Every few seconds he remembers to look at your face and offer a thoughtful hum. It is an excellent performance, provided no one asks him what you said. 

“Do you think Robby’s going to be mad?” you whisper. 

Jack answers without ever quite making it past the curve of your cleavage. 

“Mmm — odds are high,” he says, gaze still grazing breast territory like a condemned man savoring last sights. He’d love to put his face there. Drown in a sweet thing like you.  

“Jack, I haven’t even told you what happened yet.” 

Shit.

“Robby’s usually mad.” 

Your lips flatten, eyes shining with the kind of wounded confusion that knocks the breath out of Jack's lungs. “Are you even listening?”

The shift of your mouth draws his attention upward at last, and he hates — truly fucking hates — seeing even a flicker of doubt shadow a face he considers the ER’s single greatest source of light. 

So he says, “Trying, honey. You’re just… making it difficult.”

Your face brightens a bit. “Right, sorry. Whispering is not my strong-suit. I’ll speak up — promise.”

“That’s not the issue.”

Your lips part in a soft question, but Jack is already coaxing your hand off his knee with a gentle squeeze.

“Stand up, angel.”

“Uh — why?” 

“Because the longer your cleavage is that close to my face, the greater my chance of professional misconduct, and I like this job.”

Jack watches as a wash of heat climbs your neck and settles across your features. You blink, clearly rattled. 

“Oh — right,” you breathe, voice suddenly airy. You spring to your feet, smoothing the front of your top as your gaze ricochets from the wall clock to the supply cupboard to the corridor before you muster a crooked, flustered smile. “I’ll… uh… circle back when you’re less at risk of misconduct.” 

You whirl away in a blur of a baby pink dress and mortified mumbling. 

Jack leans back, folds his arms, and lets a tiny, smug hum escape. He’d never admit it, but watching you ruffle and flutter away is better than the strongest espresso on the planet. 

He shifts the chart in his lap. Purely for… organizational purposes.

FRANK LANGDON catches sight of his favorite pen tucked neatly behind your ear and feels the familiar twitch begin beneath his left eye. 

“Give it back.” He cocks one hip against the counter, energy drink in hand, and gestures toward the stolen property. “That baby costs more than all those vanilla-whatever drinks you buy in a month.” 

“You steal mine all the time,” you counter, tipping your chin up. “And mine have glitter stars on the caps, so technically, they’re worth more.” 

“That’s different.” He waves a dismissive circle. 

“How?”

You cross your arms over your chest in exasperation. The motion vaults your breasts upward, full curves cresting against your top like a tide on the verge of spilling.

Frank watches the material strain around their shape, catches the faintest glimpse of a freckle in the deep valley between them, and forgets the English language despite having spent years making it everyone else’s problem. 

A primitive instinct howls to tug his jacket around your shoulders before the rest of the ER memorizes that freckle, while an equally loud urge whispers to trace it with his thumb just to prove it’s real.

He drags his gaze back to your eyes, throat working, the world rebooting in sluggish pixels. 

Glitter pens, Langdon, he scolds himself, fingers tightening on the energy-drink can. Talk about the damn glitter pens. 

He parts his lips. Nothing. Air stalls in his throat while your impatient heel click-click-clicks against the floor. A monitor alarm trills somewhere down the bay for the third unanswered time.

“So?” you prod, shifting onto your other foot, tits subtly buoying with the motion, and Frank’s eyes dip — bounce — dip again like a faulty elevator. 

“What?” he manages at last, dragging his gaze north like it weighs a hundred pounds. 

“You were explaining why it’s different.”

Frank scrubs a hand over his jaw, blank. “Different, yes. Absolutely.” He frowns. “Could you remind me which side I was on?” 

You stare at him, visibly trying to work out whether he’s joking. It seems you can’t decide, brows pinching toward as the irritation on your face slowly ebbs towards suspicion.

“You’re being weird.” You pluck the pen from behind your ear and hold it out across the counter. “Whatever. You can have it back.” 

Frank’s focus lingers on your chest. He backs away a half-step, palms raised. 

“Keep it,” he says immediately.

“But you just said —”

“I’ve reconsidered.”

At this point, you could ask for his wallet, car keys, and a kidney, and he’d probably start filling out the paperwork.

MICHAEL 'ROBBY' ROBINAVITCH pinches the bridge of his nose as you back out of the closet, a teetering tower of saline bags wobbling in your arms.

There you go again, he thinks, the pulse behind his eyes drumming harder with every slosh. He’s reminded, painfully, that he’s told you at least six times to call for transport when the load’s bigger than your wingspan. 

Determined little thing, you are. And he’s half-ready to bark and half-ready to admire the grit that keeps you tottering forward.

But any flicker of amusement he’s getting from watching you dims the second your ID reel snaps loose, tugging the V-neck you’re wearing south.

Pink lace winks at him along with the rounded tops of your breasts — two generous, high peaks that threaten the tensile limits of the bra. 

Half of the ER might as well have hit the brakes. He swears a stray crash cart itself stutters, rubber wheels squealing in sympathy, while half the staff gawk like schoolboys. 

Two strides, a deft shoulder nudge and he’s bearing the saline himself, leaving your hands clutching at nothing but air.

The lace quivers with each shaky breath you take, drawing his eyes downward like a magnet.

A curse nests behind his teeth. He drags it back and angles himself between you and the gawkers.

“Fix yourself, please,” he mutters.

“Oh no — is there saline on my face?” You swipe at your cheeks with both palms, eyes wide and shimmering with concern while he watches, pained, because that was not the issue he meant. 

Robby releases a gravelly groan, muscles flexing as he hugs the sloshing bags to one side of his chest. 

With the other hand he gathers a fistful of your top. He lifts until his new favorite view disappears, smooths, then flicks your lanyard so it lies flat against your chest. 

“How many times have I told you to pin this higher?” he asks, voice a low rasp as he re-secures the clip. 

Your mouth quirks in contrite confusion. “A bunch.” 

“Exactly. Which means you’re out of excuses. One more time and I’ll pin it for you every morning — believe me, I’ll be a lot rougher than this.” 

You huff a little and fold your arms over the freshly rescued badge. “Kay.”

With a jerk of his chin toward the nurses’ station, he orders, “Shoo,” he mutters, nudging you gently aside while balancing the load. “I’ve got the saline run covered. Try not to cause any more cardiac events on my way back.”

You could barely remember your life before the room; it felt abstract, like a movie you had watched half-asleep. All your old, mundane worries seemed laughably trivial compared to the reality you now inhabited. Memories returned only in fleeting, broken shards, never quite fitting together. You had a vague notion that you used to work in a quiet café—an assumption that felt like the catalyst for your entire fate. That was where you met him. He used to stop by so frequently, always smiling. You had mistaken his persistence for eccentric friendliness, assuming he was weird but ultimately harmless. How desperately wrong you had been.

Heavy, deliberate boot steps rattled down the stairs, dragging you violently from your thoughts. The familiar cadence alone sent a sharp ringing through your ears, triggering a volatile cocktail of fear and absolute despair. The heavy deadbolt ground open against the door, swinging inward to reveal him as he stepped into the room. His playroom.

"Klein Maus," his voice rang out, syrupy and giddy like a child on Christmas morning. The sheer innocence in his tone grated painfully against your nerves.

He wasted no time marching across the mats, plop-dropping right in front of you with a large, heavy shopping bag slung over his arm.

"Guess who went shopping?" he giggled, his manic blue eyes locking onto yours with an intense, unblinking focus.

You kept your gaze steady and blank, terrified to answer. In this room, anything could be interpreted as the wrong answer, and your body couldn't endure another "training session" today.

He must have been in a remarkably pleasant mood, because he didn't even acknowledge your silence. Instead, he excitedly began pulling garments from the bag, thrusting the fabrics toward your face to show off his spoils. Through the flurry of pastels, you caught sight of the elaborate, frilly doll dresses. He had an absolute obsession with turning you into a living porcelain figurine. It was all he ever allowed you to wear: stupid, suffocating layers of lace, your hair forced into tight pin curls, your cheeks painted in heavy, artificial blush. He had even forced the total removal of every stray hair from your body to perfect the illusion. The entire display made your stomach turn.

Without thinking, you limply poked at one of the girlish outfits, your expression faltering for a split second into plain, unmasked disgust. It was a fatal mistake. When you looked up, his bright, cheerful demeanor had vanished, his features contorting into a cold, dangerous scowl.

Panicking, you immediately forced your muscles to relax, shifting your face into a mask of superficial delight. You widened your eyes, trying to look eager.

"Much better, little Maus," he murmured, his pleasant expression snapping back into place instantly as he gave your head a patronizing pat. "Do you like them? I can't wait to dress you up, my sweet little dolly."

A dark, icy shiver rippled down your spine. "I-I love them, sir," you whispered, painting a careful smile across your lips and leaning heavily into a submissive, wide-eyed stare.

He drank in the performance completely. Before you could brace yourself, his massive arms hooked under you, hoisting you up effortlessly. He always manhandled you with a rough, heavy-handed disregard, seemingly oblivious to the sheer scale of his own strength. Standing at a towering 6'10", his sheer physical mass made any thought of escape utterly impossible.

He deposited you onto the edge of the high princess bed, your legs dangling over the side like a child's. He began laying out the dresses, meticulously selecting the afternoon's wardrobe before lining up the various brushes and cosmetics required for his makeover. You watched the preparations in silent, suffocating dread.

Your eyes drifted down to your swinging feet. Though he had banned mirrors from the cell, you could catch a warped, gray reflection of yourself in the dark screen of the old CRT television across the room. The shape staring back looked like an absolute stranger. No matter how heavily he caked the cosmetics onto your skin, nothing could hide the deep, dark hollows beneath your eyes, or the severe weight loss brought on by malnutrition and your own stubborn, quiet defiance. Your skin looked sullen, starved of sunlight, and your natural hair was a dull, mousy brown—the cruel inspiration for his favorite nickname.

You were nothing but a hollow shell of the woman you used to be. And looking at him as he smiled over his tools, you realized that was exactly what he wanted. A broken spirit couldn't run away.

-

-

-

-

-

-

void

A creaking door cuts through the sobs, causing the boys to pale. "Shit- lets go. Only bloke worse than this little freaks his uncle." The group quickly clamor away, steps leaving a little patterns behind them. A door slams, and hurried steps are drowned out by a dark shadow enveloping Benjamin from behind. "U-uncle-" Benjamin sobs, unable to form more words than that in his grief. A warm wool coat is slid onto the floor, then over him, as he feels himself picked up effortlessly, as if he were a babe.

"Dear boy..." The deep, soothing tone makes him curl deeper into the familiar warmth of Uncle Vlad's coat. "What happened? Tell uncle."

"Those- those awful boys- my classmates! The broke her, they s-shattered Anabelle!" The tall man frowns as he turns away, as to not have the boy face what remains of his favorite item. "I was dressing her in the shoes you got her, from Paris. They laughed at me, they always do- but they took her this time! Raul did, he took her and they tossed her and they-" His breath is quick and rushed, dissolving into dry heaves on the verge of a panic attack. His uncle lets out some soft, soothing hushed, rubbing the boys back.

"I'm so sorry, dear boy. That never should've happened, this blasted school plays favorites with these boys of higher aristocracy." He shakes his head, putting a hand on his face to wipe a tear from his sensitive nephews cheek. "There, there. They'll be dealt with, I'll make sure of it." Uncle Vlad sighs deeply, before setting Benjamin down, eyes full of sympathy for the boys plight. "Now, the more pressing matter at hand. I wouldn't be a very good inventor if I couldn't fix broken things, hm? Chin up." He taps the boys nose, before sliding his winter gloves back on, the cool leather a shield to the chips of porcelain. He sifts through the grit and gravel of the cobblestone, quickly scooping up everything with precision. "We'll take a look in my workshop, get her right as rain, yes?"

Benjamin, too tired and traumatized to muster up much of a response, nods, taking his uncles ungloved hand as he fills the pockets of the wool coat with Anabelle, careful to hide the dolls body from Benjamins view. They walk from the school towards his uncle carriage, little footsteps in the snow disappear halfway from the school, he's being held once again.

Back at Uncle Vlad's workshop, he toils over a workbench, several candles with lenses magnifying the lights to a single point on the wooden table. In a large worn chair covered with burgundy fabric, sits a nervous Benjamin, the chairs size making him appear even smaller than he is. He sits like a parent at a sickly child's bedside, worried and wracked with guilt at his inability to help. "Can you fix her, uncle?"

"Of course, my boy. Come." He waves him over, patting his knee as the boy comes to sit. "See, we apply a light adhesive to the cracks, I learned this from your mother, you know?"

"Truly?"

Uncle Vlad laughs. "Yes. I was a hellion at your age, taking things apart and putting them together. We'd have had no dish plates and I would have gone to bed without supper every evening if not for your mother's quick thinking. She could seal up cracks in China like new." A fond smile graces his face at the memory, as he hands a fine pointed brush to Benjamin. "Gently now, like painting one of your toy soldiers. Just along the cracks." Benjamin focuses, hands suddenly steady with the grave precision of a surgeon, as Annabelle is reformed like a morbid puzzle.

"I can't find her eye." Uncle Vlad searches his pockets at the boys behest, but it seems Anabelles missing glass eye was lost in the vicious attack. "I must have missed it; we can go back in the morning. Or perhaps I have a replacement around her, what shade would you say her eyes are?"

"No." Vlad stops in his searching, hands stilling at the drawers he was rifling through. "Maybe... she can have an eye patch? Like you, uncle? She's still pretty, even with one eye." The mans heart swells at his nephews constant acceptance of his disability, and he nods, shutting the drawer.

"I think she would look lovely with a patch. I shall get to making her one right this instant, perhaps something green? To match those lovely glass eyes? Or perhaps blue." He looks off wistfully. "It was your mother's favorite."

"Uncle?" He snaps out of it, looking at Benjamin, who has gone quiet, tracing the dolls repaired face. "Would... mother be upset with me? For... what happened to Anabelle? She was hers- when-" His eyes well. "I promised her I'd take care of her."

"And you did. Loving someone or something doesn't mean you can protect them from all harm. But your mother knows how much you love her, and her dear old doll. Would someone who doesn't treasure this toy dress her everyday, fix her curls and repair her so carefully?" Benjamin shakes his head. "See? You already knew the answer. Now, we'll set Anabelle to dry, and I'll show you a little project of mine."

The pair rise, passing Uncle Vlads numerous contraptions. An unconventional man, praised by some for his invention and scorned for his outlandish ideas by many more, he's invented a great many things. All the finest steamboats use his new system for separating salt from saltwater, preventing buildup in the machines. His system of compasses which are able to not only tell the directions but tell there relation to sister compasses have led to incredible leaps in travel, and all this isn't to mention his smaller, household conveniences. How Benjamin loves his uncle, who never ceased ro support the young boys creativity.

They approach a small table, not unlike a surgeons operating bench, with a white cloth draped over something. "Do you remember that trip I took to egypt? Fascinating place. I was at the palace of the Khedive and saw a great many things, but what fascinated me most was the automaton." Uncle Vlad muses, turning some lights on and bringing a small rolling table with various instruments over.

"Automaton?"

"Gears and metal, make to mimic a living form. They had copper camels, turning on a style as to draw water up from a hole in the sand. A genius invention, they never grow tired, they need only a bit of oil here and there. They aren't unlike a clock, the only thing they can't mimic is behavior." He shakes his head. "I'm afraid they were about as close to real animals as a rock is, personality wise. But, it got me to thinking. I'm working on a brain, rather, something like a brain. Built like those new calculating machines, but also made to control the rest of the form. An automaton with a sense of life to them."

"That sounds very hard to build, uncle. Will you need help?" Benjamin asks, tracking his fingers absentmindely on his pants in an attempt to seem casual. Uncle Vlad smiles. "But of course. You are such a clever little toymaker, with all your puppets. And you've a sense of invention too, those wonderful little magnet trains you made. I could think of no better apprentice. After all-" He whips the cloth in a rather dramatic fashion off of the table, revealing something grotesquely mechanic.

Metal rods wrapped in copper coil and gears connect to small wires and bolts, a vaguely human shaped amalgamation of copper and bronze. Benjamin shrinks back a bit, both nervous and curious. "Its..."

"Grotesque, I know." The older man sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm afraid that's part of the reason I need your help my dear boy, I've never had your eye for design." He chuckles. Emboldened by the compliment, Benjamin slinks closer. "What about... a shell?"

"A shell? Hardly fits the human form." Vlad grumbles, prompting Benjamin to shake his head. "No, like a casing. Like how we have skin, the metal is the muscles, and we could put something over all the wires and gears. Porcelain, like my dolls, or maybe china?"

His uncle pauses, turning the metal frames head sheet from left to right as if testing mobility. "Movement would run the risk of chipping the China, especially with all the gears. But maybe- if we put a metal form over the armiture, then a thin layer of padding, perhaps felt, then the shell..." he nods, letting the metal face falls back to its neutral position. "Yes! I think that could work quite nicely. Of course, I'll need you to decide what you want them to look like."

"Why me?" Benjamin asks, brows burrowing. The man smiles, then kneels, placing a hand on Benjamins blue felt school coat. "This invention, its all for you, boy. I cannot stand for you to keep enduring without a peer; someone your age. If I had not had your mother at my age, I would..." He shakes his head. "I will not have you lonely when I am away, or toiling away up here. It will be just like one of your dolls, but life size. Able to walk and talk, someone to be your friend. Does that sound nice-" He's cute off as the air is knocked from him.

A pair of small arms wrap tightly around the neck of Vlad, trembling as his white shirt goes Grey and sheer with little tear drops, as the boy in his arms sniffles and sighs. "It sounds wonderful, u-uncle." Benjamin cries, making his uncle smile. "My sweet, sensitive boy. Come, what do you want your friend to look like? I can paint the porcelain most any color, and you can pick the eyes, the hair, the name."

Benjamin shakes his head, glancing back at the table. "Well... all my dolls and toys are so pretty, but-" He chews his lip. "They all look so different. So- so maybe you choose? Whatever gets made, I'll love them. Or maybe- you said they can think?"

"Yes, but it will take time-"

"Then we can let them decide! I-I dress all my toys based on what I think they would like, if they were real! So they can choose, as they get smarter! Then they'll be happy, and I'll be happy, and we'll both be happy." Benjamin insists, and Uncle Vlad puts his hands up. "Alright, if you insist. Let's hope they can even make choices, it's a new technology..."

Thus began months of work and toil, tests of mobility. Vlad rarely allowed Benjamin into the workshop during testing, failed test runs could be rather traumatic. Watching you spark, then freeze, crashing to the ground and scattering cogs across the floor. Or the time he displayed a lovely flower Benjamin had brought him, only for you to crash into the vase and get wet, which somehow lit you on fire (rather ironic, Vlad had thought). Slowly but surely though, you progressed. Steel grip going from crushing the object held in your hand to picking things up gently, able to holding something as soft as a peach without bruising. Reactions, blinking when he snapped or stopping before running into walls. You couldn't talk, but each time he turned you on, he felt as though you'd made progress, not unlike studying then going to sleep. He felt like the training was seeping into the mechanical marvel inside your head.

Soon, it was christmas. Break had begun, and Benjamin could not be more thrilled. Vlad had faced difficulties getting something just write with one of your legs, you had been struggling to maintain balance. As such, he traveled to a sideshow far north where a friend of his was working on automatons for the circus. Less advanced and unthinking, but then balance was the goal, not thought. He had to bring you with him, but with exams coming before break Benjamin had to stay behind. But at last, the family was reunited, and Vlad was excited to present his creation to his nephew.

"Alright, now she's still a bit shy, but I know you can be gentle in your approach."

"Of course. Right." Benjamin is rocking on his heels enthusiastically, the usually calm boy struggling to contain himself. "Wait- she?"

"Yes, that's what she chose on the carriage ride home. You have boy and girl dolls, I figured you wouldn't mind." Benjamin nods. "Yes, I just... I don't have anything to give a girl." He frowns, worried.

"Ah, I'm sure she'll just want to play with your toys, and we'll find her some gowns in time." He assured the young man. "Go, she's in the drawing room. Say hello."

With shaking hands, Benjamin presses the door open, barely able to keep his hold on the handle. Inside, his breath is stopped short in anticipation. There, staring at the fire in the fireplace with the fascination of a newborn, is a girl of his age. A skin tone painted on porcelain, and tufts of hair wefted carefully into your head. You don't look half as robotic, but still fake. Like his dolls, not that he minds.

"Hello?" You turn at the sound, glass eyes looking at him with an emption he recognizes. Shyness. "My name is Benjamin. My uncle, he made us to be friends."

"Yes... he said so to me. As he worked on me." You shyly stand, to face him. "Are we friends?"

"I'd really like to be." He smiles, stepping forward. "We'd play together, and I could show you my dolls. Theyre so pretty, like you. And we can play dress up, or read. I could do your hair, and we could play hide and seek."

"Why would you hide from me? I'm not scary, am I?" You noticed from the moment of your creation you didn't quite look just like your maker, and now you see his nephew bares a different visage to your own as well. Hands connected by skin, no gaps or creases so he can articulate and move. "Are you afraid of me?" You whimper.

He looks aghast, immediately going to placate you, in a way identical to his uncle. "No, no! It is but a game, one person hides and the other seeks. You aren't scary, I think your pretty! So pretty." He promises. The small smile formed on your face plate fills him with a warmth. Your shyness has inadvertently caused his own to fade, it feels good to comfort instead of needing to be comforted. "Come on, I'll show you all my stuff. Uncle Vlad!" He calls into the hall, prompting his uncle to take delight in the sight of two small heads peeking from the drawing room door. "We are going upstairs to play!"

It was over many years the friendship between the pair of you blossomed and grew. Unfortunately, as he grew, it was suggested to his uncle he be sent to a boarding school in London, as most sons of nobility and stature were. Uncle Vlad would have home schooled him, but his work was demanding the point he worried it would not be enough. So, when winter came around once more, a now thirteen year old Benjamin returned from school.

"Uncle!" He called, quickly stepping from the carriage to embrace the older man, folloeing him into the house as they chat, scuffing his shoes as to not drag snow into the house. "My studies are going quite well, I'm able to take several arts and maths courses. I... still struggle to connect with some of my peers. But the younger students love me, I tutor sometimes."

"I never had any doubt you'd excel. Come! I've made some cider, and your dear friend is in the awaiting you."

"Was she frightened while I was away? I've never been gone so long from her side." He prods, trying to discern if you were yearning for him as he yearned for you in his absence. He likes to believe you missed him as much as he missed you, maybe more. The school let the boys wander the nearby town during the weekend, he'd pick up trinkets for you. A ribbon to match your eyes, or a lovely new shade of polish he'd like to see you wear on your nails. A perfume or two.

"Well, she missed you terribly, but I doubt she was scared! I was here, and I'm her maker." He shouldn't feel disappointed. 'It's terrible, wishing for her to have been afraid,' he thinks. 'What friend thinks of such a thing?' He shakes his head as if to physically rattle the thoughts out, and departs for the main parlor. Some light classical record plays, Italian, he thinks. Curled up in a light linen shift and resting on the couch, is you. The sight warms his heart.

"Cmon," he gently pokes your shoulder, a light 'tink' echoing as your shoulder and arm plates collide. You squirm, once then twice, as your lids raise revealing those familiar glass eyes.

"Oh, Benjamin!" You chirp, sitting up quickly. "I had meant to stay up and wait for you, I must have dozed off."

"You don't even need to sleep, some warm welcome this was." He jokes, sitting beside you. He melts into your form as you wrap your arms around him. His uncle had putting a heating element in you some time ago, to keep you warm to the touch. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Sitting back a bit, you present a small package from your side. He tears it open, to find what looks like a few extra small brushes, for the sake of his detail work on his new creations. "You've gotten so good at making toys, I heard you were even selling a few. Thought maybe some brushes could help. They aren't anything special-"

"Theyre perfect!" He clasps your hands happily, setting the gift aside. "I've been using the tips of pencils for detail work, I'll be able to have such precision now." He just stares for a moment, getting lost in your pleased expression, before he flushes a bit, then looks down, clearing his throat. "Yes, well- I got some things for you too. I picked up a perfume, and this lovely silk ribbon, here-" he turns to affix it to your hair, as he had so many times before. Dressing you was one of his favorite things, though as of late he gets aflush when you're in just your undergarments. He'd be awkward enough if you were just a doll, but you being alive makes it no easier. Still he misses it. "Beautiful."

"I heard your uncle is going to the christmas ball. I was wondering, seeing as the townsfolk are used to me-" you glance down at your marionette like hands. "I thought we could go? Together?"

"What? O-of course, I wouldn't leave you locked up in a cabinet or something! You're my best friend, and its almost Christmas." He adores it, thrives on being your comfort. "We can wear something matching, I'm sure I'll find something perfect for us. But I'm not much of a dancer. Promise you won't laugh."

You giggle.

"Its not funny! Having two left feet is serious, I'm no good!" The pair of you are left giggling and making small little jabs at each other as you relax back into the routine of being with each other.

Nights later, you emerge from your room, padding down the stairs in a crushed velvet gown, warm for the holiday ball. Benjamin and Vlad are chatting, looking up. Vlad smiles at the look he sees on the boys face, how his hands go clammy at the sight of you, looking as beautiful as he's ever seen.

"Does the new gown suit me?" You ask, now a bit self conscious about how you'll present tonight.

"Its beautiful. You're..." he can't say it. He cannot call you beautiful, it seems harder now. He's called you beautiful since the day you were built, your his best friend. So why now is he so tongue tied in before the girl he's always known. "You look wonderful, my dear." Vlad takes your hand, kissing your forehead paternally. You giggle. "Thank you, maker." You curtsy, the epitome of what you imagine a little lady should be.

At the ball, things go as they should. You watch as he enjoys treats, wishing a bit you could enjoy them for yourself. Alas, it would be to complicated for so little value. You danced, or tried too, before Benjamin pulled you away.

"It's just dancing, I want to twirl." You laugh happily. "Is this because you're jealous you can't dance?"

"No-" he frowns, looking around. "What if you slipped and fell, you could chip yourself, or worse!" He acts as if he's scolding a child, which makes you glare.

"What? I'm not that fragile, I'd be okay. And Vlad could fix me, I'm a girl, I'm going to have fun. You don't need to scold me, why are you acting like I'm in need of discipline?"

Your offended tone makes him shrink, and he puts his hands up in a placating gesture. "Please, don't take it like that, I'm only concerned for your wellbeing. I don't mean you can't care for yourself but-"

"I'm going to dance, if not in here then in the gardens." You gently push off of him, clearly upset. He doesn't remember you being so independent when he left, but then your both teens, full of hormones and odd feelings. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Can't you see how much he cares about you? He doesn't want you hurt, but he doesn't want you angry at him either. He can't stand the thought of- no, no. He just needs to give you space. 'She'll tire out, then we can talk. I'll make it up to her. A slow waltz, even if I'm not good should please her.' He goes off to find his uncle. As he chats with a few business associates of the family, his blood runs cold. A familiar red wool coat slips through the doors to the garden. Raul.

He excuses himself quickly, only to find Raul holding your wrist firmly in the garden, mocking you. "How is it you work anyways, girl? Some sort of puppet, where are your strings?"

"Let go- I'm an automaton, not a puppet." You struggle, trying to push him back.

Raul had still been a problem for Benjamin, even at the boarding school. Benjamin had always taken it, just keeping his head down. But now, as he sees you being harrassed, his blood boils.

"Let her go, Raul!" He yells, stepping forward to grab your other wrist, tugging like a child fighting over a toy. "She's not some toy!"

"It's a freak of nature, s' what it is. Shoulda' figured it was yours. You and your freaky little doll obsession." He sneers. "Still the same wuss you were back then, huh?" He lets go of you, moving to show down Benjamin, who hits the ground with a rough 'thud'.

"Hey!" You cry. "Get off of him-" as Raul moves to strike the boy, whose arms come to cover his face, you smack the back of his head. You can't hit very hard, you are made to be gentle, but its enough to make him groan and whip around.

"Fuck- you little- I'm going to shatter you like that damn doll of his-" You let out a screech as his fist makes firm content against your face, an audible crunch ringing out as you suddenly feel a bit... lighter. Shocked and frozen in terror, you see a little blood drip from his hand. He just grins, pulling a tiny shard of your own porcelain from his hand, dropping it with little care. In horror, you see a part of your face plate; your left cheek, cracked and laying on the ground. Horrified, your fingers come to brush to hair like, wooly felt that keeps your gears insulated. "No-" You've always been frightened of the way you look deep inside, and Vlad made sure during maintenance you didn't have to be made so aware of the difference between you and a human. But now, as you feel your glass eye slipping a bit, its all you can do to cover half of your face with both hands.

While you tremble, Benjamins face has gone pale; the sight of your cracked visage filling him with a horrifying deja vu. You look just like Anabelle, all those years ago, face shattered and eye damaged. His mother's beloved doll, now his beloved doll, shattered by this- this monster. Its a blur what comes next, he launches himself at Raul. There's another sickening crunch, as Raul screams out in shock.

"You bastard! Don't you ever fucking touch her- you shattered her face- her beautiful face! You're an animal-" He's wailing as he slams Rauls head against the brick path of the garden, one punch after another. He's seeing red. He barely processes when he's yanked off by a partygoer, thrasing like a rabid creature and begging to be let back at Raul, whose cursing as his fathers dragged him off.

"He assaulted my son-"

"HE assaulted my nephew and my prized invention. That's-" Vlad would never call you this, but he knows its the only way to speak to a man like Rauls father, with money. "That's an extremely expensive piece of machinery, an engineering marvel. Will you be covering the damages to both my machine and your businesses reputation? I could call sabotage on my ventures for this!"

Rauls father pales, reluctantly stepping aside to make a deal with Vlad. "Raul- inside."

"But father-"

"INSIDE, BOY! NOW!" The battered boy slinks off, leaving Benjamin to be dropped by the partygoer. He pants, trying to regain his senses when he sees you, still curled and covering your face. He pales and hurries over.

"Oh no! No- don't cry- I'm sorry you had to see that, I didn't mean for all that to happen-" He goes to cover you from the crowd with his jacket.

"My face!" You sob, palming the gap where porcelain once was. "I-I look like a machine- like a steam engine or a furnace. Don't let anyone see!" You beg.

"Of course not. You look beautiful as ever, please know that. Tell me you know that, you are still beautiful-" its easier for him to say it again. "Uncle will fix it, your eye too. And Raul- I won't let him hurt you- never again." He pauses, remembering how you had shoved the bully in an attempt to save him. "You... tried to save me. Thank you."

"Of course." You sniffle, reluctantly facing him. "You're my best friend."

"You should've just let him hit me, then you wouldn't have been shattered."

"What choice did I have? He would've hurt you. And you stepped in to save me, you wouldn't want me to tell you not to rescue me." He smiles, and nods his head reluctantly. "I suppose your right. At least we both look worse for wear?" He motion to a bruise forming, sure to be a black eye come morning.

You giggle despite yourself, looking at your trembling hands. "You really think I'm still beautiful?"

His heart aches. He never wants you to feel like you are anything less that his most prized, precious doll. "Of course I do- I-" In a moment of panic, yearning to prove it, he kisses your porcelain lips. The feeling is odd, but then he's never kissed another girl to compare. He doesn't imagine he'd want too. When you gasp, he pulls off.

You're clearly shocked, hand coming to touch the uncracked part of your molded lips, mouth slightly agape. "You're cut..." you whisper, seeing where his cheek must've cut on a jagged edge during his kiss. Frightened at what hes done and your lack of response, he just swallows, sitting back. He rubs his cheek, and sees a smear of blood left on his hand. "So I am." He mumbles. He can't meet your gaze, till you clear your throat.

"Well... perhaps it's best we try again, when I'm repaired?"