dearlyfragmented

You watch the branches of a tree shift and move in the afternoon breeze. The overcast skies above cast a grey shadow down on the world below; the slightly faded view behind the window you look through does no favors either.

House Beneviento is suffocating. The way this place twists and bends and turns over on itself, as though every lash and scar in the darkwood floors brings itself up to bear for you to see. You wish to see the sun; do you really?

The dollmaker that calls this place home, Lady Beneviento, is the object of all your attention, the apple of your eye, the true desire of your heart. You are here with her, accepting the love that she so graciously bestows upon you and in return, you remain loyal to her by staying put. The world just outside the window you peer through will just have to be nothing more than a hazy image on a windy autumn afternoon.

This is okay, right? You like the way this feels. You like the way the Lady Beneviento acts around you, the slight subtleties of her movements and the portions of confidence that she doles out on you. It's the way that she brushes her hand against you or the feeling over her arms wrapped around your waist that keep you tied to her. You are a doll, but it fills the void in your heart.

Or at least, it should.

You watch as a particularly strong gust of wind snaps a lighter, more delicate branch from its resting place. You watch as it toils and falls to the ground, separated from the greater whole in such a casual and cruel way. Your heart is in lovely anguish, feeling more like that branch that had been ripped away from where it should have been. You inhale sharply and look around for Lady Beneviento.

You peek your head into the kitchen and slowly inch into the reading room, only to find them empty. You figure that she is probably in her workshop in the basement, a place where she spends a concerning amount of time in isolation working on her latest creations. Taking the elevator down, you squint your eyes in discomfort at the hissing sound of rusted lift parts clanging and clashing against each other. The mechanisms seem to have been in disrepair for years, but the lift takes people from one level to another without issue, so Lady Beneviento never though to have it fixed.

Stepping out into the basement of House Beneviento, you were expecting to hear the sounds of Your Lady hard at work with her latest doll, but heard nothing. No slight muttering nor the clattering of tools nor the boastful comments from Angie about how good her greatest friend was.

Nothing.

You gulp nervously as you poke your head into the workshop, eyes glazing over worn wooden mannequins and crude drawings of future projects. There was one thing though, one gnawing little thing, that caught your attention:

A side corridor in the workshop leading to a red door. It's bright color stood out amongst the more muted colors in the basement. It calls to you, as though whatever is behind it is meant for you and you alone. You bite your lip in nervous anticipation as you take one more look around Lady Beneviento's workshop. The door is strange and foreign to you, but you cannot help but feel as though she would be upset with you if you opened it.

It's so loud, though. Like a droning and pulling thing in your soul that was screaming at you to open it. Every tentative step that you take towards the door feels like a thousand daggers in your heart. It's too late to stop now, isn't it? You won't ever sleep at night if you don't open that door.

Inches away from it now, your hand rests on the gold-tinted knob that separates you from the contents inside; its cool and inviting to the touch. You open the door.

"Anya."

You gasp audibly, turning around at the sudden and stern voice that seemed to appear out of thin air. It's her. You don't need to see her face to tell the look on her face right now. Lady Beneviento is rather cross with you, a feeling that plunges your heart into despair.

"What are you doing?"

Her voice comes out judgmental and harsh, as though she is scolding a small child. You feel so small; you want to turn back around so badly to see what was behind the door, but you are frozen in place.

"M-My Lady!" you stutter out, trying your best to salvage the situation in any way you could, "I... couldn't find you a-and I-!"

"Is it me?" she asks suddenly, interrupting you without a chance for you to reply, "Do I not love you enough? Do I not care for you enough? Why is it that you do this to me again and again? It must be me, no?"

You gasp and sputter fruitlessly, trying to formulate some sort of response. She's not making any sort of sense to you right now. The mourning veil across her face rises and falls ever-so-slightly as Lady Beneviento pants in emotional distress.

"Do you not love me? Is that it?!"

Her voice is coming out much more passionate and aggressive now, accusing you directly.

"N-No!" you gasp out, reaching for her and taking her hands into your own, "I love you, Lady Beneviento! I love you so much! I didn't mean to open the door, I swear!"

The Lady Beneviento stands unmoving for a few moments, looking down at the hands that locked with her own. Resentment flowed freely in her heart as she pulls her hands away from you scornfully, like a hand recoiling from a hot oven.

"I don't believe you."

She places a hand on your chest and pushes you.

You feel yourself fall backwards.

Time moves slower.

A sharp pain his the back of your head and shoots through your entire body as you twist and become mangled.

Stairs.

You've been shoved down a set of stone stairs.

Your vision goes blurry. You can't move. You can't scream. You can't even process what is happening. Warm blood pours from the point of contact on the back of your head, leaking slowly onto the moss that grows on the stone down in this cellar. Your eyes dart around frantically, trying to gain some semblance of control in this helpless situation, only to see...

...a well.

You hear soft footsteps come down the stone stairs that you were thrown down. Your Lady now stands above you, looking down on you with a disappointment that makes you want to burst into tears. She lifts your body up and throws you into the well.

You don't even feel your arms splitting open from being pulled down to the bottom of the well. What you do feel, however, is pure and unadulterated terror as your limp body catches a glimpse of... yourself?

what? no. that cant be right. but if youre here and youre there then... right, but you landed on something soft-like, yeah? not stone. so if your fall was cushioned then it has to be you, no? that doesnt make sense but what else would it be? youre looking at yourself right now. how many versions of you are in this well for it to break a fall like that? oh. oh no. no, this isnt right. this isnt real. this is just a dream. its just a dream. you need to wake up. oh god please wake up please wake up please wake up please wake up please wake

You wake up the next morning in your room in House Beneviento, groaning slightly as you rub the back of your head. Your memory is a little hazy, but what you do remember the most is...

"Good morning, dearest Anya..."