Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll) profile picture

Absent Writer Doll

@AbsenceDoll

Hello. It cannot write, but it will try. No minors. Unmarked content. https://xitter.cf/t.co/hqJW9KaCLP https://xitter.cf/t.co/E3nXmMSXYc

 it/its | 31
Joined June 2022
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Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)Photo by Absent Writer Doll (@AbsenceDoll)
Hello! This one is here to announce the release of a story written by Aletheia! It is known as "Words from Sola"! It is currently on sale at absent-writer-doll.itch.io/w… for 5 USD! Alternatively, it is available as a download from this one's Patreon!
Words From Sola by Absent Writer Doll

Words From Sola by Absent Writer Doll

A story of being afraid to love.

absent-writer-doll.itch.io
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===== Such somber sights, burdened by bitterness. Precious few words can shatter that reality - Words to give life to what should be a mere dream. In that fateful moment - We would present to you this grand act. May these passing words be your guiding starlight. =====
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Dear Aletheia! Happy birthday! This one hopes that Aletheia has been well! Though this one also understands that Aletheia has been under a lot of pressure. Food stamps being cut out, losing health insurance, hopefully returning to school but starting again from scratch...
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And taking a break from daily stories, even tho Aletheia wanted so badly to continue without a break. So much has been stressful for Aletheia. And this one sees it all. This one wishes it could do more to alleviate the burden... Alas. But... At the very least...
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A doll and a witch having written 1094 stories. Today makes 1095. ... A year off, the witch muses to her doll. ... A year is a long time. For three years asofar, they've been writing stories everyday.
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Or, well, almost everyday. That's what their backlog is there for. To support them during those days when they can't come up with a story, and to not let go to waste those times when they can come up with more than one.
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The witch purses her lips. And raises her head. "Fine then." "As it used to be." "Me and my doll." "Alone." The doll squeezes its witch's hand. She squeezes back.
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Yes. Just how it used to be. The witch looks down at her doll. And smiles. "Shall we?" The doll smiles back! "We shall!"
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"You're allowed to make mistakes, my doll." The witch ruffles her doll's hair. "I am too!" "But you never make mistakes." "Truth be told, I often wondered whether making you was a mistake." The doll tenses up. Then looks down.
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"I thought... I thought I wasn't giving you the life you deserve." The doll looks back up. "I loved you so much that I thought almost everyday about giving you away to someone who would... Who would...!" The witch sighs. Tilts her head and puts a hand on her cheek.
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"Pick up the knife." The doll bends over. And, with trembling hands, grasps the knife. "Our work isn't done." The witch points her blade at a hunter on the ground. Bleeding. Unable to stand. Helpless. "They came for us." The witch drives her blade into their heart.
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"They will continue to hunt us." And rips it back out. "We cannot show weakness." She whips the blade to her side. Blood spatters upon the ground. "We. Cannot. Show. Weakness." The doll trembles. And nods.
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Dear Absent Writer Doll, Happy birthday. Thank you for putting up with me for so long. ... I... Admittedly feel that I have failed you. In a few days, we'll be going on a year long break. I can't help but feel at fault for our dearth in writing. But...
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You wouldn't blame me, would you? No, you'd say that we are partners. That it is neither the sole fault of either of us. And that this break should be good for us. That, maybe, with time, we'll continue to be able to write like we once used to. I hope you're right.
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"You're either capable of the task or you're not." The doll bunches its dress in its hands. It can't look at the headmaster. It just... Stares at the ground. Ashamed. It feels a hand on its shoulder. It tears up. "May I take it instead of having it destroyed?"
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The doll looks up at the witch next to it. A frown pulls at the corner of its mouth. "If that is your want." The witch laughs. The head witch stares her down. "If that's all..." The witch stops laughing. "Thank you, headmaster." The witch looks down at the doll.
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"Target in sight. Permission to engage?" The witch keys in her microphone. "Hit em hard, dolly." "Copy." A rumble throughout the building. The rest of the staff look around worriedly.
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An anxious question from one of them. "What did you send it out with??" The witch smiles. A toothy grin. "Oh, you know." "Enough."
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A witch lying on the ground. Bleeding from wounds that just won't heal. The doll tries its best to put pressure on her wounds but... But... "It just... I can't... I can't stop the bleeding." The witch laughs. Pulls the doll close. Its clothes stain red. Spread red.
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She ruffles its hair. "It's... It's okay." The doll grips her blood soaked dress. "No it's not okay." Presses its face into her. "It's not fair." "We did nothing wrong." "We've only done our best to help others." "Why did they need to come after us?" ."
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A doll. It thinks about a witch. It used to be hers. But then... Then they separated. The doll's request. And the witch... She hesitated. But she accepted. It... It regrets it. The breakup was its fault.
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If... If only it hadn't suggested it. Then, maybe, they would still be together. Doubtless, the witch only accepted because she loves the doll too much. That she wishes purely for its happiness, no matter the shape it might take. ... It was... It was a stupid thing to do.
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A witch taking tea. In a time past, she would have had her doll make tea for her. These days, she does it herself. She doesn't have a doll anymore, after all. Where did it go? Away. But that's okay. She wanted its happiness most of all.
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And, if that took it away from her, then that was okay. If... If a bit lonely admittedly. ... She misses it. She's confident enough to admit as much. She loved it. Dearly. She will always love it. No matter how far away it goes from her.
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A witch. If she contradicts itself, then it contradicts herself. She is large, it contains multitudes. She dances between sense of self as easily as it breathes. She is exactly what it wants to be. Beholden to nobody.
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A doll meeting with its parents. It doesn't want to be there. But it would be rude to refuse. After all, its sibling wanted to meet with them. How they can manage to stomach them, it will never know. ...
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It remains silent, trying to distract itself by reading through social medias on its phone. It would talk with its group of friends, but it's made it a rule to never expose them to its parents. ... It admittedly holds grudges against its parents.
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A witch reading through one of her most beloved works. 450 pages. A 9.5 hour read. 60000 words. 160 concepts. Her masterpiece. For all that she has written, nothing has come close to that story that she had wrought.
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Even now, stealing passing glances at it, she realizes how much love she poured into that story - how much her heart sang for that story to come to life. It's intoxicating. And incomplete. She doesn't know why she stopped writing it.
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A witch and a doll. They stand outside the ruins of their home. A fire. Everything that they owned... Burned to ashes. They shed no tears. But they can't tear their eyes away from the blackened remains. ... Perhaps they are dissociating. ...
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They hold each other's hand. One squeezes. The other squeezes back. Almost like it was any other day.
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The hunter stands over the witch. "You will die for me now." They raise their blade - The doll grabs them from behind. Wrestles them away from the witch. But... "You... Should've... Stayed down!" The doll is impaled.
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But it doesn't let go. It drives the blade further into itself. And Hugs the hunter. A manic smile on its face . "Got you." A sharp whining sound. All at once, the witch realizes what it's doing. "Wait, don't!" But it's already too late. And the doll Detonates.
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A person and a doll. Or, perhaps, he should be called a witch. They said that he would make a good witch, after all. But then again, they taught him nothing. Just... A word of confidence. And then they were gone. Like it was nothing but a dream. ...
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Does it even matter what he's called? A person, a witch... An office worker. A single man. Uninterested in love or sex. Just... An owner of a doll. A doll that chose him when offered to do anything it wanted.
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Awake. He's awake in bed. ... Was it a dream? He remembers it clearly, though. Every moment is as clear as crystal. Sharp as a knife. But... So much of it didn't make sense.
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In a public space one moment... In the witch's... abode? house? dining room? tea room? the next moment, and... his own house the next? He doesn't remember how he got to any of those places. False memories? A dream? Or was it real? He doesn't know how powerful witches can be.
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The person blinks. In front of him is a witch. But... How did he get here? All he remembers is... Going to the meeting spot. Waiting. And then... All at once... Here he was. He swallows. "So. What did you want to ask?"" He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes his mouth.
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Then... "I want to fix a doll." He looks down. A cup of tea. "I... Would like to ask you how I could fix a doll that I found." The witch lifts her own cup of tea. Takes a whiff of it. Takes a sip. Sets down the cup. "Take me to it." He's home. At his table.
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