too bad that the eyes were glass, for the real eyes were far more beautiful.
The clothing was the most difficult thing to decide on. Should the doll be dressed in a fine yukata of red with silver threading? Or should the doll have a more modern outfit with denim and buttons and lace?
"Beautiful little poppet, what do you wish to be dressed in?"
The doll's eyes glimmered in the half-lit room, and for a moment the lips seemed to curl into a smile. But no, dolls did not move on their own.
In the end, after the paint had dried, the doll was dressed in the delicate yukata. The beloved trinket sat next to its twin, who lay naked and in need of finishing touches.
But it was not as if the broken little doll needed to be dressed. After all, there was much more fun to be had with it.
***
He could feel the ghostly touches of tender fingers against his skin. They were warm -almost too warm- and he groaned as he wished to yank the thin cotton sheet from his body. The moonlight spilled in through the window, interrupted only by the off-white blinds. Small, bluish bars of light fell over his form and he shifted uncomfortably as sleep escaped him once more.
The fingers were playing with him. He knew this from nights of endless suffering. They thought he was mad, and had bound him to the bed since he had been known to thrash about late at night. He knew he was not mad. He knew there really were fingers splaying over his abdomen, toying with his chest, and sliding between his thighs. "No..."
He shivered as the phantom caress of lips brushed over his cheek, almost as if to reassure him. Panic settled low in his stomach and he pulled at the restraints as the hands -yes, there were two now- scratched at his skin and tore it to bleeding. He wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but no one would believe him. There were no marks. There was no blood.
The injuries were all in his mind. The pain was real.
Now...this is where I bow down and worship the alter of kohakutenshi.
The clothing was the most difficult thing to decide on. Should the doll be dressed in a fine yukata of red with silver threading? Or should the doll have a more modern outfit with denim and buttons and lace?
"Beautiful little poppet, what do you wish to be dressed in?"
The doll's eyes glimmered in the half-lit room, and for a moment the lips seemed to curl into a smile. But no, dolls did not move on their own.
In the end, after the paint had dried, the doll was dressed in the delicate yukata. The beloved trinket sat next to its twin, who lay naked and in need of finishing touches.
But it was not as if the broken little doll needed to be dressed. After all, there was much more fun to be had with it.
***
He could feel the ghostly touches of tender fingers against his skin. They were warm -almost too warm- and he groaned as he wished to yank the thin cotton sheet from his body. The moonlight spilled in through the window, interrupted only by the off-white blinds. Small, bluish bars of light fell over his form and he shifted uncomfortably as sleep escaped him once more.
The fingers were playing with him. He knew this from nights of endless suffering. They thought he was mad, and had bound him to the bed since he had been known to thrash about late at night. He knew he was not mad. He knew there really were fingers splaying over his abdomen, toying with his chest, and sliding between his thighs. "No..."
He shivered as the phantom caress of lips brushed over his cheek, almost as if to reassure him. Panic settled low in his stomach and he pulled at the restraints as the hands -yes, there were two now- scratched at his skin and tore it to bleeding. He wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but no one would believe him. There were no marks. There was no blood.
The injuries were all in his mind. The pain was real.
Now...this is where I bow down and worship the alter of kohakutenshi.