── ⌊ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐗 𝐂𝐀𝐓 . . . ( 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 )

[Cat]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐗 𝐂𝐀𝐓 ! !
this is a wip, but this is a place for me to write short stories, poems, scenes, and examples.
comments are welcomed and appreciated.​

 

[Cat]

lost in languish
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
​

another day lost in transition. bridget reaped what she couldn't sow. loneliness tarnished every part of her small frame. from her head to her toes, she appeared lost. cosmically speaking, she was doing better than her last break up. it was the climax of november, early december rounding the corner into her tiny apartment. while she was mentally doing better, the weather didn't do as much as worsening her mental mind space. the cold, frigid loss of love was something she didn't like to feel so bare in the year's final month. bridget stood by her window, watching the mindless specs of snowfall. it was so quiet... so lonely. the brunette stood there long enough to notice her reflection in the glass. god, she looked fucked up. pressing on her heels, she decided a lonesome shower would help her perplexed mood. pushing long strands of her wispy hair out of her flushed face, she ducked down into her tiny bathroom. from that point forward, none of what she did was cognizant. bridget undressed, unfurling out of her sweaty bra and skimpy underwear. she didn't dare look at herself in the makeshift mirror hanging on the shabby wall. however, she did move forward into the tub of the shower and started the faucet.

the shower wouldn't help. not one bit.

everything reminded her of him. that lingering warmth that parted between the caverns of her naked body made her internally go limp. it had only been one day since they parted. it was a mutual decision... but the breakup did come out of nowhere. bridget had accepted it as soon as the confrontation started. he was sparse with his words and emotions which left her feeling bitter; however, as much as she tried to hide it, she was sure he could see how empty she looked when he left. the dread of going back to being independent hit her like a freight train derailing itself off the tracks. "i'm sorry bridget. i'll text you when i get back to my place. we'll figure things out, okay?" he lied to her. there was no text and there was nothing to figure out.

getting out of the shower posed itself to be a problem. the lack of distinct warmth as the water turned off made her hurriedly grab for a towel. wrapping it around her cleansed frame, she stepped out, somewhat dried off, and left the bathroom to make her way to her dungeon.

bridget blindly guided herself into her dark room. only when her knobby knees hit the resolve of her bed, she sat herself down on the mattress and flipped on her bedside lamp. it provided her with barely any lighting at all, but it was comfortable for her sensitive eyes. guiding the semi-wet towel off her body, she laid back against her sheets and stared at the ceiling. what was she supposed to do in a situation like this? it felt like someone had shot her with an arrow. leaving her to internally bleed all over the place. bridget's fingertips lathered against her soft skin while splayed out. the first thing she needed to do was put underwear on and grab a shirt to sleep in. lazily, she rolled off her bed and towards her closet to pull out an oversized shirt and some cotton panties. after slipping into her attire, she decided to close her bedroom door and crawl underneath the sheets. one of her hands moved out to turn off the lamp beside her so she could be completely engulfed in the dark.

the soft flick of her lightbulb going out could be heard within the silent room. the brunette slid underneath her blankets before finding herself just laying there. a heavy sigh escaped her wet lips. "fuck."

she figured that the best thing to do when she felt like this was to love herself. nonetheless, finding any sort of strength to masturbate at that current second was more than difficult. every part of her body opted to mope in depression for the rest of the night. she couldn't do that though. realistically, she didn't want to be stuck underneath her sheets feeling like a sad sack of shit. bridget knew she could change that. gradually, one of her own hands started to move in between her torso, down to her stomach, and the hem of her panties. who would she even think about? what would get her off? her breathing trembled as she thought about nobody in particular. just a man who would treat her right. he had no face nor a depictive body, he was in between her legs, sliding her panties down. something was arousing about the fact that this imaginary figure kept asking her if she was alright or if he needed to slow down for her...

"no, nooo, keep going." she whimpered out in a whisper.

the young woman's digits clamped down on her ever-growing arousal. her index finger pressed up against her clit and started to rotate counterclockwise in a slow teasing fashion. the non-existent man between her legs parted her wide open, his lips doing the same as he leaned forward to get a quick taste of her. the finger that was pressed against bridget's clit moved a bit faster. the heat seeping from her pussy was starting to grow in size. for what it was worth- she had completely forgotten about the breakup. the only thing on her mind at that second was bringing herself to a climax. feeling her tense body tether, she decided to pick up the pace. the brunette's other free hand slid up underneath her shirt, scavenging to latch onto one of her hardened nipples. another brief cry escaped the back of her throat while her hips started to grind upwards. that buildup pressing in the pit of her stomach was becoming too intense to ignore. she was going to cum.

with a final pull of her tit and a pressing of her clit- her entire body convulsed. bridget's legs shook helplessly as she reached that high. "oh fuck, oh fuck!" she repeated under her breath as she started to calm herself. she couldn't tell, even as her body warmed and thanked her for what she did- did she make the right decision by masturbating that night? one thing was for sure, she was now unbelievably tired and ready to pass out. pulling both of her hands away from where they escaped to, bridget flipped onto her side and sauntered to sleep.

she wouldn't realize it right at that second, but she managed to love herself without the needs of someone else. at one step at a time, she'd independently love once more.

 

[Cat]

NOTE: this was written for another site's writing challenge. the prompt was "write a scene where at least two kinds of monsters meet".​

it was a cold, foggy morning. the dewlap of tallgrass swayed through the carefree wind where a pair of feet dragged through. a woman wearing a linen cloak breached through the trails and up towards what would be a peaceful village. everything was silent -- as if it was the calm before a great storm. digging her toes into the earthly soil beneath her, she suddenly halted when her eyes drew across two tall men carrying a table. a roundhouse smirk flitted across her features as she started to make her way toward them. "excuse me," she called out lowly, her fingers splayed out in an accordion motion. it appeared as though the men were ignoring her; instead focusing on placing the table down where their boss asked them to. "i said excuse me," this time, her tone was more aggressive and the hood of her cloak slicked back against her shoulders. the two men finally attuned their attention to the woman and abruptly, they stood frozen. their lazy hues met and almost instantly their bodies began to mold into stone. a quick cry of help splattered from one of the man's lips before they could no longer move. "men who ignore those who need help deserve to be stuck." medusa clicked her tongue, her fingers sliding across the table that was stuck hovering in the air as the two stone men held onto it.

"this would make for a lovely feasting table." it was a note to herself but she hadn't realized that someone else was nearby, watching. two eyes bore into the back of medusa and carefully, the serpent-esc woman spun around. "watch where those eyes go--" she suddenly stopped speaking, noticing that it was a young woman glancing at her. medusa couldn't help it, her eyes met hers, but nothing happened. she hadn't turned into stone. "what?" the cloaked woman asked softly, confused as to why this woman wasn't affected by her powers.

"i'm blind." she finally spoke. the young woman with a buzzcut started to walk forward, her eyes moving everywhere.

it was like an entire tsunami hit medusa. she... was blind? without even thinking, she started to speak. "what is your name? and stop walking, i'll come to you." carefully, the stone-making woman started to make her way over to the other young lady. "my name is eula. i'm a... well, sorta still in practice witch. who are you?" both of eula's arms moved outward so medusa could grab for her. "i'm medusa or you can call me gorgo."

slowly, they started to walk together. "oh, are you the woman who turns people to stone?" the pythoness asked softly, her head tilting to the side as if to procure interest in the conversation. "yes, i am the woman that turns people into stone--" she was immediately cut off by eula. "but not me! oh... you must be so lonely. do you... have any friends?" there was a pregnant pause, almost as if the cloaked woman didn't want to respond to it truthfully. how curious though, she wanted to be truthful for the witch. "no, i don't have friends. besides the snakes in my hair, i am rather lonely." without there being another skip of silence, the woman with a buzzcut fondly grabbed for medusa's hand. "i understand that. i really do. being blind limits me to seeing others, connecting with others, being with others... i've been outcasted as a monster because i'm a witch. everyone thinks of me as a joke now that i'm blind. what harm could a blind witch do?"

the comment made medusa stop in her tracks to ponder. "is that really how they view you? as a joke because you can't see?" it was as if a bit of motherly anger rose in her tone. how unfair and cruel life was. "as far as i'm concerned, you're still a witch to me. and, i think you're the only person i've ever met who hasn't been affected by me." what was this that she was feeling through the cool autumn breezes? something waned and churned in her stone-cold frame. perhaps medusa was feeling compassion for the first time in her life. especially for someone else who wasn't affected by her bore of a gaze. "eula, do you view me as a monster?" she asked suddenly, her eyes flickering over the witch's face. all she could see was warmth in the woman's features. she wasn't cold, stone, or unbreathing. it was someone she could finally talk to.

"to be fair, i don't view anything. i simply listen, and to me, it sounds like you're not a monster. just cursed with something that gives you the look of a monster." eula offered a smile, one of complete compassion. "hey, do you think we can both look like monsters but be human on the inside?" the blind woman inquired, her hands still taking hold of medusa's as if to relay comfort to the taller woman.

"yes, i would quite like that eula." without warning, the taller woman brought the witch into an abrupt embrace. it was one that carved out the stone in that ancient pillowing body of hers. every tumbling rock of exhaustion in medusa's face fell. finally, someone she could be around. someone who would accept her for the troubled 'monster' that she was. "i don't want to let you go." she confessed, a slight laugh escaping her lips as she did so.

"then don't medusa. just hold onto me and i'll be your eyes."

 

[Cat]

prompt: "i am one hundred percent content to stay with you on this couch until the end of time." "that sounds pretty damn lovely to me."
​

lucy unclamped the wrinkled-up newspaper in her hand to protrude into a visor. the sun had already set and the sky had meddled to the darkest furls of black. saying that it had been a long day would be an understatement, but it didn't want to end. it was relentless like a leech on skin. a hand blossomed from the side of her body to splay across a pounding chest. it was pouring rain, the droplets of water streaking every dry part of her body until lucy felt cloying. she tried justifying her situation, it was nice working at a local diner. it meant that she would greet the locals or newcomers who wanted to pass through the antique establishment. the newspaper within her grasp was faltering with each raindrop that dared to fall onto the atrabilious makeshift shelter she had.

home sounded so nice right about now. it was her fault that she wanted to work late tonight. lucy wasn't one for overachieving, but if she could help in any way possible- she would. that meant cleaning tables, checking the register, refilling salt and pepper shakers, checking stalk, and changing up the daily special on the menu. in her defense though, she didn't know it was going to thunderstorm ahead of time. the woman shivered, water stilling slowly down her bare arms. she missed charlie... who was probably already at home, tired... but warm. she should've called him earlier before leaving to see if she could get a ride back, but she hesitated. her arm was wrapped around the phone cord, hand on the receiver getting ready to page him, but she didn't. lucy was embarrassed, and she couldn't pinpoint why that was. she's always been self-sufficient. a part of her didn't want charlie to see her unable to do something on her own. asking for help was the last thing she wanted to do... it was like asking her to pull out molars.

charlie and she had been together for two months. not long, but not as short as a fling. lucy didn't know what they considered their relationship. she was barred and boned when it also came to showing emotions, but for charlie, she had a soft spot. the rugged man was the opposite. lucy always told herself that 'opposites attract!' something about that thought always stung. they weren't the most compatible pairing. she honestly had no idea why charlie was still putting up with her stubborn yet mysterious tendencies, for example: her late appearance to get back home while it was pouring rain outside. part of her curiously wondered if charlie was worried about her. if at any rate he had tried calling her back at the diner or to bearnice (who is the closest person to lucy).

something struck a nerve at the thought of charlie being worried about her. the last thing she needed was for anyone to be concerned for her... and there was that pride of hers again, sneaking up for the worse. her steps grew in speed as well as her intent to get home. lucy wanted to be tepid more than anything in the world right now. oh, and to also see charlie. did she want to see charlie? her wet display at her front doorstep would be telling of what she had to do to get home. he'd probably inquire about why he wasn't called... and that he could've helped. 'charlie will always be here to help.' lucy sucked in a mouthful of pride and exhaled modesty in return. what could she tell him? 'oh, the power went out at the diner so i had to walk all the way back home'? for as plausible as that sounded, she knew that charlie would figure out her faux pas. he always did. squinting her doubtful eyes, she tried to gander a guess at how much longer she would have to walk home. from where she was now, it'd probably take her five more minutes. oh golly geez, five whole minutes to think about how awful she feels and looks. and so those five minutes ticked by quickly, by each indication of lucy's step, she made it home. stepping underneath her front porch, she pulled the drenched newspaper away from her lackluster hair and tried shaking off as much water as possible. pulling a beethoven the dog, she shook all the liquids off her frame not caring where it transpired. when lucy felt satisfied, she eagerly yanked at the doorknob and let herself in. the entryway smelt of cinnamon and apples- which was totally uncharacteristic for her house.

pulling at wads of damp hair, lucy stumbled forward. acutely, she took off her shoes and then tiptoed towards the kitchen. this is where she found charlie. big brown curls muddled around the curvature of his face and flour stuck to the underside of his elbows, he sat at one of the island chairs. he appeared focused, watching something on his phone as he didn't seem to hear lucy entering the room. this was it, there was no way for her to sneak out of here now. huffing softly, she padded into the kitchen and dropped the wet newspaper on the island. this immediately caught the male's attention, his head snapping towards the sound as if he'd given himself whiplash. "you know... if someone broke into our house, you'd probably be a goner by now." she mused in hopes that her distraught appearance wouldn't catch charlie's observation. his curls shifted as he moved around in his seat, "yeah well, obviously if someone broke in here i would've known..." he responded, his tone unsure but his facial features smug.

there was a heartbeat of silence between the two of them. lucy felt uncomfortable just standing there, so she spun around to tread off to her bedroom. it was a necessity at this point- she needed to change out of her diner dress and into something much more dry. charlie trailed behind, a bit reluctantly before coming to his senses. "hey uh, it's kinda late. is everything okay?" lucy didn't respond, instead she flailed her fingers into her drawer to blindly grasp for a pair of socks. "also, it's pouring rain. why didn't you call me?" his tone now was completely coaxed in disarray. it made the female slam her drawer shut out of uneasiness. quickly, she side-stepped out of her bedroom and towards the living room. her body instantly molded with the couch cushions and she was off to peeling socks onto her feet. charlie once more tagged along, but this time stood in front of her. "lucy, hey, are you alright?" this was the first time that the exhausted redhead looked at her boyfriend. his eyes were glossed over with a hint of anger but mostly endorsed with fret.

"it's been a very long day bub, maybe not now?" lucy didn't like the idea of backing down, but she truly was tired. nothing could mull a proper conversation from within her. charlie didn't buy this though, so he sat down next to her and inhaled steadily. "did something happen today?" his words once more came out soft and this made lucy shut down. "no. i just... stayed behind later tonight to help with closing up, and then i had to walk out in the storm." a hand splayed across her forehead as she massaged it, brushing past a non-existent migraine. "i didn't know it was going to pour either. it was a long walk." charlie placed a hand on her back, a sign of comfort. it was silent again, but it was comfortable. this was tolerable. closing her eyes, she felt her boyfriend shifting around next to her until something was draped across her shoulders. a blanket. "i'm sorry about this. i wish you would've called me, you know i would've driven you here."

there it was. the confession of the evening. 'i would have driven you here.' her silence in turn however made charlie realize something. "you didn't call me on purpose?" she sucked in a breath of harsh air before tipping her head to nod. "i'm sorry charlie, i just... i'm not good with this kinda stuff. i don't want you to think i'm relying on you or anything." lucy's head faulted upwards to get a look of charlie's understanding grimace. "it's really nothing against you but i- i don't know..." she trailed off with a whine, unable to continue as the male rubbed her back. "listen, it's alright lucy. okay? i'm not offended at all. i want you to know that i'll always be here for you." red strips of hair lingered in front of the scrambled woman's face. her hands moved away from her cheeks and to nervously fumble with her blanket instead. "would you always be here for me on this couch?" she inquired, her cheeks tinted with a flush.

"i am one hundred percent content to stay with you on this couch until the end of time." his voice held far too much sentimentality for lucy's liking, but there was no other way to respond. "that sounds pretty damn lovely to me." a hand tugged at the underskirt of the blanket, inviting charlie to mold to her need for warmth. he accepted this bidding heartedly, a giant grin written on his face as if to say that he was finally relieved. she was too. the conversation was needed and now it didn't feel as though something was wedged between their relationship. for the first time in a long time, lucy was content. she was mirthful.

 

[Cat]

prompt: i just cleaned my keyboard and i happened to be on a writing word counter tab while it happened. i hope you guys enjoy it.
​

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[Cat]

prompt: peeling oranges​

in the gentle quietude of our shared existence, there was a peculiar yet profound significance in the act of peeling oranges. the ritual became an allegory of our connection, a bittersweet dance of love and loss that unfolded with each citrusy embrace. as i delicately navigated the curve of the orange's skin, i couldn't help but reminisce about the depth we once infused into our lives together. the fragrance of citrus, tinged with memories of laughter and shared moments, lingered in the air like a poignant symphony of emotions. those oranges, once symbols of joy and togetherness, became vessels of subtle heartache as the narrative of our relationship unfolded. as if the very essence of our connection was encapsulated in the peeling of those oranges, revealing layers that mirrored the complexity of our shared journey.

in the beginning, the act of peeling oranges was an intimate affair, a joint venture into the simple pleasures of life. the anticipation of the sweet, succulent fruit within mirrored the anticipation of discovering new facets of each other. we reveled in the warmth of shared smiles, the juiciness of inside jokes, and the vibrant hues of our intertwined lives. those oranges bore witness to the innocence of love, capturing the essence of a time when our connection felt unblemished and untarnished by the passage of time. yet, as the seasons changed, so did the dynamics of our relationship. the oranges, once peeled with shared enthusiasm, started to embody a subtle detachment. the familiar cadence of our laughter seemed to echo with a distant resonance. as i peeled each orange, it was as if i was also unmasking the layers of our fading connection. the fruit that once sparkled with shared dreams and aspirations now carried the undertones of unspoken grievances and unmet expectations. the act of peeling oranges became a solitary endeavor, a quiet reflection of the growing distance between us. the citrus aroma that once enveloped us in a cocoon of shared intimacy now seemed to dissipate into the vastness of emotional dissonance. the oranges became symbolic of the effort required to maintain the facade of a love that was slowly slipping away. the more i peeled, the more i felt the weight of unspoken goodbyes lingering in the air.

in those moments of solitary orange peeling, i found myself contemplating the transience of love and the inevitability of loss. each discarded peel mirrored the fragments of our connection that were scattered, irretrievable. it was as if the oranges held a silent conversation with me, conveying the unspoken truth that even the sweetest of fruits could wither with time. yet, amidst the echoes of fading love, there was an unexpected resilience in the ritual of peeling oranges. it became a therapeutic act, a cathartic release of emotions that transcended words. the oranges, with their vibrant hues, served as a metaphor for the spectrum of emotions that defined our journey – from the warm glow of affection to the muted shades of heartache. in peeling those oranges, i found a strange solace, a way to navigate the complexities of letting go without losing myself entirely.

as the last orange lay bare, its peel discarded, i couldn't help but feel a sense of acceptance wash over me. the act of peeling oranges had become a poignant metaphor for the ephemerality of love and the inevitability of change. in releasing the oranges from their protective skins, i was also releasing myself from the cocoon of a relationship that had transformed into a memory. the love and loss embedded in the ritual of peeling oranges became a silent narrative of resilience and self-discovery. i realized that, just like the oranges, i could be peeled and exposed, yet there was a core within me that remained untouched by the changing seasons of love. in the quiet aftermath of each peeled orange, i discovered the strength to embrace the transient nature of relationships and the courage to embark on a journey of self-love.

so, as i continued to peel oranges in the hushed solitude of our shared space, i acknowledged the paradoxical beauty of love and loss. the oranges, once a symbol of shared joy, became a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. in the intricate dance of peeling and letting go, i found the grace to navigate the complex landscape of emotions and bid farewell to a love that had served its purpose in shaping the person i was becoming.

 

[Cat]

BLURB ✧
"threads of solitude" - (02/19/24)
──────────────

within the intricate recesses of self-reflection, a profound sense of isolation
wraps itself around my very core, crafting a tapestry woven with threads of
desolation. the tangible void of compassionate regard casts a pervasive
gloom upon my being, as i drift through the expansive realms of
indifference. a dissonant symphony, resounding with apathy, permeates
the corridors of my yearning heart.

navigating the convoluted intricacies of societal interplay, i wade through
the complex patterns of seclusion, concealed by the multifaceted dynamics
of human relationships. much like an overlooked manuscript, the narrative
of my existence remains obscured, overshadowed by the relentless tumult
of an indifferent world. the nuanced layers of my longing remain shrouded
beneath a veneer, hidden from the casual observer, as i traverse the
enigmatic landscape of emotional disregard.

in the echoing hush, a poignant epiphany takes root—an existential
resonance of insignificance. each unheeded entreaty for connection adds
a brushstroke to the portrait of my perceived unimportance, painting the
canvas of my emotional topography in the hues of solitude. the complex
intricacies of my emotions entangle with the threads of isolation,
constructing an elaborate tapestry of yearning, where the absence of care
metamorphoses into a nuanced mosaic of melancholy.​

​

 

[Cat]

POEM ✧
"mundane medicine" - (4/28/24)
──────────────

in drawers they dwell, in bottles bright,
tiny capsules, round and white.
each day begins with a ritual, still,
swallowing pills, a mundane pill.

a choreographed dance of mundane grace,
measured doses, in their proper place.
morning, noon, and night they call,
a routine scripted, no room to stall.

for some, a lifeline, for others a chore,
these pills, our daily rapport.
a symphony of clicks and taps,
as lids are twisted, revealing caps.

invisible ailments they strive to tame,
yet tethered to them, all the same.
a silent pact with modern days,
in the haze of pills, life's maze.

yet amidst this mundane parade,
hope flickers, not yet afraid.
for in each pill, a promise lies,
of brighter days, beneath gray skies.

so though the ritual may seem banal,
in pills, we find our daily call.
a reminder of fragility's hold,
and resilience, in stories untold.​

​

 

[Cat]

POEM ✧
"ouroboros of the heart" - (8/14/24)
──────────────

in the silent depths where shadows coil,
a serpent's loop begins, unbroken, round,
its scales whisper tales of endless toil,
a dance where hunger's never truly found.

the snake, in madness, turns upon its form,
its teeth find purchase on the tender flesh,
a paradox where comfort becomes harm,
in seeking wholeness, it devours afresh.

so too, do we, in love's bewildered quest,
encircle what we yearn to hold so tight,
we bite our hearts in fear, our minds oppressed,
transforming warmth to cold, day into night.

for love is fragile, a delicate bloom,
yet we, like serpents, often choke its breath,
in our embrace, we cradle our own doom,
mistaking the embrace of life for death.

our words, like fangs, can pierce the tender skin,
of those we hold, who mirror our own soul,
we twist the knife, forgetting to begin,
to heal the wounds we made to feel whole.

in circles, we return to where we start,
a labyrinth of fears, desires unspoken,
our hands, the architects of broken hearts,
undo the bonds that we had once awoken.

the snake and we, both blind to what we do,
consume the love we crave, yet cannot see,
that in this endless loop, no love is true,
until we break the chain and set it free.

so let us learn from scales that burn and bleed,
to cherish love, not bind it with our dread,
for only when we cease to feed the need,
can love be whole, and we be truly fed.​

​

 

[Cat]

the city of broken dolls​

in the farthest reaches of the world, there lay a city forgotten by gods and men alike. it had no name in maps or history books, but those few who knew of it spoke in fear of the city of broken dolls. a place where things did not simply die, but decayed—where they lingered, fractured, forever.

the streets were paved in jagged shards of porcelain, the remnants of countless dolls. the sky above was eternally gray, and the wind howled like a dirge through the narrow, crooked streets. no life stirred, no warmth lingered. the houses, shaped like colossal dollhouses, leaned with time's cruel weight, their windows cracked and blind. inside, the dolls sat. motionless. dead but awake.

at the center of the city loomed a towering fountain, cracked and empty, where the queen of the dolls, lira, had once presided. her beauty had once been unmatched—her porcelain flawless, her glass eyes radiant. but time, as it always did, had ruined her. a single crack had appeared in her face, and with it, the city had fallen into ruin.

now, lira sat slumped, broken beyond repair. her eyes, black voids, stared into nothingness. she felt the weight of centuries press against her, the passage of time grinding her into dust. around her, the dolls she once ruled with such grace were crumpled and shattered—abandoned playthings of the universe. some of them lay scattered in pieces across the streets, others slouched in doorways or sprawled in forgotten alleys, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

but there had been a promise, a cruel whisper of hope that kept lira and the dolls from succumbing to their final oblivion. every hundred years, a traveler was said to come—a soul pure enough to mend what had been broken. to fix the dolls, to restore their city, to breathe life back into their lifeless forms.

lira had waited. the city had waited. but what had once been hope had twisted over time into something darker, something ravenous.

and then, on the hundredth year, a sound broke through the silence. footsteps—soft, hesitant, but unmistakable. a young woman appeared, a traveler lost in her own sorrow, seeking solace from the world that had bruised her. she walked the streets, eyes wide with disbelief, stepping carefully over broken fragments of porcelain and glass. she was drawn, inevitably, to the heart of the city, where lira sat, cracked and ruined.

the woman knelt before her, tears in her eyes, and reached out with trembling fingers. she touched lira's cold, fractured cheek.

for a moment, the city held its breath.

but instead of warmth, a creeping cold seeped into the woman's fingertips. lira's eyes, dark and empty, flickered—just for a moment—and the crack in her face widened with a sickening sound. the woman recoiled, but something had already taken hold of her. she felt a pull deep within her chest, like invisible strings tightening around her heart.

lira's lips twisted into a grotesque smile, and her voice—like the scrape of broken glass—whispered, "you came to fix us, but it's too late. we cannot be mended. now, you will join us."

the woman gasped as the cold spread, freezing her from the inside out. she tried to stand, but her body wouldn't obey. her joints locked, her skin tightened like porcelain hardening into place. the more she struggled, the faster it happened—her fingers stiffened, her spine bent, her limbs turned rigid. her heartbeat slowed to a dull, mechanical thud, until it stopped altogether.

lira watched, her hollow eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction, as the woman's transformation completed. what had once been a living, breathing traveler was now just another doll, hollow and lifeless. a crack formed on the woman's face, spreading like an infection, and her wide, glassy eyes reflected only the cold, gray sky above.

the city stirred. from the shadows, the broken dolls began to move, drawn by the scent of something fresh, something new. their movements were stiff, jerky, and their faces—twisted into unsettling, cracked grins—revealed nothing but hunger. they crept closer, reaching out with splintered hands, their hollow eyes gleaming with malice.

but this time, there was no hesitation. they descended upon the newly formed doll, their sharp fingers tearing at her fragile form. they tore her apart piece by piece, shattering her like they had done to so many others before. the sound of breaking porcelain echoed through the streets, a macabre symphony of destruction.

and when it was over, nothing was left but fragments—another set of shards to litter the streets of the city of broken dolls.

lira sat back on her throne at the fountain, her hollow gaze fixed on the horizon, waiting for the next traveler to come. the hunger in her chest would never be sated. the dolls would never be whole again. but they would wait—always wait—for the next soul foolish enough to enter their city.

in the distance, the wind carried a warning, a chilling whisper that echoed through the shattered streets:

"no one leaves the city whole. the broken only break more."