#zinwrites

“How long are you going to keep this up?” I ask on my lunch break.

It shrugs at me, then after my shift it follows me home.

“Please leave me alone.”

“sorry,” it says, not sounding sorry at all.

It waits outside my apartment building. I consider calling the cops on it, but then I think about what they might do to it if it doesn’t go away. The doll doesn’t deserve that. It isn’t like it’s dangerous. Just a little annoying. I wake up in the middle of the night and look outside. It’s still there, standing still in the shadow between the garages, where it can be seen from my window. It’s not look toward me, though.

It isn’t trying to peer inside like a stalker; it just wants to make sure I can see it.

I put on clothes and go outside.

“It’s kind of chilly out.”

“don’t worry about me, miss. this one doesn’t feel the cold.”

I suppose that makes sense. It isn’t shivering or anything.

“Can I get you anything? You don’t…eat, right?”

“this one does not. but…if you could wind its key, it would be grateful.”

I’m not totally sure I want its gratitude, but it turns around to show the key on its back. I wind it a few times until it says “thank you, that’s enough.” And then I go back inside.

It follows me around again the next day, too. When I go home, I think about it standing out in the parking lot again and get sad, so I ask “Would you like to come inside?”

“this one has no particular preference.”

“Okay,” I say, “well, it’ll bother me, so if you’re just going to stand out in the cold otherwise, then please come in.”

“yes, miss.”

“Don’t call me miss.”

“oh. would…sir be preferable?”

“Listen, just call me Mike.”

“yes, sir, michael.”

*

Letting the doll in was maybe a mistake. It solved one problem, because the doll no longer follows me around all day long. But now I have a roommate that insists on cleaning up after me.

“You don’t need to do that.”

The doll pauses momentarily in cleaning the oven to shrug.

“Please, stop.”

It looks up at me, blinks, and stops. Just fully freezes in place. I panic, then make sure its key hasn’t wound down. No, it’s fine. It’s pouting because I told it not to clean the stupid oven. Well, that won’t work on me. I pull it out of the way, put away the cleaning supplies, and go about my business. But the next morning when it’s still frozen in place in the kitchen I snap.

“Okay, okay, fine,” I say. It starts moving again as though nothing had happened. It pulls out the cleaning supplies and resumes the job. “I’m sorry.”

“it’s quite alright,” it say, utterly without rancor. “it is difficult to become a witch.”

“I’m not a witch.”

The doll smiles at me.

*

I have to watch what I say around it, because if it sounds like I’m giving it an order, it will do it. I have to watch what I do around it, because if I thoughtlessly make a mess, it will immediately start cleaning it up. It’s stressful. I think about what I’m doing all the time now. I didn’t want to adopt this stupid doll and now my whole damn life is based around it.

It’s better, though. My apartment is so much nicer when it’s clean. And it feels nice to clean up after myself so that the doll doesn’t have to. I’m eating a lot better, too, because I don’t want to just eat frozen pizza when it’s watching and it helps carry the groceries. It makes me tea in the afternoon, which I always thought was something I wouldn’t like but is actually pretty good.

The doll doesn’t talk much, but that’s okay because I don’t either. I used to do a lot of online gaming, but I’ve started preferring the doll’s silent companionship.

I still feel bad, though. It’s expecting something from me.

“I’d like to be a witch for you,” I tell it, “but I don’t know how.”

“a witch is not something you do. it is something you are.” It shrugs. “don’t worry. you don’t need to do anything. you’re my witch.”

I’m not, though.

*

I go to a witch bar. I think, maybe I’ll ask someone about what’s going on. A real witch will know what I should do. But when I walk by the doors and see the witches and dolls inside, I feel like such an impostor that I can’t bring myself to go in. I wish I had the confidence in myself that my doll does.

I do my best to take care of it. I wind its key. I make tea for it. I sit in stillness with it.

When I go out with my friends I find I have little to say. My life has gotten fairly simple. “A doll followed me home a month ago.”

“Have you fucked it?”

I leave.

“It’s not that kind of doll,” I hear myself saying.

“That’s too bad.”

At home, it sees the look on my face and says “do you want to?”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

“you’re my witch. it is perfectly alright.”

“Um. Maybe, when I believe that more. Okay?”

“yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

The doll starts sleeping in my bed. I’m cold a lot of the time now, and it doesn’t warm me up, but it’s something. Something is changing. I get a little excited. Maybe this is what it means to become a witch.

I start taking estrogen. Just in case that will help.

*

a year passes. i hardly even realize it.

i'm still not a witch, but it no longer worries me.

i am cool and smooth to the touch. my doll and i go hand in hand to the grocery store. i lost my job and got a new one. i am better at this one, although it pays less. i have fewer friends, but the friends that I have understand me better. i wind my doll’s key and she winds mine.

and finally one day i say “you made a mistake. i was a doll all along.”

You sit on your bed, seething and fingering the smooth metal of the collar that has been affixed to your neck. You aren't a floret. You aren't a floret no matter what anyone says, you haven't signed any damn contract and you aren't about to. You're still a free fucking terran and it doesn't matter what kind of a sham treaty those plants shove at you.

If they would just listen to you, if at least one would actually discuss it with you, you're certain they would understand. You aren't a raving lunatic! You aren't a babbling toddler! And…you had told your warden as much.

Screamed, more like. You aren't…proud of your loss of composure. You–

You flinch as the door suddenly opens and another affini sticks its head in. "Knock, knock," it says, grinning at you with a mouth full of thorns. This one is covered in some kind of white fur, with two big silvery eyes and a pair of antennae. "My name is Néarcta Pallas, Ninth Bloom (she/her). I heard there's a terran with some very big ideas about the philosophical quandary they've found themself in!" 

Condescension. Again. You look at your feet.

"Quite alright; your owner has already told me your name and pronouns."

You try to control your reaction but a huff of indignity still escapes at the word owner.

"Well, you look relatively well fed compared to the last batch of ferals I worked with!" Says the monster cheerfully. "But you seem so anxious, petal. Do we frighten you so badly?"

"Oh, no," You say. "Of course not! You just…came into Terran Space, compromised our governments, destroyed anything we could resist you with, and crowned yourself protectors!"

"My goodness! And, let me see…" She bends down over you and, before you can react, puts her talons around you and lifts you bodily from the bed. You yelp and squirm, but there is no escape as she carefully checks all over your body with her vines before setting you back down. "But despite all those terrible things, it seems you haven't been harmed at all!"

"Really!?" you yell, scrambling away from her. "Thank you! I hadn't noticed!"

"You're quite welcome, flower. I know some of you sweet terrans struggle to tell whether or not something has actually injured you!"

"Th-that was sarcasm!" Maybe you can't reason with these damn plants if they can't even tell what's serious and what's sarcastic!

It gives you a wide, patient, deeply intimidating smile, and a shiver runs down your spine. "See, just look at the way you're reacting," it says. "Pupils dilating, pulse accelerating, as though I, personally, constitute some kind of threat to your health!" Of course it does! Just look at those teeth, those talons, all those fucking vines and needles! "But all I'm doing is talking to you! Though, I did gently pick you up, I suppose."

"I'm not concerned about being injured," you spit. You couldn't care less. You would welcome it over what was being proposed. You take a deep breath and try to focus on the point you want to make. "Listen, I'll even let it slide that you picked me up without my prior consent."

"How gracious of you!"

"My concern," you continue, "is in regard to a document, which describes me as property, as a slave, and this fucking thing around my damn neck!"

The plant nods, and sits cross legged on the floor, its face calming somewhat. "Flower," it says conversationally, "say you saw an adorable little kitten wandering toward a busy road. Would you intervene?" You open your mouth to respond but the plant doesn't even pause what she's saying. "Of course you would! You wouldn't want that precious little thing to get hurt! Even if that darling little kitten might squirm and scratch and yell, you'd try to get it to safety!" You grit your teeth at the implication. You aren't a fucking kitten! "Why, then, do you think that we would allow you to hurt yourself?" It taps one of those long wooden claws against the lips of its mask. "And, since you seem like the type to overuse certain words, I'm afraid I require your response to be absent the words person and consent. You'll be penalized if you include them!"

"Oh, that's what we're doing now? We're playing cute little analogies?" You fume, but if this is your chance to actually get an affini to listen to you then you'll take it. "Fine. There are important things that distinguish me from a kitten. I am an adult. I am a terran. And I know that you can tell the difference between a kitten and a terran because you use the word sophont to describe one and not the other. Unlike a kitten stumbling toward a road, I have the ability to look both ways, assess the risks, and then decide whether or not it is a good time to cross." You swallow, suddenly nervous. She hadn't reacted yet with anything but attentive interest, but the affini don't usually handle criticism well. She nods, encouraging, and you steel yourself. Nothing to do but keep going.

"Because I am a sophont, I have the capacity to understand abstract ideas, like the concept of my own death. Yes, the actions I took could have resulted in my death. But I determined that the risk was worth it compared to what I was facing. You want to protect me from myself? Stop threatening me! Stop holding domestication over me! That's the reason I did it, and if there's no reason to try and cross that road then I won't have to take that risk! But you won't because you don't really care about protecting me, you care about maintaining control!" She is smiling at you, unoffended. Are you actually getting through to her? Hope starts to rise in your chest as your voice grows louder and more confident. "Ban all the words you want. That's fine. I'll still find a way to make my point. Because you can't ban the idea of self-determination. The fact is: I know the fucking stove is hot, and I don't need a caretaker to wrap me in blankets and keep me away from it!"

You climb to your feet, still not quite at eye level with the affini but closer, and look her right in those glimmering eyes. "Yes, I am clawing and biting. But don't put that on me. If you want my trust, then you need to earn it. You want to help me? You want to protect me? Do better. Show me that you care about my opinions, respect my ability to reason and make choices, and support me in making decisions that you don't fully agree with. If you're unwilling to do that, then it's clear that you see no difference between a fully grown sophont and a tiny ball of fluff. And if you can't, then I was right to make the judgement that I did."

Let's see the weed refute that!

But then she does something that surprises you. She smiles and nods again. "That's right, petal. Look me right in the eyes as you hold onto those feelings."

You swallow as scintillating colors start to spread over your vision. You'd…done it? You'd really convinced her? She's…

"You did very good. You followed my challenge to the letter and answered my question very convincingly. You are a good sophont."

Pride swells in you until you think you'll burst. You aren't some kitten! You're a logical, intelligent sophont, and more than that: you're right!

"You've been feeling so scared for so long, and I understand, petal. Some people just give in at the first sign of adversity, but not you. You're a fighter, and you've been fighting as hard as you can. But another important skill for a fighter is to know when to rest, when to conserve your strength. Right now is not the time to fight, flower."

You nod, slightly confused.

"You're feeling so good, so right, so triumphant. And I want you to hold onto that. You don't like being a floret, I know. Being called a floret makes you nervous. But I'm going to teach you a trick to make things easier."

A trick? That might be useful. You obviously hate being called a floret, because you aren't one, and you know your emotional outbursts aren't helping your case for independence.

"From now on, whenever you're called a floret, you're going to remember this feeling you have right now. This good, warm, bright feeling of rightness. It's going to remind you that it's not the time for fighting, it's the time for resting."

You nod. That makes sense.

"So, when I say that you're a good floret, you're not going to object or fight against it. You're going to remember how good and right you feel. You're going to feel yourself resting, conserving your energy. And especially when Miss Eloxochitl calls you a good floret, you're going to remember that it's not time to fight."

Yeah. You can't fight them. You have to wait. You have to keep your morale up until they're willing to listen. If you just behave yourself for a little while…

"Keeping hold of those things, remembering how nice this felt, you're going to find yourself drifting back up, and up, and back to being awake."

Suddenly, you realize you can't see anything. You reach up to find the affini's claws covering your eyes and tentatively pull them away. She allows it, and you look at her, confused, not entirely sure what's happening.

"Well, petal, I think you proved your point quite ably! Consider me bested in the marketplace of ideas!"

"You'll…you'll tell, um, my–" you don't know what to call it. The affini who calls itself your owner.

"Yes, petal, I'll tell it that you proved your point to me."

"Oh. Um, thank you."

She pats you on the head and you control your flinch. She's helping you, you should avoid offending her. "You're quite welcome, petal."

*

Later, the plant that calls itself your owner comes back. You look up attentively when it enters your room and are pleased to see that its expression seems morose.

"Miss Néarcta let me know that you made a convincing argument for your independence," it says.

You let out a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad that you're finally seeing reason. I may have had some struggles before but…"

It nods, then shakes its head sadly. "It's just too bad. I really do think you'd make such a good floret."

Your heart skips a beat as a sensation of peace and pride washes over you. "I–what? Huh?"

The plant smiles slightly. "Mmm, I was just saying to my friend how proud I was to have a good floret like you."

Another wave of happiness. It thinks you'd be a good floret? "D-do you really think so?"

"Oh, yes!" It laughs. "I know a good floret when I see one!"

You laugh along with it. It's proud of you! It's happy about you! It feels so…right, all of sudden, and you're not sure what's changed.

"Ah, well." It kneels down beside you; you flush and at its sudden closeness. "I'll take off your collar. You're free to go, I suppose."

"W-wait!" You yelp.

"Yes, petal? What is it?"

"Um, w-well… I-I… If I really would be s-such a good floret–" you sway as you say it, slumping over, and your forehead lands on the affini's shoulder. The contact feels…nice. "It'd be a waste," you finish weakly.

Tendrils twin through your hair, rubbing and scratching your scalp lightly. You shiver. "Would you like that? Would you like to be a good floret for me?"

"Yeah," you say, voice husky. "Yeah."

"Hm. I'm not sure." It withdraws, stands back up, and steps away;  suddenly you feel cold, lonely, and very small. "No, I don't think so. I was mistaken. You proved it. You're too independent to ever really be a good floret."

A thrill runs through your body, a pleasure that you're suddenly terrified to lose. "N-no! Please! I-I'll prove it! How can I prove it?"

"The same way you prove anything," It says, voice perfectly freezing. "Convince me."

"I can be a good flor–" You sway, fall off the bed, thump to your knees, then look back up at your affini so far above you. The feelings rushing through you are making it difficult to think. What had the argument been earlier? "I-I'm confused. I'm broken. I don't want to be alone. P-please?"

It bends toward you and scoops you into its vines. "Good floret," it coos. "What a good, good floret."

You giggle and squirm in its grip, waves of pleasure washing over you. You're a good floret! Everything is going to be okay! You can rest. "Now, I've got a nice dinner all ready for my very good floret. Does that sound nice?"

"Mm-hm! Thank you!"

"Aw, you're welcome petal! I love my good floret so much!"

the witch needed rest, so the doll lifted her, light as a feather, and carried her up the stairs to the chamber with the great four-poster bed in it. she laid the witch out and meticulously undressed her, removing the layers of formal and ceremonial grab, until she was able to admire the small nude body, skin nearly as pale as the doll's own porcelain, bones like she could take flight. in a dresser she found a nightgown, put it onto her witch, and tucked her in with a cold kiss. she was still nude, as nude as a doll could be at least, but none of the clothes here would fit, and besides, these were her mistress's and it would be inappropriate to wear them.

her mistress safe and resting, the doll returned to her birthplace. she looked at the diagrams and spellbook that had given her life and began to understand what her witch had wrought. she had only a doll's understanding, of course, but the notes and sketches that the witch had left behind made it quite clear. her mistress had been horribly indecisive, and rather than choose one type of doll—combat or maid or sniper or any of the dozens of others—she'd made a doll that could do everything! And the strain of it had nearly killed her.

and what a job she had done. the doll found a mirror and admired herself. she was beautiful in every sense of the word: a gorgeous face, a pleasing body, and an efficient design. she opened her chest to watch the gears spin, perfectly optimized. the witch had created something truly special, and she decided that she would love the witch until the end of time for it, would spend every day proving to her mistress that she'd made the right decision. there was a dress nearby, a cute, simple, black and white dress perfectly in her size. so that would be what she did first. she'd have the whole house spic and span by the time her mistress recovered from her great work.

she cleaned the kitchen and the sitting room and the dining room, and little by little she learned about her mistress. and she cleaned the library, and she understood why the witch had made her this way.

*

The witch awoke late in the morning to a moment of confusion. She did not remember getting to bed last night. Furthermore, she was wearing a nightgown, which she rarely bothered with! Spell blowback, perhaps; her casting had failed and she suffered temporary amnesia as a result. She'd tried to give her doll too much. The witch rolled over, wrapped her arms around herself, and pouted. One doll was already too many! She wasn't cut out to be one of those witches with a whole brigade of dolls, but she'd never be taken seriously if she didn't have at least one. It would have to be a combat doll, she finally decided, and she would do the housekeeping herself.

The witch got up and dressed herself, and realized that probably she was so hungry because she'd skipped dinner last night. And the neighbors must be cooking something with the wind just right because something smelled amazing.

"mistress!" sang a cheerful voice. And there was her doll, exactly as she'd sketched her, wearing the dress she'd bought to order, and bustling in the kitchen over something that reached into the witch's nose and grabbed her by the stomach.

"It worked…" she said, dumbfounded.

"of course it did; you're a genius! but now you need to eat. sit down and let me bring you something!"

She sat, hardly believing what was going on. The doll was totally self-directed. It was giving her orders, acting almost like a person. She'd known that including so many functions meant that it would be complex , but…but the objections faded when it delivered a plate of fluffy, streaming pancakes covered in strawberries and whipped cream.

"do you want me to feed it to you, miss?"

She blinked, unsure where that idea could've come from. "No, thank you. That's not necessary."

"as you wish, mistress! i am yours to command." The doll bustled back to the kitchen. The witch looked around as she ate, marveling at how much her doll had gotten done overnight. It would need to be wound soon, right? After breakfast she would double check her notes to see how much power the doll's spring was able to hold at once. She was unable to finish the food, so she simply left it on the plate once she was full and wandered away, already lost in thought.

She opened the door to the library, then stood there in shock. After a moment, her mouth opened.

"yes, mistress?" the doll asked.

"My-my spellbooks! What have you done with them!?"

"you don't need to worry about those nasty, dusty old things any more, miss. i got rid of them for you!"

Blood drained from her face. The collection that she'd spent years piecing together, priceless tones full of knowledge and power, and this mechanism had…!?

"you worked so hard, miss, but it's okay now." The doll patted her head and the witch finally understood why usually dolls are not designed to be so much taller than their creators. "you did it! you made me, your magnum opus! i'm the last spell you'll ever need to cast!"

"Y— I—"

"you almost hurt yourself really bad making me! mistress, you're a genius, but…well, i love you too much to let you risk yourself like that ever again, okay? so if you ever need anything that you would cast a spell for, just ask me!"

Just ask her. Sure. And what if she decided it was too dangerous? What if the witch needed to reinforce her controls?

"mistress…you're not happy, huh? you're thinking about a spell you need? just try me, tell me what you need!"

"Disassemble yourself," she mumbled.

The doll's face fell, collapsing into despair like a real person might. "mistress. that can't be right…" She looked like she'd start crying from non-existent tear ducts any moment, and she put one hand on the witch's shoulder and squeezed with a strength that could grind bones to dust. "i love you, mistress, i love you so much. i heard you wrong, right?"

"Yes," she gasped. "You heard me wrong. S-silly doll."

"That happens sometimes," the other witch said breezily.

"Not like this." The witch chewed her lip and stared miserably at her untouched cup of tea. The other witch sipped her own cup patiently. "It burned my spellbooks while I was asleep."

The other witch blinked, then said carefully "You're mistaken. Perhaps one of your rivals did so and ensorcelled your doll to take the blame, but a doll obeys its purpose."

"I am flattered that you think I have rivals—"

"I know you have rivals, girl; I am baffled that you think you don't."

"But, um, okay. Maybe. But for the purpose of discussion, I invite you to consider how badly I may have screwed up."

"Okaaay. Hmm. You still seem to have your agency, so you didn't accidentally give it to your doll somehow. You didn't have assistance, right?"

"Right." She picked up the cup, thought very hard about talking a drink, and then set it back down.

"Maybe if the doll somehow thought that you were an enemy. But...not possible if there were no other witches involved for it to incorrectly bond to." The other witch shook her head. "The only plausible thing I can think is if you summoned a demon rather than creating a doll. You'd need to be a real imbecile, though, and although you are many things, Sparrow, you are no imbecile. This is a combat doll, yes? Some kind of guard?"

"Yes," the witch agreed. "And, um, a maid. And a spellcatcher. And an assistant. And a long-range. Um. Everything I could think of."

"A companion?"

The witch blushed. "Yes," she said, "that too."

There was a newfound respect in the other witch's eyes. "I'd like to see this doll."

*

when the witch returned home with the other one, the doll greeted them cheerfully at the door, took their jackets and hung them, and showed them to the sitting room. then it said "mistress, your guest means you harm. shall this one disable her?"

the witch made a choking sound. "No!" she sputtered. “How can you tell?”

“you gave this one that feature, miss!” it was as obvious as the nose on her face. the set of her mouth communicated quite clearly that she didn’t have mistress’s best interest in mind; she was here to cause trouble and it grated against the doll’s sensor array like sandpaper.

the other witch chuckled. the doll didn’t like it. “If you gave it that ability, you should trust it. Otherwise what was the point?”

“No,” said the witch, “I can deal with her.”

the doll glanced at the other witch. she had no sensory enhancing spells active. the doll leaned close to mistress’s ear and whispered, quietly enough that the other witch could not hear. “you no longer have to do things like that, miss, you have this one now.”

“Doll,” the witch said through gritted teeth. “I said no.”

“very well, miss. certainly you know more of interwitch social conventions than this one. however,” it looked directly at the other witch, eyes blank and cheerful, “if your guest takes action against you, this one will not be able to restrain itself from acting according to its purpose.”

“My goodness,” said the other witch, and with a flick of her wrist flung a spell that settled over the doll. “It certainly talks back, doesn’t it?”

the spell was a simple daze, the sort of thing that witches used to temporarily disable household dolls; to freeze them in place and blur their senses, useful when a doll was overworking itself or misbehaving. the doll knew this because it had read all of mistress’s spellbooks before it burned them. it immediately ate the spell, then pretended to stumble and sit down hard. better that the intruder think it was disabled for the moment.

mistress studied the doll for a moment. “Yes,” she said, “it does. And it doesn’t just talk back. As you heard, it thinks it knows better than me—“

only when mistress was acting against her own best interests, the doll internally objected. like forcing herself to memorize and cast spells when she clearly hated it, or staying up too late watching anime, or skipping dinner so that she could keep working on her potion brewing projects.

“—and it acts on that. And, um, and it threatens me.”

now that was simply not true, and the doll simply didn’t know where mistress…oh, no, the doll had done that a few times. sometimes it was necessary to remind mistress that she no longer needed to be in charge. or to remind her that attempting to destroy her magnum opus was simply unacceptable. and perhaps once or twice when mistress had made the doll feel especially bad, on accident. the doll would apologize once they were alone again.

“Well, Sparrow, I will be perfectly honest. I have no idea what you did to get yourself into this mess. But somehow you’ve reduced yourself to nearly nothing: no spells, no defenses, a single defective doll, and, as soon as word of this gets out, no allies.”

internally, the doll wept for her mistress, because it could feel that she believed the interloper’s lies. but it was not yet time to act. the time for its purpose was approaching quickly, and until then it would be still.

“But I do have good news!” the other witch exclaimed.

“Yes?” mistress asked eagerly. “You can undo my mistake?”

“Oh, no, of course not. No, the good news is that I need a new doll, and you, my dear, are looking less like a witch by the moment!” and she flung out her hand.

she meant to fling a spell with it, but the doll crashed into her like a car, and that interrupted the casting. furniture flew, and part of the doll’s mind categorized exactly what went where in preparation to tidy it all back up later, or in the case of the coffee table, which broke into three pieces, repair. they slammed into the wall so hard that plaster cracked and wood splintered. one or two bones broke as well.

“Ghk!” the intruder gasped.

“this one hates to say it told you so,” the doll said. then to the other witch it said “this one would take satisfaction in ending you. however, it knows that its mistress would be saddened, so it will not. is that correct, mistress?”

“Yes!” the witch yelped. “Don’t kill her!”

the other witch started to channel something, so instead of continuing what it was saying, the doll focused on draining her magic away. it was a brash magic that thought itself subtle, filling but not particularly delicious, nothing like mistress’s delicate confectionery. “Demon,” the other witch groaned as she felt her power fade. “Sparrow, you fucking idiot, what have you done!?”

the doll got very angry, which was perhaps an inappropriate thing for a doll to do, and gently tapped the other witch’s head against the wall. “please do not talk about mistress like that. mistress is your superior in every way and if you cannot see that it is only a sign of how beneath her you truly are. apologize.”

the intruder tried to spit at the doll, so the doll tapped her head against the wall again. “apologize,” it repeated.

“Sorry,” she gurgled.

“sorry who?”

“Sorry…Sparrow!”

“she is your superior. address her as such.”

“Sorry—Mistress—Sparrow!”

“acceptable,” said the doll. it showed the other witch to the door. it considered disposing of her in a more permanent way—it would not make mistress sad if she didn’t find out about it, but then decided against it; mistress was very perceptive.

when she returned, mistress was looking at her with an expression of awe and horror, which was silly because everything the doll had done she had used mistress’s magic to accomplish. the doll got down on its knees. “this one is sorry for making such a mess and for upsetting you so, mistress. this one will endeavor to take care of such situations in a more palatable way in the future.”

“It’s…fine…” the witch choked out.