Author's Note: Snowfur here, back from a really really long break. I was planning to type up a story for the song Dolls, but 1) Never got to it, 2) Wasn't satisfied with the few paragraphs I HAD typed up, and 3) Got the computer account I wrote it on wrecked by viruses. I am using Safari now, so am in a much better state concerning viruses now. (=u=)b
The song is sung by Kagamine Rin, and it's a very beautiful song. This will be a one-shot mostly based off that song, but I may rewrite it as a multi-chapter story if there is demand for it. Therefore, I'll call this chapter 0, just in case. o3o)/ Hope you like it!
Oh, and if the writing style is too stuffy and old-fashioned, please know that I was trying to go for…the sorta writing style they had back when they had witch trials and all that. I hope you can bear with it and read to the end though!
No, they aren't cursing, I am keeping some things veiled on purpose. Although it's obvious what they are. OTL
Whatever, if you don't know what they are, you shall see the answers somewhere near the end.
Disclaimer: I do not own the original song, Kagamine Rin, Kagamine Len, or ANYTHING but the story itself. (…I don't even own the words. The words were invented by some old guys who aren't alive anymore. OTL) Oh, and I do not own the term "witching hour" either. Readers of Roald Dahl will know that term is from the beginning of "The BFG."
Do you know what they call that hour of night when nobody is awake, and the world seems to hold its breath tight, anticipating the unknown…?
I've heard it called the witching hour by some…
In this small village, there is a so-called "haunted mansion" that would tower over the cobbled streets and shabby houses if it had been built inside the small town itself. It stands in the nearby forest like a gray, solemn sentry of the night, having stood still for so long that the nearby ivy plants have begun weaving around the gray stone walls, coating the base of the structure with a soothing dark green.
Although witching hour is a time when nobody should be awake, during the witching hour, there is one thing that defies common sense and awakens…
If one were to venture inside the forbidding mansion, they'd find an abundance of cobwebs, neglected but obviously expensive furniture, and…
Sitting alone with a weary smiling expression that has seen too much in the world, an exquisite, porcelain doll. At first glance, most people would even mistake it for a human, one of those beautiful aristocrats with equally beautiful clothing. A second glance would reveal that the "human" was only a doll, albeit amazingly crafted. Her hair seemed to look like golden sunshine, her eyes sky blue and lips light pink, both painted with a delicate hand. The outfit consisted of a simple light yellow-green choker, and a dress of the same shade with puffy sleeves and a bow on the back, but a closer look showed how well-tailored the outfits are. White gloves made her slim hands seem even more elegant than they already were. All in all, a true work of art.
Left neglected in an empty mansion.
If one were to consult the elders of the nearby village, they would tell of a doll-maker who lived in that mansion, who made dolls so realistic that they could have looked as they could have begun walking and talking right on the spot. Or perhaps dancing and singing. It was rumored that he made one last creation before his *********, the best one doll ever made by any human.
Of course, nobody bothered to go and see if it was true. After all, rumors are notorious for being inaccurate. But occasionally, one such rumor comes true.
A girl pulled a plain, slightly ragged brown coat (It's functional though, she told herself) over her simple night gown, placed a hat on her unkempt mane of jet-black hair, and stepped into a shabby pair of work boots. Of course, she just had to be sent to run an errand by her almost-unconscious mother at this time of night. However, she is not the main character of this tale I spin for you.
The girl discreetly tip-toes down the street, hoping that the store-owner won't toss something at her once he awakens, hoping that she won't awaken anybody else. She is the only one awake in the village during this witching hour, where the lights lit at the sides of the street seem to dim slightly, where even the light breeze stops blowing. The black-haired girl is the only one to hear the quiet miracle that happens that night, every night.
Her light, almost inaudible steps let her hear the muffled song drifting over the village, gently settling down onto the unopened ears of the slumbering people. She stops in her tracks, straining her ears to properly hear it. She was too far away for her to distinguish the words, but the sound was mournfully beautiful, like the sound of an angel. It continues to sound for a few minutes, until the witching hour is over and the breeze has begun to blow again. The girl tightens her coat around her and believes this must be the small miracle God has granted her for that one day and walks on.
The doll's eyes fluttered open as the world grew silent. She raised her head to look at the desolate state of the formerly superb mansion. If this could be dismissed as a trick of the eyes, the next action would surely convince any onlooker. The blond-haired doll held up her hand to her eyes, staring at them with an unspeakable sadness. She stood up, beginning to dance a lonely dance alone, her steps creaking on the slightly rotting floorboards. And she began to sing.
The first thing I remember is his face, smiling at me, and his warm hand placed upon my cheek.
"Do you see me?" he asked, his voice a pleasant baritone as he removes his hand from my cheek. I spend a moment to analyze his features: Kind-looking sky blue eyes, long messy blond hair pulled into a ponytail at the back, and pale skin, almost to the point of looking like he was crafted out of fragile porcelain, to the point where he would break if treated roughly. The hand he withdraws has long elegant fingers, like those of an artist.
I nod to his question. His smile grows even wider as he says, "That's good."
"Who are you?" I ask quietly. "What should I call you?"
He tilts his head and points to himself in a cute manner. Despite his voice, he acts much like an excited child, for now at least. "I suppose I'd be like a father to you, or an older brother. You can call me—"
The doll stopped singing after only a few words, withdrawing her arms to a still standing pose again. Why can I not remember the words and the melody anymore? she silently despaired, not wanting to forget the music written for her by him. The girl (It is an understatement to call her a doll now) staggered out of the room, abandoning herself to wandering the corridors and hoping she can remember the song again. The girl loves and hates how she looks, so similar to the man who created her, to the point it pained her. She tore her eyes away from the mirror and continued walking down the corridor.
"What have you been working on so intently these last few days?" I ask him. "You should rest. You have large bags under your eyes, and they'll only get larger if you keep on working so hard."
He smiles at me, happily showing me a few pages full of ink marks. "Can you understand these?" he quietly asks me, pointing to the first few lines of ink.
I scrutinize the marks for a few minutes, and then carefully reply, "Is this music?" The grin he gives in reply is enough for me to know I am correct.
"Yes. You are a special doll, ***," he praises me, affectionately ruffling my golden hair. "I've made this music just for you to sing."
"Sing?" I repeat, trying out the word in my mouth. I like the feel of the word, and whisper it a few more times so I won't forget. A small feeling bubbles up in my silver heart: Perhaps it is the feeling of having somebody spend multiple sleepless days and nights just to make something for me?
"Yes, sing." He smiles at me once more.
The girl stopped by one of the multiple paintings gracing the house. It is one of the few that hasn't been destroyed yet, not yet taken down by the thing that builds and destroys everything, time. "If our life could be painted," she whispered to herself, "What colors would suit it?"
"Try that line again…you almost have it…"
I take a deep breath, preparing my voice for that one line I couldn't get correctly. The sound that comes out sounds heavenly, or he always says. He beams at me. "That was perfect. I almost have to resist the urge to act like a child and say, 'Do it again.'"
I grin happily at the praise. "Hey, I have a question," I chirp.
"Feel free to ask," he replies, still smiling.
"Will we stay together like this forever?" I ask innocently. For a second, his smile drops, and then he puts up a façade, a different kind of smile, a sad smile.
"Yes," he lies, just to reassure the naïve girl/me.
The girl gritted her teeth at the memory. "You liar!" she shouted furiously, suddenly wanting to hit something. She took out her sudden fury on a nearby cabinet of fragile porcelain plates, made out of the same material as her. They shattered underneath the force of her fist.
She stood there for a moment that stretched into eternity, the shattered glass dotting the floor below her. "Why…?" she choked out, slumping onto her knees. "You said…" Her sentence ends in a quiet, desperate sob. "Why can't I meet you…? Why…?"
"I've made something for you," he announces quietly, pulling out a length of golden cloth. "It's a ribbon, just for you, ***."
I make a content face that only he can see, a slight blush of happiness coating my pale cheeks.
He turns to her, smiling, holding the cloth in the hands that had brought his beautiful doll/me to life. Kneeling down in front of me, he holds it in front of my eyes so I can properly see it. The shade of the cloth is amazingly close to the amazing yellow of a sunset on close examination. "Do you like it?"
I nod, whispering, "It's beautiful…You really don't have to do this all for me." He replies not with words, but with a smile that conveys more expression than a thousand words could.
Why did it have to end then?
The girl sobbed in the glass wreckage. "I…still…can't remember...!" she gulped, staggering up. "That was the most precious thing he gave me…" The blond-haired girl ran down the corridor, back to the room where it all ended.
I look up in surprise at the sound of footsteps. He senses it too, and turns around just as two strangers enter. They both wear identical coats, hats, and boots of black, with the only difference being their heights. Like twin Reapers.
"What business do you have in my home?" he asks them, his voice taking on an unfamiliar harsh tone.
The taller one pulls a manuscript out of his coat sleeve, and opens it, ignoring what my creator has to say. "'***, you are hereby to be brought to trial to attest for your acts of sorcery—'"
"What do you mean, acts of sorcery?" he cries in outrage, drowning out the rest of the manuscript. "I am a simple doll-maker, that and nothing else."
The shorter "Reaper" gave the taller "Reaper" a look, and an unsaid message went between the two. "We have the authority to restrain you by whatever means," the taller one says in a monotone as the shorter one walks past him, trying to get past my creator. He's coming for me, I realize shortly afterwards. I silently wish I can move properly while there are other people around, which my creator has forbidden me to do.
"Wait…no! Don't you dare!" my creator shouts, standing in between the shorter one and me, placing a hand on my arm. However, before he can do anything, the taller one pulls him away, placing his head in a headlock. I'm held hostage by the hands of the shorter one. He places me in a corner, where I can see everything that unfolds. Nothing blocks my sight.
"***!" he shouts, trying to reach for me.
I was correct. If somebody handled my creator roughly, he would break, just like porcelain.
The loud crack of a gunshot announces that he had broken.
I cry out, not able to block my eyes from the horrid sight. He was gone. Gone.
She tripped, landing clumsily on the rotting floorboards. The girl looked back at her legs, which had been perfectly fine…
They were cracking apart at the edges. The small cracks intersected, creating larger and larger cracks, until her legs were literally falling away. She felt no pain at the disintegration of her legs, but small tears leaked out of her eyes. I cannot dance for him anymore. Not that it mattered, seeing as the dance has slipped her mind as well.
I longed only for your precious smile.
And so, I tried to answer you with this broken body.
"I can't even sing anymore…" she whispered quietly. "Or dance now…" Although it had only been a short time since she had forgotten the last few lines, the girl was sure that she wouldn't remember it anymore. "Why can't I see you yet…?"
I would think of you so often, that I even forgot how to sing.
And now there is nothing I can do to repay you for what you have given to me.
"I can't repay you anymore…I want to see you…so badly…!" The girl's voice cracked as the cracks in her leg began spreading throughout her body. Apparently she had underestimated the fragility of her body when she had destroyed that glass case.
"Rin, you've done enough."
The doll…Rin raised her head, trying to locate the source of the familiar voice.
"You've lived along long enough."
"Stay…please…" she cried, raising up her cracking hand to reach for it.
That's right…because I wanted to hear his gentle voice, this silver heart began to resound and change color.
Thus, with this voice, I wanted to sing only for him.
I want to see him again.
I want to see him again!
Chunks of porcelain fell from the broken doll's body as she reached out for her master's voice. Her consciousness seemed to fade away…
Where is this? I wonder silently, marveling at the petals flying through the air.
"Rin, can you see me?" I quickly turn at the voice and see his profile. He turns, and I see his beautiful smile once again. I spend a moment re-analyzing his features which I have seen only in my memories for such a long time, and nod, just like I did when we first met. "Now, as I remember, I have something to give to you…" He quietly reaches for my hair, tying something in his hand into my hair, and steps back, giving me a serene smile. "The ribbon suits you, Rin."
I am speechless for a moment, and hug him to hide my tears of joy. I quietly whisper, "Thank you…Len."
A few years after the miraculous gift, the girl with the black hair, now a grown-up woman, had remembered the miraculous song at night, at witching hour. She stood silently in a small drizzle of rain, when the lights seemed to dim just a little bit, straining her ears to try to catch the miraculous song.
"It's gone..." she murmured as the lights brightened again. The woman wore a face of sadness for a moment, but then smiled. "Sure the singer of that song had somewhere to go. She is surely there, with people she loves and she is happily singing for them." That small realization was the miracle that God granted that woman that day, who went home with a smile on her face.
Author's Note: God, this took forever!
…I was sitting here typing for…umm…_;;;
Four or five hours straight…
(MY HANDS HURT…)
So, I'm hoping I managed to make a few tears drop during this story. It has a noticeably different tone from the other stories I've written so far, and I hope I did okay considering this is my first tragedy story. Before reading this, I wrote the comments I have received from my other two stories, and I have to say that I'm so happy that some people take the time to read my works, even if I am only one author in a sea of thousands.
(Woah. Talk 'bout cliched. ^-^;;)
Umm…I hope enough people like this story enough to say I can make a three or five chapter version of this as well. I'll possibly make a longer version of this if 5 people find it worth reading.
I always found it stupid how so many people seem to say they hate Rin because she is always the reason Len dies, but never consider the fact that Rin always suffers a lot herself at the loss of Len. The one who stays behind is just as sad as the one who leaves (unless, of course, they're archenemies.).
(You know what sucked, I couldn't even properly listen to the original song Dolls itself because I had to keep going back and forth to properly look at the storyline. OH, THE HORROR OF BEING AN AUTHOR. OTL It's a really beautiful song, so check it out sometime, if you read this without knowing the original song.)
So, please leave a review! Feel free to use constructive criticism if you found something about my writing style that could be improved, okay? Praise is nice, but you can only learn from your mistakes! Please remember this is not my normal writing style, so don't flame me too much if I sounded old-fashioned and stuffy. ^-^
(I sound like I'm trying to lessen the amount of possible flames. OTL)
Once again, thanks for reading and please review!