Oletus Manor's Library [Identity V Oneshots]

Aesop Carl: Decaying Toys

Summary: To you, dolls always meant much more than meaningless items that would eventually be forgotten.

Warning: Death, murder, obsessive behavior, ig this counts as yandere

Wordcount: 961

Note: This inspired this fic but this was what kept me writing.

Why must beauty decay so quickly?

You covered your nose to block the putrid smell coming from your doll.

Why must humans be so ugly?

The sick, bony skin underneath the doll's dress made you scowl.

Just like dolls,-

You heaved your doll–no, it wasn't a doll anymore. Dolls aren't ugly.

-why can't our beauty stay forever?

You heaved the empty shell into the large furnace inside the basement.

But even though I try so hard-

You didn't even bother to watch the ugly shell burn away.

-to achieve immortal beauty...

With sharp scissors in hand, you start to search for your next doll.

Human dolls still fade so quickly.

The only source of light when you close the basement was of the corpse burning.

.

To be a doll is to be the epitome of serenity, hope, and purity. To be a doll is to be the epitome of regality and elegance; maturity and youth; charisma and beauty. To be a doll is a privilege.

But to be a doll is to rid of all the toxins that a human-being preserves; all the sins and darkness within one's heart is the ultimate chain that traps one from ascending into a pure doll.

That is why dollmakers exist. That is why you exist. You are the sacrifice needed to stay behind in this tainted world to help clean the billions of toxic waste that riddle the planet.

So when a mysterious letter arrived at your workshop promising you plenty of candidates along with a huge sum of money, you knew this was your big breakthrough. If you could just ascend the perfect person and have enough money to display it then the world would finally see true beauty.

A true beauty that only ever belonged to dolls.

A true beauty that no dirty human-being except for him had.

An embalmer was what he was, a little different of an occupation than yours, but still similar enough for you to befriend him. The way his hands meticulously travels across the dead–cutting, injecting, decorating–you watched his every movement. And unlike everyone you knew, he too saw the beauty in death. The only difference was while death for him was an ending, yours was the beginning of one's journey to purity.

"Aesop," you called out to him one day. He flinched, almost messing up his incision on the body. Over the few months you've been watching him, he'd gotten used to your burning stare making him sweat despite the cool air of the morgue, but he was never accustomed to your lively voice that clashed against the dead's whispers. "If you think death is so beautiful, wouldn't you like to experience it yourself?"

Aesop hummed and, as if he simply ignored you, continue to make his incision on the body and continued with the embalming procedure. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he responded, "A masterpiece cannot be made with only itself." You frowned, it wasn't the answer you wanted but one you could relate to. One couldn't see beauty if there is no beauty to begin with–that's why you and Aesop were there to help.

But there was one thing you couldn't relate to. One other thing that sets you and Aesop apart: none of your creations have ever been masterpieces. To be a doll is to be the epitome of regality and elegance; maturity and youth; charisma and beauty. Yet, you never quite got the last trait right. But with this manor containing many individuals perfect for ascension, there was only one who stood above the rest. You could only hope this will all be settled peacefully.

.

The Ripper never got over his thirst for blood, but because of the rules, he had to hold back on his urges. There were far too many times where he almost let his claw drag across the throats of the vulnerable women. You expected him to tell Lady Nightingale about your plans because she had a more watchful eye over him than you, but instead he went along with your plan on only one condition: he'd be the one to drain the life of your candidates.

On that night of the plan, Jack snuck into the candidate's room and carried their struggling body all the way to Sacred Heart Hospital where you had already prepared the equipment needed to make a doll inside the basement.

The candidate stopped thrashing about when they saw you, their eyes switching between an array of emotions just between a few seconds. Fear, shock, curiosity, and understanding. Understanding that their time has ended.

No wonder you asked that strange question a few days ago, Aesop knew it was peculiar but he didn't think you had this in mind.

Aesop groaned when Jack practically threw him on the clinic bed and tied his limbs with rough leather cuffs. "Please try not to be so harsh, you may ruin dear Aesop's delicate features."

"Isn't it unfair? Aren't we supposed to only kill people when they're close to death?" He wasn't afraid of death, he'd welcome it into a hug–albeit a stiff one–if he could. But there was much youth left inside him, many years that can be spent helping those whose journey has ended–or nearly ended–into the afterlife. Time. More time was what he needed. Time was what you were taking away

He had to make you remember the basics of embalming, the rules of-

"You forget..." You spoke, voice small yet filled with joy. Reaching out a hand to his cheek, you caressed it before you said the last sentence he'll ever hear. "I'm not an embalmer."

Then what were you this whole time? He wanted to ask, but the thick red liquid came running faster than any word could.