A Knight's Sorrow

April 2, 2013

The Kitten and The Knight

Filed under: Story — Harlequinn @ 2:06 pm
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A long time ago, in the Land of Lost Toys, wandered a brass knight made of gears and cogs. Though he travelled far and wide, slaying cruel beasts and witches with his alabaster sword, he never found a place to call home. He never knew joy. It was not because he was never offered riches and glory, to which like any good knight, he turned down, but because, like any good knight, he was on a quest.

For, you see, brass knights made of gears and cogs run on clockwork that must be wound every so often, lest their gears stop turning. But many years ago, this knight had his key that wound damaged in a fierce battle against an electric dragon, that snapped his key in half. And now, without a way to fix his key, the knight feared the day his gears would turn no more.

One day on his travels, the clockwork knight stumbled upon a kitten made of the most delicate porcelain, with a copper bow in her hair, weeping by a river. Not one for seeing fair maidens cry, the clockwork knight approached the porcelain kitten and asked what was wrong. Staring up at the knight, the kitten wiped the tears away from her blue eyes, and sniffled as she told the knight her story.

Many years ago, the porcelain kitten was kidnapped by an evil demon that had locked her away in his dark tower, so she could not see the sun and the moon, that she loved so much. But being a resourceful kitten, she found a way to creep out of the tower, so that she could once again see the moon and the stars that lit the night sky. But alas, in her escape, she had fallen and cracked her delicate porcelain skin. Worse still, by the light of the following morning, the cruel demon had once again found her and locked her higher up in his tower.

Every time she was locked away, she found yet another way to escape. But alas, with every escape, her porcelain skin became more damaged and chipped, so that now where her heart should be, was only an empty shard. Latching onto the knight, she wept that she was afraid she was too damaged and broken, and that none could love a porcelain kitten without a heart. That all she had to look forward to, was to see the moon once last time, until the demon came for her once again. Mustering what courage he had, the knight declared that he would protect her from the demon, and so they made camp by the river, snuggled up in each other’s arms. For one night, the knight and the kitten felt complete. Whole. At peace.

When the harsh light of the morning rays fell upon the knight, he realised his arms felt empty. And then it dawned upon him, that the kitten was gone. Stolen. Taken by the demon while they slept. Not one to break his oath, the clockwork knight picked up his sword and marched for the demon’s tower. Through day and night, through ice and rain, the knight did not relent until he found the demon’s frozen tower to the northern lands.

Entering slowly into the tower, the knight hoped to catch the demon sleeping in his foul and fetid dungeon. And while the demon was in the dark and damp dungeon that existed beneath the tower, he was not asleep. Nor was he happy to find this intruder that wish to steal his porcelain kitten away from him. And so, the brass knight and icy demon fought, with sword against claw, until finally the knight was triumphant as the demon lay dead.

With the beast now slain, the knight slowly made his way up the spiralling stairs of the tower until he made his way to the highest room, where the porcelain kitten was kept. Upon seeing the knight open the locked door to her room, the kitten was elated to see her saviour rescue her from the terror of her captor, until she gasped. For the struggle with the demon was one battle too many for the knight’s gears, as they slowly began to creak to a halt. And while the knight wanted to smile, knowing he did one last deed before gears stopped, he fell backwards, down the spiralling stairs until crashing to a halt.

Rushing down the stairs, the kitten wept at what she found. Broken gears and shards of metal lay scattered upon the icy floor. There was no more knight, just fragments of what he was. But being a resourceful and stubborn kitten, she worked hard through the night until she had pieced the knight back together. But without a key to wind his gears, he did not stir or move. Instead he just stared up at the ceiling, cold and unaware.

Sighing a defeated sigh, the kitten picked up the knight’s alabaster sword and laid it upon his chest. But as she did so, she gasped in both joy and sadness. For you see, the shard of alabaster that was the knight’s sword was just the right shape to fill the porcelain kitten’s cracked heart. Now the kitten realised why she had felt complete when she slept in the clockwork knight’s arm that fateful night. While she feared that she would never be whole, he unknowingly had the shard for her heart.

Clutching tightly at the knight’s unmoving form, the kitten wept and wept. For years she had hoped for someone to complete, and now the moment she had found him, she had lost him. Slowly wiping the tears from her eyes, the copper bow from her hair fell to the ground, landing next to the knight’s broken key. Picking up the bow and the key, the kitten was shocked and delighted to find that her bow fit perfectly into the cracks of the key’s broken shaft.

At first, she hesitantly inserted the key into the knight’s heart and turned the key once, until she heard a click and a grind of moving gears. Giggling happily, the kitten enthusiastically turned the key again and again, winding the gears of the knight’s heart until he sat up. Looking down in surprise, the knight saw the kitten’s bow had fixed his broken key, and that she had given him life once again.

As the first rays of the morning light slowly made their way into the tower, the knight and kitten hugged each other tightly, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. Both of them were now complete. Both of them were now whole. No longer did the kitten need to sneak out to see the night, for now she had her knight. No longer did the knight need to search for his key, for the kitten had opened his heart. They were together now, and forever happy.

November 1, 2012

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September 1, 2012

Little Raven

Filed under: Story — Harlequinn @ 2:46 am
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Once there was a little girl, that was the talk of the town. Her long black hair that seem to cascade down her pale shoulders, coupled with her eyes that were blacker than the darkest night, had earnt her the nickname Raven. And like the raven, Little Raven was both a curious creature, that death seemed to follow.

Ever since her parents died while wandering through the woods, anyone that got too close to Little Raven, seemed to die a tragic death. The only one who ever cared, and seemed to be immune to this tragic curse, was her Grandma, the old woman of the woods. Though as best she could, her Grandma couldn’t stop Little Raven’s desire to live within the local village when she came of age. As such, once a month, Little Raven would make a visit to her Grandma will a basket of supplies.

On one such trip to her Grandma, Little Raven heard a curious noise she had not heard before. It was a sweetly gentle music that seemed to be like liquid honey upon the ears. It called towards Little Raven, beckoning her away from her away from the path she always travelled. As she closed her eyes, it seemed to whisper her name. Pulling on her curiousity, gently coaxing her forward.

Little Raven’s first step forward, snapped her back to reality, as a few twigs crackled underfoot. As much as she was alarmed, so was the source of the music, as silence filled the air. Then the thought that the ethereal melody may have been a ploy to lure young maidens to their doom, Little Raven froze with fright.

Her eyes slowly scanned the dark forest, as the shadows seem to creep closer. Yet nothing stirred.

Her ears listened intently to the echoing silence, hearing only the slight rustling of fallen leaves. Yet nothing made a noise.

“Hello?” she hesitantly asked, as she took another step off the path, only to jump back onto the path in surprise as a little head peered around from a tree.

“Why hello miss.” smiled the young unkempt face of a man that appeared to have never had a pair of scissors go near his auburn locks that flowed past his shoulders in a tangled mess, but yet had the decency to keep the hair on his face to just a stubble.

“I… I’m sorry. I just heard your musi…” she began to reply, before she lost her words at his appearance.

It wasn’t because she was just merely alarmed, but because it was something she had only read about in her Grandma’s books. Gracefully, he stepped out from behind the tree, his pale bare chest seeming to be chiselled out of delicate white marble. Which only made the contrast of the shaggy auburn fur that graced over his legs and cloven feet, all more apparent.

“You’re… you’re a faun…” Little Raven stammered, as she tried to piece together the confusion that had swept through her mind.

“Why… why I guess I am.” the faun chuckled as he comically looked down at his legs to highlight the rather obvious nature of what he has.

“So what brings you to the woods, little miss?” he enquired, as he stepped towards Little Raven.

“I… I’m taking some things to my Grandma…” she replied, casually glancing down the path towards her Grandma.

“The Woman of the Woods? In that case, you don’t want to take that path. Much too dangerous. Besides, I know a shortcut through the woods.” the faun casually replied, waving his hand dismissingly to the path. Slowly, he approached her, smiling a little too sweetly as he extended a hand towards. A hand that ended in wicked nails.

In fright and panic, Little Raven ran down the path. She knew the stories. She knew the tales. Fauns, while friendly, were tricksters. Leading people off the path through the woods. Leading them deeper into the dark forest. The forest where many had entered and never returned. The forest where Little Raven had lost her parents.

She ran faster and faster. Her eyes locked on the path ahead, as the trees whizzed past her in a blur. She ran until she could no longer hear the faun call out for her to stop. His warnings a mere whisper in the wind, and then nothing. Then she ran a little more, before she had to stop to catch her breath.

“Little Raven? Is that you?” came a gruff voice up ahead, which she recognised. Smiling, she ran into the arms of the woodsman from the village. All sense of panic seemed to fade away, as she buried her face into his chest.

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. Back there, there was this faun, and he tried to…” poured out her words like dam about to burst, until she saw his axe.

His large heavy axe that could split trees in two, as though they were like toothpicks. His axe that curiously seemd to be covered in red sap that dripped and pooled in a dark red puddle on the ground. But yet all of the times Little Raven had traversed the woods, she had never seen red sap. Nor in her Grandma’s books, had she heard of any tree with red sap.

Slowly she peered around the large man, only to pull away from him in fright. At first she thought it was an animal that laid on the ground behind him. But then she realised that animals don’t wear clothes. Animals don’t wear shoes. Animals don’t play go through the woods with Little Timmy’s teddy bear.

“I’m sorry, Little Raven.” whisperd the Woodsman as he stepped forward with his axe raised.

“Little miss? Little miss? Where are you? There’s a murderer in these… oh…” he called out to Little Raven, as he ran down the path, wheezing and panting. He had found Little Raven, but a few moments too late. Her body lay on the ground, still yet serene.

August 25, 2012

Thy Lord Comeths

Filed under: Story — Harlequinn @ 1:43 am
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They say it is the fear of the unknown that is the greatest fear. That it can cripple grown men, and yet inspire greatest. It in itself, is fear of fear itself. That is what I told myself, and others. It is what I believe. Or at least I did. I now know what true fear is. Fear is knowing something exists. Fear is knowing It exists.

I know that sounds strange. I know that sounds contradictory. But the events of the last week are far from ordinary. Even now as I write this entry in my journal, I can hardly believe myself. The things I see when I close my eyes make no sense. I am even unsure if I should write anything done at all.

But I need to get it done. I need to get it out.

It all began with a box that arrived in my office. Or more precisely, what was inside the box. A clay tablet, from a forgotten civilisation with an indecipherable script. There was no sender. No message. Just a simple piece of clay. On a bed of straw. Inside a box.

I’m not sure if it was my arrogance or curiousity that got the best of me, but I didn’t care where it came from or from who. I only wanted to know what it was. My colleges were too used to my eccentricity and when I dismissed my lectures for this project, they understood. They called me foolish, but they understood.

The entire day I poured through every book. I cross referenced every obscure language. But not one thing matched. I wanted to dismiss the tablet as a hoax. But something in the back of my mind whispered to me. Telling me that it was real. Urging to me find the truth.

But as much as I wanted to continue, I was too exhausted. I needed food. I needed rest. More importantly, I needed my darling wife. I needed to see her, to hold her in my arms, and marvel in delight at our unborn child that grew within her. At the same time, I couldn’t abandon the tablet, and so I took it home with me.

So lost with my obsession with the tablet, I had lost all sense of time. My dinner was left in the fridge, as my wife lay asleep in our bed. As with any other time that I had come back far later than I expected, she had left me a letter saying how much she loved me and understood that my work was my first love. Though the letters were never written in jealousy or remorse, but with loving understanding, they always made me feel guilty. Guilty because she was right.

After my quick meal, I left the tablet with what few notes I had in my study while I retired next to my wife. I am amazed that I fell asleep that night with my mind abuzz with what the tablet could mean, but somehow I did fall asleep. I only know this because of the laughter I woke up to. The maddening laughter of my wife, coming from the study.

As I approached the door, I could hear my wife ramble incoherently in a tongue I did not understand, between bouts of laughter. And there was something else too. To say it was a whisper, is liking a fog horn as being a bike whistle. Yet as loud as it was, it was soft and barely audible. As though something wanted me to hear it, but not.

But that wasn’t what gripped me in terror. The sight I beheld in the study still haunts me whenever I close my eyes. Strewn across the floor where my books. All of my books. Open to random pages, with a red scrawl covering the texts beneath. In the very centre of the room, was my wife. She seemed catatonic, rocking back and forth as her hair draped over her downward cast face. Her only feature I could see was a wide smile that wasn’t hers. In her arms, was a small package, swaddled in a blanket and craddled in her arms, as though it was a baby.

The whispering was gone. Her laughter had ceased. The only sound in the air was my wife whispering under her breath, and the occassional cooing, as though she was trying to calm a baby down. I hesitantly approached her, rather confused at the scene.

“Isn’t out child beautiful, dear? Aren’t his tentacles glorious?” is what I am sure she said, as she held the bundle towards me. Her face was still obscured by her hair, but I could clearly see what lay in the blankets. It was no child. It was the tablet.

“Don’t I make a beautiful mother?” she smiled up at me, with a smile that wasn’t hers. But that wasn’t what made me gasp in fright. As she stared up at me, I was lost for words. The realisation of the red scrawl suddenly hit me. It wasn’t red paint. It was blood. Blood that she had obtained from the bleeding sockets where her eyes had been torn.

Before I could even react, the tablet fell from her hands, landing gently on a pile of books. Her body began to convulse uncontrollably. And then she suddenly stopped. Rushing to her side, I checked her pusle. She was alive. But barely.

My mind raced and panicked, waiting for the doctor to arrive. What was only minutes, seemed like hours. The ticking of the clock echoed through my head like some omnious toll of a ferryman in a fog. The echo of my shoes upon the marble floor, as I awaited for the doctor, made it seem as though I was not the only one pacing. That in the gloom of the night, with only the minimal of light, that my own shadow stalked me, it’s inky laughter a mere whisper in my ear.

I am not sure when the doctor arrived. I can’t even remember if it was still night or if morning had come. All I remember that my mind was ablaze with madness and paranoia, as I led him to the bedroom where I had brought my beloved. I remember him examining her closely and slowly as though nothing was amiss. I shouted and exclaimed about the condition of her eyes, but all he did was nod calmly as though he could not see the blood.

Angered as his seeming ignorance for the oblivious, I returned to the study where I know I could do something. There was nothing I could do about the blood smeared pages. As tarnished as the books were, they themselves were rare and priceless. Far too rare to just merely throw away for just a stained page or two. Once I had every book on the shelf, I examined the tablet. I had avoided it since returning to the room. It was so covered in the blankets, I could barely see it. I think my paranoia was afraid, that if I did spy upon it, it wouldn’t be a mere tablet anymore but some hideous babe from a mightmare.

But even my paranoia couldn’t contain what I beheld as I unwrapped it from its linen confines. It’s surface was no longer smooth and slick like clay, but it was now rough and dry, like skin. And it moved. No. It pulsated, like alive. As though it had a beating heart. What was once etching of unknown words upon its surface, were now weeping wounds that slowly trickled down with blood with evening sickening thud of its pulse. Even when I dropped it to the ground in fear and nausea, I heard it hit the ground with a sickening thud of flesh on stone, and not the crackle of clay.

I was too afraid to look at the tablet once again as I slowly wiped the spittle and bile from my lips with my sleeve. I could even barely lift myself to my feet when I heard my wife’s screams. I ran as hard and fast as I could to the room that echoed with my wife’s laboured screams. Beside the bed, the doctor examined her with his beady eyes, as he slowly removed his coat.

“She is going into labour, sir, and it needs to be done now. I do warn you, it will get messy.” he crackling voice echoed, that gave me a shiver for reasons I didn’t understand.

As his long brown coat fell to the floor, his body uncoiled from the depths. Long spindly spider like limbs extracted themselves out, a pair placing their three fingered talons on either side of the headboard of the bed, as his more “human” shed all meaning of the word humanm, save for their length, as his insectoid talons waited eagerly for the child that approached. His legs began to unfurl and stretch, revealing chitinous digigrade legs that planted themselves firmly against either side of the bed. A third pair of arms seem to grow from his torso, their hands seem to rub together in delight, as I could hear the “doctor” coo in delight with every push my wife made.

“Thy lord comeths…” the arachnoid gurgled with only a mere echo of the former voice. It turned to face me with a head that was only human in the vaguest of sense. Where eyes should be were smooth taught skin. His hair was gone, his ears and nose were sharp and upturned like a bat. But the most striking change was his mouth. A large mouthy grin that stretched from ear to ear, filled with row upon row of dagger like fangs.

“Come come, you see… you see… thy lord comeths…” he echoed, as he ushered me forth with a talon as his grin seemed to only stretched further.

As I slowly approached, what little sanity I had left at the time left me. Pulling itself free of my wife was nothing I could ever imagine. A mass of tentacles, reaching out and gripping whatever they could as they pull themselves and the mass of what lay inside my wife’s womb into the cold dark room. The screaming wails it made as it tried to pull itself were, simply put, blood curdling, and yet this delighted the “doctor” only more.

I was gripped with fear and panic. I had no idea what to do, but to do only one thing. I pulled my pistol out from my jacket, closing my eyes, and fired into the darkness. Slowly openning my eyes, I sighed a little in relief when I saw nothing moved. Then I heard the tentacles squirm as they continued to tear themselves out of my dead wife. My shaky hands pointed my pistol only to hear the click click. The fear of what it was drew me to do one thing. To beat it with my empty pistol till it moved no more. And once nothing stirred in the room, once the only thing that made a noise was my slow shallow fear stricken breath, I closed my eyes.

When I openned my eyes, I was lost. Confused. Disorientated. Everything I knew was replaced with whiteness. A stark whiteness of padded walls and padded floors and a small window into an equally white hall.

I was told by the orderlies, that I was in an asylum for the brutal murder of my wife, child and attending doctor. That I had burnt my entire house to its very foundations. That I was found, catatonic smeared in blood, rambling to myself. That I had been in here for days. No one knew of the tablet, or even recalled seeing it. And not one of my colleagues even came to see me.

I almost believed that I had become insane. That everything I saw was merely a result of a schism in my sanity. Then I saw my doctor through the glass. I saw the eyeless face with the dagger filled maw.

“Thy lord has cometh, and he hungers for this world.” he whispered through the glass, before he walked away cackling to himself.

I am not sure what is going to happen to me. But I know what is going to happen to the world. I have seen what it is, and I fear it. I have heard the screams of pain as I have heard the sickening pop as limb is torn from limb as bone and flesh are chewed upon in the dark. I have heard the cries of the patients of this facility slowly die out. I am all that is left in here. I know the lord has come, and he wants me to be his witness.

August 24, 2012

Subject 7

Filed under: Story — Harlequinn @ 6:26 am
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Here I am, betweent the shadows and long forgotten alleys that criss cross the older sections of the city. Yet, despite the state of urban decay, and the dregs of society that lived within the derelict buildings and cardboard boxes, it was beautiful. Or maybe, it was beautiful because of the stark contrast of the gleeming lights and velvet lounges that existed within the glass and steel skyscrapers that were only a few blocks down.

Or maybe it was beautiful, because like me, it was once proud and majestic, now lost, forgetten and a mockery of what it once was.

I sighed to myself, as I examined my still companions on this lonely edifice. Silent stone sentinels that watched over the the lost and the damned. Their leering faces, peering into the dark, while rain bounced off of their chiselled wings. Though while these gargoyles were nothing but mere sculpted stone, that was as cold and dead as the grave, I envied them. They will never have to deal with the memories of once being like those that ran across the streets below, nor will they ever have to deal with the fear of being a monster. I had to deal with both.

Stretching my arm out into the gloom, the frigid air and piercing rain cascading the scales of my arm. An arm that had once been flesh. Been human. That had once ended up in a human hand, and not this clawed talon. Closing my eyes, I could see it all. The life I had. The loving wife. The adoring kids. The company that was spiralling into debt. The failed suicide attempt. The hospitalisation. And then, Their offer. Financial security for my family, for the small cost of working for Them. They never mentioned the ongoing cost of my humanity. Then again, They never told us everything.

Waking me from my tormented dreams, I heard her cries. Her screams. Her pleading for a hero.

I am no hero.

Nor angel.

But I certainly am no demon. Despite the screams that children have when they glance at me from the shadows.

Effortlessly, my legs propel me, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. The cold air whistling past my ears, as I hear her cries for help get closer. My body reacts instinctively to every obstacle I see, ducking and weaving them without me having to think about their presence being in my way between me and the pleas.

Finally I see her. And her three assailants. Vile specimens of mankind. All three of them are worse than the dirt stuck to their boots. Worse than the filth and carrion that scuttled in the shadows of the alley. The three of them, leering at her, groping her. Her choking tears falling on deaf ears as people walked past the alley, barely paying a flicker of attention. But this is how the city is. This is how people think, “better off it be someone other than me”.

But I am not like other people. For I am no longer human.

While these humans think they are monsters, preying on lambs.

Yet they have no idea what a real monster really is. A monster like me…

As I dive from above on the first “wolf”, a deep gluttural roar echoes through my fangs, as I inhale deeply the scent of all those below. Her fear is sweet, but theirs is more exquisite… more refined… more fueled by terror and confusion. And it made the taste of the first wolf’s blood that flowed into my mouth taste all the more delicious. The taste of the crimson liquid that poured out of his torn throat fueled my baser instincts. It awoke the monster I truely was. The warmth. The hunger. The energy. As his life slowly slipped away, it poured into mine.

I could hear the panic behind me. The fear. The confusion. The wolves running away, while the lamb stood frozen. Running forward, past the lamb, I tackled the two wolves. My claws riping into their bodies, tearing their flesh from their bones, as a shower of blood soon turned everything red. Their screams of pain is ecstasy to my ears.

And then I hear the lamb’s scream. Even though I was her savior from the wolves that would have preyed upon her, I was still a monster. If anything, I was worse than the wolves to her. I was a monster inside and out. Covered in gore. A fanged horror from a nightmare.

Yet before I could run, like I normally would, I heard a single gunshot. Then another, and another. Three sharp pains pierced my back as my world started to become hazy. Stumbling around, I saw my own wolf. Clad head to toe in a sleek black body armour, his face hidden behind a visored helmet that was as black as his heart. Another three shots echoed out from his gun, as three darts pierced my torso, pumping drugs into my system. My world was slipping. I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t dying. But I couldn’t move.

I could see him tower over me, as I lay on the ground. He raised a hand to the side of his helmet, activating communication back to the facility.

“Subject 7 has been retrieved. Please send a retreaval team to my location.” came his cold voice, as though he was smirking at me through the darkness.

“Th… thank you sir… that… that monster…” stuttered the voice of the lamb. Her voice was angellic, yet tinged with fear and gratitude as I heard her approach him.

I saw him holster his pistol that was loaded with the darts. I saw him pull out his second pistol, that was heavier and more vicious than the first.

I saw him turn around to face the lamb.

I saw him point his gun at the lamb.

I saw him pull the trigger as she screamed.




“All witnesses have been eliminated. Send a clean up team too.” he added to his communication.

I wanted to run. I wanted to fight. I wanted to just raise a single arm.

All I did was close my eyes as everything faded to black.

Protected: Happy Kittyday

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June 13, 2012

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March 11, 2012

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December 11, 2011

Father’s Doll

Filed under: Story — Harlequinn @ 10:10 am
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I can hear “her” running around the house as though it was her own. This house. My house. The house that father bought. For me.

A Victorian manor large enough for two, if not three, families, and yet there is only the two of us here. Her, my tormentor, and I the prisoner. I have no choice but to stay in the attic, amongst the spiders and shadows.

Why did father bring her here? Why did he leave me alone with her? Oh father… where are you? I miss you.

I remember the days he would play with me. The nights we would sit by the window and watch the falling snow. I remember how every time he came to visit, he’d have a new dress or ribbon for my silvery locks.

Then one day, he brought her. A playmate for me. His little doll he called her, and that is what she seemed at first. Father brought her in and sat her in a chair opposite me before he left us alone.

She was so much like me in appearance, but yet not me. Like me, her eyes were green, but her eyes seemed as cold as ice. While I am tanned, her body was a flawless porcelain. Even her scarlet hair was braided just like mine. She was even the same height as me.

Even as sunset approached, she just sat there, staring at me, unmoving. Even then, this “doll” scared me. It was only when I brought my knees to my breasts did the real terror strike me. Her tilted ever so slightly to the side, and her lips ushered a demonic giggle, as though she was pulling off the wings of a butterfly.

Since then, I have been locked up her in the attic. That is, unless she wants to play hide and seek. But it always I that hide, and she that seeks. Though unlike a normal game, there’s a punishment for being caught. My once smooth arms and legs are now covered in scratches, cuts and burns from her “games”. The more I try to fight back, the greater the pain she inflicts, and even when she’s had her fill of torturing me, she lets me go so it can only begin again.

Even now I can hear her sing with evil glee as her wooden shoes dance their way up the stairs to the attic. Slowly, the door opens to reveal my twisted copy. But this time there is pure malice in her cold eyes, as she points her favourite kitchen knife at me.

“Father will be here soon, and I will make sure only one of us will go with him. He no longer needs you.” she laughs at me.

Slowly she approaches me, the moonlight filtering through the dusty window only enhances her unnatural beauty. The light that reflects off her knife seem to cast shadowy demons intent to watch my demise.

“No. It can’t be like this. Father will be here soon. Father will save me.” I cry to myself.

Before I can do anything, I feel the her hand on my throat as her blade slices at my dress. As locks of my hair fall to the floor, I cry for her to stop, but she doesn’t. Instead she raises the knife over her head with both hands. The moonlight that shines behind her makes her crimson seem aflame. My fiery angel of death.

All I have left is my memory of my father. All I have left is my love for my father. I close my eyes and fight back this one last time. If I die, then so be it.

A sharp painful scream fills my ears. Slowly I open my eyes and look at what has happened.


Blood is everywhere.

Blood is on the remnents of my dress. Blood covers my hands. Bloods covers the knife in my hands.

There she lays. Father’s “doll”. Her lifeless fleshy body laying there.

A single twisted thought runs through me, and I cannot help but do it. I slowly and painfully remove the eye hooks that cover my wooden limbs and insert them into her flesh. Now, she is truely a doll. Beautiful. Lifeless. And now a marionette like I once was.

But yet, I cannot feel guilty for what I did. Father would have surely loved her as much as he loves me.

In the dark, I lay down next to my lifeless sister. I care not for the blood, as it stains my silvery hair red to match hers. I care not for the blood that I can feel seeping into my wooden cheeks. Instead, I snuggle up to her because I realise one thing. We loved father just as much. I kiss her cheek lovingly as I close my eyes and wish I could cry tears for her.

Gone is the pain. Gone is the fear.

Father shall come soon. But for now I am tired.

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