He lives among the dolls. Pretty pretty boy, his eyelashes full and beautiful just as he. Almost as if he were the same as the rest. Lifeless, yet full of thoughts and memories. As flawless and visual as an artificial being, yet his feelings were nowhere near artificial. He always felt another was missing, though there was no one to begin with. Loneliness does this to you, it could drive a man mad. Nothing to share between another, he did not complain nor speak too much although. What would be the point? What would be the point of retaining everyday memories? What is the point of existence when there are no merits to go with it? He had always thought this way, everything was constant. It made it so there was no perspective of time, just existing. Existence with nothing to show for it. Only silence which in it's own funny way was too loud and cold for this lonely soul.
He looks toward the distant end of the room...actually room isn't the right words to use. Yes it is true the space he took up was just four connected walls. But no matter how far he walked he never seemed to reach a wall and touch the velvet drapes that dangle from each end. Or god forbid the doorway leading to the mystery that lay beyond it. He often contemplates walking towards the door, as long as it takes to get to it. Simply to feel the foreign air and polished cherry mahogany encasing him and his many silent friends. Perhaps giving in and leaving his silent cove. Though maybe Pandora's Box was never meant to be opened. Never knowing why, but always knowing he was not to go near that exit.
Which is as far as his knowledge went regarding his peculiar life. Little did he know he was the key to this place he reside, without him placed here the existence of life would be without. As the pretty pretty boy was the fabric of existence itself. He lives with an ultimate responsibility, without having asked to in the first place. If it were his own choice would he have chosen this fate? Though why would God give another the chance? Would any of us be willing to take it? This is why the boy exists, God created the only one who could.
The boy is drifting in thought as he weaves the strands of hair to the glass dolls head. One by one, his progress widens. He is one with most patience, who takes the time to make every last doll beautiful in their own unique way. It is almost haunting the way he can see, possess, and create pure beauty more than the average ever could. An ultimate gift.
He stops weaving when he notices a crack make it's way down the face of the doll, then naturally the crimson flows from it. He watches in dissatisfaction, she was not created long ago. Yet already she is without internal wills. Her hair had not come to it's full potential, her true beauty did not have the chance to make an appearance. Still watching it flow from her wound it seeps onto his lap making a little pool of crimson below them. Standing he becomes indifferent, with a blank stare he sets rose petals around her, closing her eyes and turning away. This tends to happen from time to time. He is yet to finish a doll when it is decided that it mustn't exist perfected, with only a canvas of porcelain to show for it's shortened time spent. Other times they go unharmed, sometimes mysteriously vanishing without any crimson shed. He had thought about this often. Coming to the conclusion that some, where he reside have the pleasure of leaving the confined untouched walls, through the forbidden door for a better fate. Still in the earnest part of him, he wanted also to be one to go beyond the untouched walls. Little did he know he was never to leave the lonely space he was set to stay till times end.
