>Be you
>Be a dollfag
>You can't really help yourself to be honest
>Balljoints
>Articulated fingers
>Expressive eyes
>They really are just the best
>Though you have had your eye on something a little special
>A pony doll
>Articulated legs all the way down to the hooves
>Fully articulated neck with smoothed wooden slats to help keep it looking natural
>Even a working jaw
>Because of your freaky fascination, you often find yourself low on funds
>But you need your pone
>You opt out of going for the fanciest one your preferred seller has and email him if there can be... a budget model
>A cheap version of an expensive doll is heresy but something just keeps nagging at you to buy now and upgrade later
>After a few days of the seller not being the most willing, you manage to convince him
>The days melt together while you wait
>Until finally
>She shows up
>It's Photo Finish, in the flesh
>Or rather, in the wood and resin
>Sure, her mane is the right color of light grey, but her body is also grey
>Not like she's unpainted but more like she was purposefully given that dull color
>Regardless, you're happy to have her
>You begin to carefully examine each of her joints, both to make sure that everything is smooth and solid
>Evidently it's too solid
>When you get to her jaw, you feel a sharp prick on your finger
"Gah, shit!"
>You glance down at your finger and see that blood has already been drawn
"What the hell? Does she have a splinter or something?"
>You wrap your finger in part of your shirt and lean in to see what caused it
"Oh great..."
>There's blood on her mouth
>Your blood, presumably
"Well... so much for that, huh? Well... maybe I can give you a bit of a touch up later."
>It wouldn't be the worse thing to paint over her body either way so you leave it there
>At night, you can't help but have a difficult time going to sleep
>To tempt fate, you have what few dolls you have aimed toward you

>Because nothing says tempting fate like having almost a dozen realistic eyes staring at you without ever blinking
>But something about the pale Photo Finish just rubs you the wrong way
>It's the shades she's rocking
>You didn't get a chance to remove them and check out what eyes she's equipped with
>But you really do get the feeling that she's eyeballing you hard
>After a few passing thoughts of movie scene terror, you get up and gently bent her neck so she's looking away
>You sleep much easier after that
>The following morning, however, you find yourself unable to get out of bed
>You're afraid to move
>Now you're a horror sort of guy
>You're fond of Chucky and all that
>But something funky is going on
>All of your dolls aren't looking at you
>They're looking at the pale Photo Finish
>The head movements aren't subtle either
>They're fully fucking zoned in on her
>She looks like she hasn't moved any at least
>At least her head isn't turning or something demonic like that
>Yet
"Ha... ha..."
>You finally make a noise
>Your entire body tenses up at the mere thought that something might happen
>That the dolls will snap back to you
>Or that the pony doll will imitate your laugh
>Your blood runs cold at the anticipation of that happening
>Yet it doesn't
>After entire minutes of your eyes being glued to the scene, you finally get up
>Not only do you have your morning bathroom rituals, but you feel genuinely spooked to the point that you're ready to pee yourself
>After a shower and examination of your finger, you come to realize that you haven't been devoured at least
>You don't want to burn down the apartment quite yet
>But maybe you should email that seller again
>Just in case
>With a towel around your waist, you walk back to your ro-
>Where did she go
>The pony doll you paid $69.99 for is not on your desk
>The other dolls are staring at your bed
>Not you, thankfully
>But not the spot they were looking at earlier either

>You should be far more outwardly spooked but to be perfectly honest, where would you go?
>You can't leave your home, no matter how fucked you are
>This must be why horror protagonists can't just splitsville
>A whole lot of you is trying to stop you from looking at your bed, but you force yourself to anyway
>Your phone is on the bed
>As well as the Photo Finish doll
>What makes you feel almost dizzy is that the blood you shed on her changed shape
>Rather than an unseemly splotch, it's on her lips like lipstick
>There's an old joke somewhere about horses 
wearing lipstick, isn't there?
>You were hoping to get your phone but she's close to it
>Worse, one of her well-formed hooves is resting on the rubber outer shell
>Fuck
"...hey there, little photo mama. Is it ok that I grab my phone?"
>You've spoken to your dolls before just fine
>You've even flirted with a few of them
>But you have a hard time keeping a straight tone with this one
>You stand still, watching the doll with every ounce of focus you can muster
>Which is quite a lot given the circumstances
>Quicker than a hiccup, her neck snaps up to look at you directly
>There's not even any audible snapping or cracking noise
>There shouldn't be, the neck segments were very smooth
>"ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵃˢᵗᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ"
>Her wooden chomps open and closed as she speaks
>She's speaking
>She spoke
>At you
>You're tempted to question this on a deeply personal level but you've fallen face down on the floor before realizing it
>You lose consciousness just as quickly

>Your eyes open
>Holy shit was that a weird dream
>You have half a mind to stop watching all of those things an-
>You notice that you're in a towel
>You immediately freeze
>Your eyes scan over what's visible to you
>You still have your legs, arms, hands, feet
>Your eyes go to the dolls that have been fixated on your newest... thing
>They're looking at you
>Kinda like how they were before
>Well that's not so bad, you're used to their creepy yet cute eyes
>You inhale to sigh
>But you don't exhale
>If they're looking at you
>At your face
>Against your better judgement, your hand swats above your head
>You grab something and bring it to your face
>Sure enough it's the Photo Finish doll with blood-coated lips
"Fuck, FUCK!"
>Without thinking you sit up and hurl the doll against the wall
>You watch it break into dozens of well-crafted, lacquered pieces of light wood
"doɴ't do tHᴀt"
>That voice came from behind you
>You stumble off of the bed toward the direction
>The doll is sitting there
>What?!
"WHAT?!"
>Your head whips to where you hurled the doll
>There's nothing there
>You crouch over a bit and hold out your hands, ready to throw down with the pale firewood mascot reject
"Hold the fuck, how?!"
>You expect her to answer you but she doesn't
"Don't try that silent, dormant shit on me, I'm wise to those games. I've seen Monkey Bone."
>As if to oblige, she, IT, slowly stands up
>There isn't a scratch at all that you can see
>No matter what, you can't leave
>You understand, you can't leave her alone because she has tasted your blood
>The bond is made
>The rules will not be ignored
>All it takes is the sound of a passing ambulance siren
>You're sitting on the bed
>Holding the doll
>With it's mouth right up against your ear
>With the might and agility of a fully grown man that realized a spider was on his earlobe, you kung fu yourself away from the doll
>It lands harmlessly on the bed, on it's side
"Ok, neat fucking trick. Who are you. What are you."
>The doll rolls over and stands up on it's hooves
>"i'ᵐ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠʳiᵉnᵈ. i ᵖʳᵒᵐiˢᵉ."
>It speaks but you get the funny feeling that the sound isn't coming from the doll itself
"Yeah, uh huh, then that makes me mayor of fucking Friendly Town. Who are you?"
>The faux-fashionista pony doll tilts it's head at you, jaw chirping and swinging
>"i'ᵛᵉ ʰᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶜᵃˡˡ. ʷᵃˢ iᵗ nᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰᵒ ˢᵘᵐᵐᵒnᵉᵈ ᵃ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵃniᵒn ᵗᵒ ˢʰᵃʳᵉ in ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵒnᵉˡinᵉˢˢ?"
>The voice is only vaguely feminine
>It reminds you of too many specific voices but it fits none of them
"I... no. No, you aren't gonna trick me with that shit."
>You relax somewhat and reach for your desk chair, plopping yourself onto it
"Now you... you keep your spooky ass over there while I... "
>While you what?
>What could you possibly do?
>You don't really have anyone you can go to as is
>After it probably sensing your leaking sense of hostility, it jumps off the bed
>It lands on the hard floor with an appealing wooden clop
>"i ᵃᵐ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠʳiᵉnᵈ. i ᵃᵐ ᵗiᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰiˢ ᶠᵒʳᵐ ᵇᵘᵗ i ᵖʳᵒᵐiˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ i ᵈᵒ nᵒᵗ nᵉᵉᵈ ᶜᵃʳʳᵒᵗˢ."
>You watch the doll jerk it's head back and forth, as if it's emulating a laugh
"Funny."
>You're scared beyond your personal capacity for fear
>In a revelation that makes you question everything, you can no longer say that you don't understand what's going on
>Beyond fear, is a sense of anger
>At the seller, at it, at yourself
>When it comes to whether you're afraid or mad, madness is starting to win out
"So... you're my 'friend'... because of my blood. Are you the doll, or are you controlling it?"
>The bright purple lenses reflect a misshapen caricature back at you
>"i ᵃᵐ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠʳiᵉnᵈ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵒᵘˡ ˢinᵍˢ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ. ᵗʰᵉ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵐᵉʳᵉˡʸ ᶜᵒnnᵉᶜᵗˢ ᵒᵘʳ ˢʰᵉˡˡˢ."
>The voice that speaks directly into your head is sweet enough to make you want to vomit
>Or maybe it isn't sweetness that is trying to cause you to lose your stomach
>"ᵐᵃʸ i ᶠinᵈ ᵃ nᵉʷ ˢʰᵉˡˡ ᵗʰᵃᵗ iˢ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ˢᵘiᵗᵉᵈ?"
>What does that even mean?
"N-no... no. Stay... in there. Around there. No."
>You bring your hand up to your head
>You didn't know you were sweating
>What's kinda funny is that you normally have little hand tremors every now and again
>Your hands aren't shaking at all
>"i ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒ nᵒᵗ ᵐinᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ i ᵃᵐ ʰᵒˡᵈinᵍ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵃnᵈˢ. ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ˢʰᵃᵏinᵍ ʰᵃʳᵈ."
>Is that what that is?
>You look at your hands
>Try as you might, you can't will yourself to see anything but your own two hands
>Wait, you see something!?
>...nevermind, that scratch was from last week
"Do I... want to know what you meant by my 'soul'? Did you come with this doll?"
>The tiny doll sits down
>Between the dress, the artsy hairdo and the 'lipstick', the doll looks downright ready for a social evening
>"ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒ nᵒᵗ ˢᵗʳᵃin ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐinᵈ. ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵛiᵒˡᵉnᵗ iᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵒnᵗinᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃˢᵏ. ˡᵉᵗ ᵘˢ ᵖˡᵃʸ ᵃ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ inˢᵗᵉᵃᵈ"
"I AM NOT GOING TO BECOME VIOLENT, TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO F̸͡͠U̵̢̢͜C̸̡Ḱ̴̷I̛Ń̨͡G̡͢͢ KNOW!"
>You attempt to stand up
>But you can't
>Your legs aren't moving
>What?
>How?
>You try to move your arms to push yourself out of your chair
>You can grab the arm rests but you can't push yourself up at all
>Madness is starting to lose
>Panic is winning
>"ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒ nᵒᵗ ᶠiᵍʰᵗ. ʳᵉˡᵃˣ. ʷᵉ ʷiˡˡ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶠᵘn ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ. i ᵖʳᵒᵐiˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ."
>As tiny as the doll is, the voice is in front of you
>Behind you
>At both of your sides
>Unable to physically escape, you scream the only thing that makes sense
>The only coherent thought that shines in your mind
>The only concept that isn't devoured by doubt and terror
"L-L-LIEUTENANT DAN AIN'T GOT NO LEGS?!"

>You don't remember what happened
>But you're at your desk
>You have a nice cup of tea in front of you
>The pony doll is sitting opposite of you, on the desk
>The other ball-jointed dolls you have are sitting next to her
>All of them are looking at you
>You're used to their stares
>You've always kinda thought it was cool to have something so obviously spooky always in sight
>But now that they were moving, it's a little less funny
>You blink a few times, like you're realizing where you are
>One of the human dolls blinks back
>You don't remember them having eyelids
>It blinks again
>You realize that the fleshy film that goes over it's eye isn't what it normally came with
>You should be more violently freaked out but you just feel like your nerves are fried
>You understand how horror protagonists can continue in a hopeless setting now
>Like an RPG, you feel like you have a thousand things to ask
>But you don't think you want to play a game of Twenty Questions
"W..."
>The pony doll's head snaps to attention as soon as you make a noise
>The pink lenses are almost high enough quality that you can see something resembling your reflection in them
>Along with something else behind your shoulder
>Watching you
>Watching it
"W..."
>You swallow hard
"Was my kitchen awkward to work with?"
>The pale fashionista pony shakes her head
>The other dolls shake their heads as well, each one going at a different speed
>You nod and swallow again
"C... cool. It's... not that big. A little cramped."
>You look down at the cup
>You feel the need to look into it's glasses to try to understand what's looming over you
>Something primitive tells you that you really shouldn't push your luck
"Is... uh. Is this cup for me?"
>The pony nods
>The other dolls start to nod too
>One nods faster and faster until you can hear the smooth wood squeaking against itself
>That's not spooky at all
>Whatever amounts to 'spooky' at this point
>You reach for the cup and manage to grab the handle
>You almost expected it to blow up in your face
>Or for your hand to fall off or melt into a skeleton
>You almost feel like the fact that a skeleton is hiding inside of you is still scarier than all of this
>Almost
>A smile twitches on your face and you lift the cup to your mouth for a drink
>It's almost too hot for your mouth but you end up gulping it down without trying
>You set the cup down and sigh
>It's that coconut bark tea you kept meaning to try out
>You feel almost normal for a split second
"Thanks for that... seriously. I didn't know I was that thirsty."
>You look back at the dolls
>Specifically the one calling the shots
>If you're going to die at least you had a good drink
"What happens next?"
>The dolls look to the center, at the pony ringleader
>"ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗiˡˡ ᵃᶠʳᵃiᵈ?"
>A few nerves twitch at the sound of it's voice
>It sounds a little more refined than before
>Still like at least a dozen female voices speaking at once at varying volumes
>Less a chorus and more a choir
"Yeah. I'd be lying if I said otherwise."
>You get the feeling that speaking is merely a formality at this point
>The doll nods
>You feel something petting your shoulder
>It takes everything you have to stop from trying to shrug it off or shiver
"...is that you touching my shoulder right now?"
>The pony nods
>Well that's good to know
"...are you the one moving the other dolls too?"
>Rather than the pony nodding, the other dolls nod
>The one that nods too fast squeaks and starts to nod into a blur
>It's head falls off and rolls toward you as a result of the overzealous notion of affirmation
>It's head rests in front of your right hand
>It's still looking up at you
"Oh... nice..."
>You casually pluck the head with your thumb and index finger
>It's still staring at you
>And blinks with a fleshy film you could almost describe as eyelids
"You gotta be careful with these... this type of wood isn't meant for tough punishment, you know?"
>With practiced precision you take the now headless doll and examine it's neck
>Thankfully nothing was broken
>The finish is starting to wear down though
"Ahh... crap... well, I'll fix that up later. Gotta let the finish help glide things. Can't grind it away because that reveals the raw wood. That's where you can get real damage."
>You rub the area with your thumb to get a feel for the damage
>It could be worse
>You fit the head back on
>And tilt it back and forth a little
"Better?"
>The doll nods
>But far slowly this time
"Groovy. Remind me later to get that spot done."
>You set the doll down
>It's face focuses on you
>The body, however, turned around to a complete 180 and walks back to the group
>It turns around again before sitting down
"So... did you find me and show up on purpose? Is this just... luck? Chance?"
>Every other doll shakes it's head
>The others nod
>The pony doll itself only tilts it's head at you
>"ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ nᵒᵗ ᵘniᵠᵘᵉ. nᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠiʳˢᵗ."
>Not the first?
"...how long have you been around?"
>That's really the only question that matters, isn't it
>"ˡᵒnᵍ ᵉnᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵏnᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵐʸ ᶠʳiᵉnᵈ."
>That almost sounds sweet
"I... I suppose that's one way to explain it."
>You're still a little concerned
"Am I insane now? Do I look like I'm going to smear my crap on the walls, try to eat people and review movies online and claim it's a respectable profession?"
>The pony tilts it's head at you
>At least one of the dolls imitates a laughing motion with one of its hands covering it's mouth
"See, at least one of them got the reference."
>"ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˢᵗ iˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ. ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵐᵉʳᵉˡʸ ᵈiˢᵗᵘʳᵇᵉᵈ. iᵗ ʷiˡˡ ᵖᵃˢˢ."
"Neat."
>At least you won't end up a whimpering, shattered mess
>If the dozen or so voices in your head speaking at once is really being honest with you

>Given the current circumstances, you find yourself working on the doll who's head fell off
>Not like you can go outside and leave this thing to yourself
>The doll itself, whether lifeless once more or merely docile, is set on a stand and still
>As it should be, one would hope
>The pony doll watches you work, her, it's head following your hands
>A half dozen little jars and containers hold all you could need for such fine pieces
>Normally they don't ever move around, by your hand or otherwise, so there's not many reasons to give them touch ups
"But the lack of lacquer... that's the finish that needs to be refinished. That... is what counts."
>You don't want to admit it to yourself but you know that your hands are moving with extra finesse today
>You know that your hands aren't being led purely by your own effort
>The longer you think about it, the more you know you'll be... agitated
>So you just focus on your work
>It's not work as in something you get paid to do
>But you enjoy it far more than you could enjoy any mundane nine to five you've managed to hold down
>Your left eyelid twitches
>It's a little unnerving to see so many dolls watching you
>The human ones watched you before
>But not by choice
>And they aren't even watching you
>It's all the pony
>The human dolls are just being manipulated like how you would manipulate or pose them
>You know, to an extent, the pony itself is just being manipulated by something
>An hand
>Like the hands you're working with
>Despite your best efforts to think nothing of it, you feel a bead of cold sweat go down your forehead
"Alright... there we go. Now we just gotta let it dry."
>You lean back in your gaming chair, sighing
>You still haven't gotten dressed in more than a towel
>May as well stay that way at this point
>You hear the beginning of a rumbling in your head
"No... nope. Don't say anything."
>It probably wants to ask why you enjoy such a chore
"It's not a chore, alright? It's... a passion. I like creating. Modifying. Customizing. Leaving my mark."
>The pony tilts its head at you
>The other dolls make variations of the same gesture
>Including the headless one
>If it bothered to speak it would probably call you silly
"I'm not silly for liking what I like. Evidently it's enough to make you pop up and... whatever else."
>"ʸᵒᵘ ᵖʳᵉˢᵘᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏnᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ i ʷiˡˡ ˢᵃʸ"
>You flinch at the choir of voices
>It doesn't sound as loud as it was before
>It's not as loud as it was before
>But it's not something you wanted to hear at all
>The voice
>Voices
>Are beyond anything you've imagined
>That's how you know that this is real
"Well, isn't that what you were going to say?"
>"i ᵃᵈᵐiʳᵉ inˢᵖiʳᵃᵗiᵒn. i ᵃᵈᵐiʳᵉ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗiᵛiᵗʸ."
"Well in that case, that's sweet of you."
>Not really
"You say I'm not the first... what attracted you to those who came before me? That they worked with their hands? That they didn't kill themselves as soon as they realized a freaky doll was playing human karaoke?"
>Do you really want an answer to that?
>Fuck it
>Omae wa mou shindeiru and all that
"And while I'm at it... are you going to be the one that kills me? When I die, do you get my soul or something?"
>"ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵛᵉʳʸ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗiᵛᵉ ᵛiᵉʷ. ᵈᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷiˢʰ ᶠᵒʳ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ?"
"No. Not that I know of. But I imagine it's going to happen. I would be surprised if it doesn't."
>You bring your hand up to your head
>You're sweating profusely
>When did it get to this point?
>You bring your hand down
>This isn't sweat
>It's blood
>You wipe your forehead again with your other hand
>It isn't coming from your head
>You wipe the side of your face
"What...what the fuck?"
>You reach for a small hand mirror
>The one you mostly use to look at corners and crannies to check if paint is evenly distributed
>You look into it
>You're bleeding from your eyes
>Or maybe it's more apt to say that you're crying blood
"What is this... what are you doing?"
>"i ˡiᵏᵉ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗinᵍ. ᵐᵒᵈiᶠʸinᵍ. ᶜᵘˢᵗᵒᵐiᶻinᵍ. ˡᵉᵃᵛinᵍ ᵐʸ ᵐᵃʳᵏ. ʸᵒᵘ ʷiˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵒnᶜᵉ ᵗʰiˢ ᶠiniˢʰᵉˢ."
>You feel like you should be panicking more
>You feel like you should be mad, or angry, or terrified
>You feel something pushing you, gently, back into your chair until you're leaning back
>Your vision starts to blot out
>"ˡᵉᵗ ᵘˢ ʷᵒʳᵏ. ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ."

>"We're soul alone, and soul really matters to me! Take a look around..."
>"You're out of touch! I'm out of time! But I'm out of my head when you're not around!"
>You recognize that song
>That fucking song always plays at work
>Wait
>What?
>The fresh blast of AC against your face and the impact of the song knocks you into your head
>What the hell?
>You look at yourself and you're dressed
>You have your coat on
>Shirt
>Pants
>Boots
>And the pony doll's head is poking out from your chest pocket
>Wait a second
>Regaining your capacity to move, you scramble back until you nearly trip over a pile of shopping baskets
>"Oh, hey Anon! What're you doing here on your day off?"
>Fiona, one of your coworkers, trots up to you
>She reminds you of a living embodiment of Fluttershy
>Just with popsicle stick and wire art instead of animals
"Huh?"
>You want to say at least a dozen things but nothing comes to mind fast enough
>"Aw man, don't tell me you forgot... is it Bryan who's causing you grief again? Geeze, let a commoner rest sometime, right?"
>You want to avoid her but you know you don't have the chance
"Oh... yeah... well shit, I guess I am here, huh..."
>You cover your chest pocket pony doll with a hand and wipe at your face with the other
>No blood
>Thankfully
>Fiona smiles at you, but gasps
>"Anon, you finally did it! I can't believe you!"
>You feel a deep sense of panic grow from your gut
"W-what? I didn't do anything. You can't prove it. I didn't leave witnesses."
>She points to your face
>"You finally decided to get contacts! You know, cosmetic contacts are neat but I thought you were joking about that sort of stuff."
"Contacts? No, I didn't..."
>Shut up
>This is a good excuse
>You don't have a clue what happened to your eyes
>You reflexively grab your cellphone and bring it up to your face
>At least your phone was where you left it since you last took off your pants
>You open the camera app and aim it to your face
>Your eyes
>Your fucking eyes
>They're...
>...pink?
>Purple?
>The eyes you've had since the day you were born are gone
>Or maybe it's accurate to say that they've been stained or dyed by
>Well you know who by
>What by
"Oh fuck..."
>"Right?! What made you go get those colors, anyway? Did it hurt? I thought you were afraid of, like, touching your eyeballs and feeling them squish?"
>You put away your phone and blink so much your eyes water
>You could never stand contacts but you'd use them for kicks if you could stomach the process
"Yeah... yeah, I am. I'm pretty sure I was crying blood."
>"Metal... so, like you're going the demonic, Satanic style? Blood red is really common for that type of theme, good going on picking up something new."
>She always was quick on the draw
>You just wish she knew how right she was
"Yeah, spooky ain't it? Halloween's right around the corner after all..."
>You try to not look at her directly
>Even though the shorter girl keeps trying to stare right into your eyes
"Listen, did Alan finally set up those..."
>"ʸᵒᵘ nᵉᵉᵈ ᵖᵃinᵗ."
"Uh... new paints? They've been back there on a pallet for a fucking forever."
>"Ahh, Anon's Angels need a new coat and your hot glue isn't enough, huh? I haven't been to that department today, check it out. If he hasn't, just swipe them and go home. Gotta rest when you can, right?"
"Yeah... yeah, thanks Fi. I'll bug you tomorrow."
>Nothing says 'worthwhile member of society' like working at a hobby shop
>This is your fourth year now
>It pays the bills, mostly
>But it also gives you an easy line to your important resources
>And it's even allowed you to look into making doll clothing
>You aren't gay but God damn it you have ideas and you want your gals to look ready to dominate any party they could ever be a part of
>Doll clothing is expensive as hell too
>It could be a good bonus source of income
>You cruise through the coloring and drawing isles, as you usually do
>For some reason some of the colors are really starting to pop out at you
>Not that you were colorblind before
>Another isle down and you're around the paints
>Of course, nothing on the shelf is directly what you need in it's original form
>Years of watching 40K and Gundam painters has taught you well about the importance of dilution
>You look for what you're looking for in particular and...
"Fucker mother."
>Of course the lazy bastard hasn't restocked the shelves
"What does that loser do all day, anyway? How does one man fuck up so hard by doing nothing?"
>You mumble to yourself with the intent of ripping his head off while walking to the back of the store
>Of course, the paints are still in their cases on a pallet
>It's still all wrapped up too
"Swear to God, I'm gonna change reality to change your name to Anal and fuck you."
>You pause in mid-ripping of plastic wrap
"...up. No homo."
>After enough mumbling and ripping, you manage to grab two variety packs of your drug of choice
"Acrylics, come to me..."
>You aren't taking the cheap stuff either
>Everyone tends to cover for everyone else as is so you consider it an employee perk
>"HEY, STOP RIGHT THERE."
>You flinch at the sudden shout from behind
>But the shock lasts only a second before you turn around
"Fuck off. You were supposed to put these up on the shelves."
>It's Alan
>The sleepy-eyed kid from a rich family
>Some days he's ok
>But for the most part he's a little prick you'd love to run over
>"Hey, you paying for those? It's just me and Fiona here bu-"
"Yeah, yeah Fiona knows I'm here. On my day off to check up how badly you're lagging, mind you. She's gonna ring me up."
>You really need to get out of here
>"Sure. Hey, what the hell did you do to your eyes?"
>Fuck
"I thought I'd pop in the eyes of Frakenstein, what does it look like?"
>"Yeah... whatever, man. But it's fucking creepy."
"Yeah? Mission accomplished then."
>Alan mumbles something and walks off
>"ʷiˡˡ ʰᵉ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ʸᵒᵘ?"
>The faint choir starts off almost pleasant, but it has a certain verbal edge to it
"No... shut up. It's fine."
>You keep your voice down
>It's not like you can reply to it through telepathy or something
>"ʰᵉ iˢ ʷᵃiᵗinᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃˡᵏ ᵒᵘᵗ. ʰᵉ iˢ ᵍᵒinᵍ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒnᶠʳᵒnᵗ ʸᵒᵘ."
"Yeah? And why would you know that?"
>"ʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢ nᵒᵗ ˡiᵏᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵉˢ. ʰᵉ iˢ ᵃᶠʳᵃiᵈ."
>If you can't trust the thing that tampered with your eyes and speaks in your head, who can you trust?
"Shit... fine, we'll go out the other door."
>Holding the two variety packs like you have business with them, you stroll out through the break room, which connects the warehouse to the zone of perpetual autumn
>It's technically the seasonal area but if it isn't winterized and full of plastic snow men, it's all autumn leaves and plastic fruits
>Before hustling out, you reform a few of the fruity sights until every banana has two apples next to each other at the base
>The eggplants get two oranges
"Ok, now my work here is done."
>You leave through the front, once again glad that the store doesn't have those RFID security scanners
>"ᵒnᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒˡˡˢ ˡᵒᵒᵏˢ ˡiᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵍiʳˡ. ʷʰʸ?"
"Shut up... not discussing that here..."
>"ˢʰᵉ ᵃᵈᵐiʳᵉˢ ᵐʸ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵗᵒᵒ."
"No she doesn't."
>You're glad to see that your car is out front and properly parked
>You're still not completely sure what you need the paint for but you hop in and hurry back home
>You have work to do
>And you need to figure out what the hell happened to your eyes

>You return to your apartment in silence
>The doll hasn't been speaking to you all that much
>You're not exactly wanting conversation with it
>But the more it speaks to you, the more you learn
>Maybe this is why people go crazy after learning things they aren't supposed to know
>After a sigh, you clear your throat
"So... what do I call you? What's your name?"
>The doll in your pocket shifts
>It almost feels like a kitten kneading against your chest
>"ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ iˢ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ."
"Yes it is. Can you answer my question?"
>"i ᵃᵐ nᵃᵐᵉᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗᵉᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜʰᵒᵒˢᵉ iˢ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵒᵖʳiᵃᵗᵉ."
"Is that part of the supposed creativity I'm supposed to have?"
>Aren't demons or monsters supposed to have true names?
>Is this a defense mechanism or is it some un-named thing?
>What's worse?
>You glance at the paints you swiped from work
>That's a lot
>You aren't sure what they're for
>Maybe if you paint the doll you can at least try to make it look more... normal
>At least you're just about home
>Whatever you end up painting, it'll help your nerves