A Shopkeepers Love

The puppet son and Father

IF THIS DOESN'T MAKE SENSE AT SOME PARTS, IT'S BECAUSE THIS IS UNEDITED AND I DIDN'T CARE ENOUGH TO EDIT IT :/

In the dusty corner of a quaint, yet eerie antique shop, there was a marionette named Sage. His wooden frame was intricately carved, with joints that moved with the grace of a seasoned dancer. His eyes, through lifeless, had a haunting beauty to them, painted with such care that it was easy to mistake them for real. The strings attached to his limbs were almost invisible, blending with the shadows that danced on the worn-out velvet curtains. His existence was a silent testament to the forgotten art of craftsmanship, a chilling reminder of a bygone era.

The shopkeeper, Mr. Whittaker, had a peculiar fondness for Sage. He would often find himself lost in thought, staring at the marionette with a mix of pity and admiration. Little did anyone know, Sage was not always a wooden creation. Once, he had been a living, breathing 19 year old boy. An ill-fated encounter with a twisted puppeteer had transformed him into this animate object, trapping his soul within the confines of his wooden body. Yet, Mr. Whittaker treated him with a gentle affection that was rare in this world of cold, indifferent humans.

Sage had grown accustomed to the quiet solitude of the shop, surrounded by the whispers of dusty relics and the tick-tock of forgotten clocks. His days were spent watching the shop's comings and goings, the occasional customer's fleeting gaze upon his painted wooden face. The only thing that brought him solace was the melody of the music boxes that lined the walls. Each one had its own tune, a symphony of nostalgia that resonated within his wooden chest, reminding him of the world he had lost.

One moonlit night, Mr. Whittaker brought home a new acquisition: a beautifully crafted music box with a delicate ballerina that pirouetted to the tune of a hauntingly familiar melody. Sage's eyes widened, his wooden heart racing with a strange excitement. It was a tune that he hadn't heard in years, one that echoed the sweet memories of his mother's lullabies. He longed to share this moment with the shopkeeper, to tell him how much this simple melody meant to him. But his wooden lips remained sealed, his strings silent.

"Look at what I found Sage, isn't she just exquisite?" Mr. Whittaker spoke with an excitement that seemed to fill the room as he placed the new music box on the counter.

"I got this just for you, my dear," Mr. Whittaker whispered to the marionette, a soft smile playing on his lips. "It reminded me of your quiet grace, the way you stand guard over my little kingdom." Sage felt a strange stirring in his wooden frame, a mix of emotions he hadn't felt in an eternity. Was it longing? Jealousy? He wasn't quite sure. All he knew was that the music had reached a part of him that had been buried deep beneath the layers of his transformation.

The shop grew quiet as Mr. Whittaker turned the key on the back of the music box. The ballerina sprang to life, her porcelain tutu fluttering as she danced to the melody. The tune filled the air, wrapping around Sage like a warm blanket from his past. His wooden limbs began to ache with the remembered joy of movement, of the days when he could dance freely without the constraints of his wooden prison.

As the music played on, Sage's thoughts grew darker. The shopkeeper's kindness was a cruel reminder of what he had lost. The love that Mr. Whittaker showered upon him was tainted by the ignorance of his true nature. Anger began to fester within him, his wooden eyes burning with a fiery resentment. The other dolls and trinkets in the shop stared back at him, silent witnesses to his torment.

The music grew louder in his mind, the notes piercing through the barriers of his wooden form. With trembling wooden fingers, Sage reached out for the music box, the strings attached to his limbs stretching and straining. The desire to feel the warmth of human touch, to express his pain and anger, was overwhelming. He yearned to move, to dance like the ballerina, to be seen as more than a mere decoration.