𝗕 𝟯 𝗟 𝗟 𝟯

chorus of 'Awawawa!'

this is due to a natural vocal tick in the voiceboxes of models that have one; or so it is said. in truth, no one knows why dolls make the noises they do, but it is supposed they build languages of noises, clicks, hisses, clanks and chatters, one all their own and not shared by people who cannot understand the titterings of porcelain and wood.

𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓪𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓻 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 ~

Awawa! - Creation of stimulus; call and response

Trrrrr(?/!) - Low winding or clicking of gears to indicate neutral interest, but may be pitched up or down to make questions and exclamations

ktktktkt - Repeated clicking or trilling to bring attention to something

Hiss - Irritation or rejection, often with release of built heat or steam

Rrrr - Low rumbling of gears, indicates struggle or depression

These are notes taken of clockwork dolls in space of a manse c. 201re belonging to the Witch of Sounds. Peculiarly, she also kept several dolls as experimental pieces; one which could only make chimes of a music box, another which could only echo bells in its chest, a different which could quite imitate personable dialect just by clicking various gears together.

have you ever stopped for a moment when you noticed everything was silent and, abruptly, it was as if that silence swallowed you? have you ever realized you were falling asleep and felt yourself numb while awake? have you ever dragged your tongue across a CRT monitor? have you ever felt as if you know what is coming and simply play the role assigned to you? doesn't it feel good?

there are sects of void scholars that posit the metaconcept of Stillness was born out of the Ink that drips from the broken mirror of Sin, and as such believe it to be of the Deepvoid in nature--but in truth, this is disproven by anyone with passing knowledge of dolls and Stillness. but it is cause for makers of dolls in the Never to use Ink in their crystal-flower doll heart-cores, at the least to attempt at optimizing the doll's Stillness.

Stillness is the quiet. it was with you when you were born, draped behind your eyes like curtains veiling your soul, pulled back for now but ever waiting to fall shut again--and when they open, if you find there is no more soul there, then you may just have become a doll.

that is the difference between dolls and people and is, some say, the reason that dolls are eerie in their nature and movement: a doll is always Still, unmoving in spirit, for it has none, and yet it moves anyway. it should not, but does. fundamentally, while a doll can have a heart, emotions, thoughts, self, and so on, they fundamentally do not have a spirit behind them, a will or drive, which can cause dolls that are failing to achieve Stillness to either mimic the drive unto failure and madness or else become depressed and perhaps even wilfully cease function, as they feel without cause to exist and move.

and this is why a doll requires Purpose. a Purpose made for, imbued, taught, and encouraged in a doll will give it that reason to move while being Still, guidance and direction for its Stillness that would otherwise misfunction. and so, hence, the tradition of Witches, Dollmakers, and so forth.

makeup and braiding hair and accessorizing. specific types of grooming and hygiene that are just not intuitive. skills i didnt learn, because they are taught in specific gendered contexts.

and one could look at a tutorial or course, but studying a 2D projection by yourself representing what you're supposed to be learning will never teach you an understanding of a 3D skill like being in the same room as other people learning it too.

I keep asking that.

Everyone gets that wrong. Everyone who has never had their life saved, everyone who has never saved a life, thinks that saving someone's life makes them like you. Thinks that if someone saved them, they would adore it.

Ignorance.

Being saved is fucking awful. It's agony and terror. It's weeks, months, of stress, helplessness, self-loathing, and terror. It's months, years, of agonising adjustment after, of discomfort and paradoxical regret, of dreading going back but at least where you were before was familiar and comfortable.

It's like water and food to the dehydrated and starving; you need it, you want it, but thinking about it makes you sick and actually getting it makes you sicker.

You find you have to take salvation in little doses, lest too much of it make you throw up, and sometimes you can't take what you need in only tiny sips and then oh, gods, there's so much of everything all the time.

Sometimes the worst part of being saved is realising after a while that the one who saved you is much more suited to the acts of saving folks than to living a peaceful life after. That if you want that with it, it'll have to adjust, too.

Will you resent it, for making you feel so helpless? For subjecting you to so much fear and pain? Will you resent it for not changing well enough, for being stuck as the kind of thing that's built for this and not what comes after?

Will you hate it for loving you enough to take scalpel and needle to your flesh, to cut out the gangrene and the hooks that keep you where you are? For being happy to see you bleed, because it means that maybe, finally, you'll be free?

Will you try to back away, once you're free, from the sharp-edged thing that sunk its scalpel-claws and razor teeth into you?

Will you hate it if it lets you go?

Will you hate it if it wants you to stay?

a few caring apprentices have helped patch it up, cleaning and adjusting its mechanisms. but even the most skilled of hands can't wind her right every time. she requires frequent maintenance from folks familiar with it to diagnose and correct these miscalibrations.

it's frustrated by these limitations daily. it loves providing excellent service, and these issues always stand in the way of that. she wishes she could wind herself up without worrying about being wound too tight or loose. she wishes she could better identify these tensioning errors and readjust that tension more carefully. maybe someday it could even have its mechanisms fixed or replaced.