"Oh, um. My mother passed when we lived out of state, so I moved here to get away from the area. Fresh start. I don't know anything about Minnesota, and figured somewhere close but not too close to the cities would be nice."

He hums again, seemingly satisfied. "Well, lucky for you, I know just the job. Given your track record of jobs and a very open and pleasant attitude, there's a store close to here that needs a front secretary."

"Oh! Perfect." You smile.

He matches your smile, and you notice his eyes crinkle at the corners, it making his duller eyes shine a little.

"Perfect? Yeah, that's how I'd describe this, too. Want coffee?"

"What kind?"

He stands and walks behind you, "Well, I got black coffee, but I have sugar and cream."

You pause, then decide what the hell, "Sure, I'll have a cup."

"Fantastic." Steve says.

A minute later, you have a warm cup in your hands, "So, what do I need to do to apply for the job?"

Steve shuffles through some papers, "Well, I'll fill out the paperwork, and you tell me your answers, alright? Then we can send you on your way."

You nod, taking a sip of coffee.

Steve asks you typical questions for an application, and you answer each with ease. Only pausing to struggle to remember phone numbers for reference.

He asks about an emergency contact, and you frown, "Why would I need that for an application?"

"Some places want one. In case anything happens during an interview, they're able to get a hold of someone."

You lean back, sighing and nervously push your hair back, "Well, I don't have anyone. Only people I know are states away."

Steve pauses, then jots something down on the paper, "For now, we can list myself as your emergency contact."

"Do you do this for everyone?"

"Not usually, normally I'd put down the secretary, but I can make an exception for someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"Y'know, new to town and a very positively polite person. I can't not want to help out if I'm able."

You blush a little and try to cover it with your coffee.

All too soon, your application is finished, and your coffee has been long gone.

Steve smiles and slips the papers into a folder with your name on it. "Well, it was very pleasant to chat with you today."

"Likewise." You say, smiling back.

"Is there a number I'm able to reach you at? In case this place has any questions?"

You nod, jot down the number for your tiny brick of a mobile, and pass the sticky note to him. "Here, it's my personal cellphone."

Steve's smile widens, and you wonder if he was totally honest about his intentions with wanting your number.

"It was pleasant to meet you.." He pauses before going to look at your file.

You laugh softly and repeat your name to him as you stand up.

He repeats your name softly to himself, almost as if he were committing it to memory, then smiles softly, "Right, well have a good day, I'll contact you in the future with any updates."

You smile back, "Thank you, Mr. Raglan."

"Steve," He corrects, "Just call me Steve."

"Alright then, Steve. I'll look forward to your call."

He waves a little, and you exit his office, door clicking softly behind him. You stand there for a moment, feeling slightly ridiculous by how charming he was.

"Oh, Hunter." She says softly, "You mustn't push yourself so hard."

He mumbles something softly, pushing his head further into her side, seeking whatever comfort he can from her.

She wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer, seemingly not caring of dirting her delicate clothes.

"My Hunter, please take care for yourself when I am unable to." She says.

He tightens his hand around her side, balling up in her clothes, throat closing up. He can't stay here forever, but he would if he could.

"You will have to wake up eventually... You cannot live in this dream forever."

He knows that.

That soon he will wake, weapons in hand, prepared to hunt again.

But for now, he lies close to the Doll.

"Sleep now, my good hunter." The Doll says quietly, "I will protect your form here while you rest."

The Hunter nods slightly, sinking into her kindness. Her layers of clothes masking the hard body of the porcelain, and creating something of a nice cushion for when he awakes.

---

He awakes by a lamp.

The small souls hold his free hand, while his other hand rests atop the lamp itself.

His head hung, looking as if he were silently praying.

He lifts his head with a frown, he's no one to pray to. Cept maybe the Doll.

She'd hear his prayers and respond in kind. Unlike the Great Ones the Church prays to.

He stands, the small souls releasing his hand with groans as they sink into the ground.

He grabs at his Saw Cleaver, whipping it out into its second form.

He wants blood, he wants gore, he wants revenge for whatever thing woke him here and not in his Doll's comfort.

The Hunter wants the beating heart of a beast, still beating in his hand, to be crushed between his fingers. The blood splattering against his face.

He craves their flesh to be stripped from their tainted bodies.