A Doll Fairy Tale

The last few dolls scurried into their witch’s library with their hot chocolates and their marshmallows. Those who could consume food and drink shared with those who couldn't: the beverages’ welcoming aromas were as comforting to them as tastes were for the others.

Dolls shifted around as more dolls slid in between them, finding a place around their witch so they could hear her tell a story. Many dolls had heard it before, but a few of them were fresh additions to the manor this year and hadn't yet experienced their new witch's favourite wintertime fairy tale.

Once everyone had gathered, the witch opened her storybook and began.

—

Once upon a time, in a world before dolls and witches as we know them today, dolls couldn’t move or speak - but they could still feel and think. Back in that age long past, witches weren’t even considered real among the general populace.

In a land of snow and bitter cold, there was a small thrift shop. A lonely little doll made of cloth and stuffing was perched on a shelf hidden in the back corner of this shop, where it had been for years and years.

The doll had been brought into the world through love and care: its maker had hand-made it specially as a gift for her friend, which - little did she know - imbued her simple creation with a heart of its own. The doll was wrapped up and placed in a gift bag, then given to its intended recipient. But when it was removed from its packaging, the first thing the poor doll saw was a smile curl into a disappointed frown.

That frown was quickly followed up by a new, artificial smile and fake appreciation, but as soon as possible, the doll’s intended recipient discarded it like a piece of trash. Had it not been for a whim of fate, the doll would have surely been taken to a landfill. However, it instead found itself as a permanent installation in a thrift shop among a variety of unwanted trinkets.

Once in a blue moon, someone would make an appearance by the doll’s lonely abode, but never would they give the doll a second thought.

‘Please pick me,’ the doll would say in its mind. ‘Please don’t leave me here!’

Despite its best effort, nobody could hear its desperate cries. Dolls couldn’t speak, after all.

But one day, the unexpected happened. An odd woman wearing colourful attire wandered to the part of the shop that barely a soul had laid eyes on.

‘Please pick me,’ the doll said to itself. ‘Please… don’t leave me here… I’m so lonely…’

To the doll’s amazement, the woman turned her attention to it.

“Hello there little doll.” She said softly. “What are you doing back here?”

‘I don’t have an owner… I was thrown away…’ The doll replied.

“Oh, that’s horrible! Who could possibly toss you away like that?” The woman exclaimed.

‘I don’t even know what her name was. But, wait… You can hear me?’ The doll asked.

“Yes, I can hear you. I can hear all sorts of things. The psychiatrists say I’m not well, but I know they’re wrong. I can just communicate with things they can’t, that’s all.” The woman said.

‘It’s nice. -Communicating, that is.’ The doll squeaked.

“It is rather nice to have a simple conversation, isn’t it? Not many people choose to speak to me, but I can only imagine what it’s been like for you. But that’s all going to change now. Would you like me to be your owner?” The woman offered.

‘Yes! Oh please, miss! Please take me! Please be my owner!’ The doll cried.

The woman ever so gently lifted the doll off its shelf and held it in a tender embrace. The doll felt like weeping tears of joy despite being inanimate.

“It’s alright now, little doll. You’ll never be lonely ever again, I promise.”

And so the story goes, that woman awoke her witchly powers soon after and animated her doll.

It’s said that they were the first witch-doll pairing as we know them today. Whether that’s true or not is hard to say, but it is certainly in the spirit of truly loving, caring relationships between dolls and witches.

—

The witch closed her storybook, grinning so purely and genuinely. That story never failed to bring a smile to her face.

The dolls each processed the story in their own way, of course. Some dolls were holding back tears, while some dolls giggled at what they perceived to be an impossibly sappy tale. Others still were half asleep, lulled to a relaxed state by the bedtime-like story and their hot chocolate. One pair of dolls were even holding each other as they bawled their eyes out. The one thing they all shared was the comfort brought upon them by their witch’s favourite doll fairy tale.