Poppet Boyfriend: Vult Ludure (rough draft)

I come from a pretty big family, I have nine siblings, all older than I am. Each of them has a special magical gift as well, as our parents are witches, they were given a special charm when each child was born. My eldest sister can talk to animals, my eldest brother can make plants grow with a song, and on and on through each sibling, until you have me. 

I suppose at number ten, the powers that be were a bit stretched at how to bless this newest child. Every sibling already had something unique and special through which to channel their magic. But me, on the other hand, I was charmed with needles. Yes, you heard me correctly, needles. All my siblings could use their powers almost right away when they were young. Me? My parents thought it best I learn to use my powers when a needle wouldn’t be such a harmful thing.

Bit by bit, my mother and father introduced me to the needle. My father taught me to sew, my mother showed me how to use a spinning wheel. But by this age, my siblings had already become familiar and intimate with their magic. I was the baby as well as the odd one out. I didn’t even cast my first spell using needles until I was thirteen. I made a teddy bear that would warm up when you hugged it, and even then, it felt like a paltry comparison to my brother’s four foot tall pumpkin patch.

My parents met when they were young in a traveling carnival. To this day, my family still travels with the carnival from time to time. For the past few years, I’ve worked in the costume department, using my magic to create garments that will magically change in color, appearance, whatever is needed. I also perform a type of fortune telling, where I place needles on a piece of felt and tune them to the person before me, the needles will then act like a sort of lie detector. Easy enough stuff. My siblings have accused me of not being creative with my magic, and that there is more to needles than I assume. Easy enough for them to say when they can make themselves fly or magic hair to do as they will.

Recently, the cabaret has come under new management. Oriharu has taken over since Muna, Fye and Bron have temporarily retired to spend time with family. Oriharu’s tastes in costumes are much grander than Muna’s used to be, so I’ve become the head of his costume department since my magic is able to give him what he needs.

“Can you make people?” He asks.

I’m fitting him for a new costume and I’m admiring his teeny tiny waist as I do. “I have a uterus, so it’s just a matter of will and time.”

He titters at my wit. “No, I mean like, sewing them! Making people with your magic.”

I adjust the waist a bit more and mark it with a needle. “You mean dolls?”

Oriharu poses in the mirror a moment, sticking out his beautiful prosthetic leg from the slit in the gown. “Yeah, just big and alive.”

I think for a moment and hum to myself. “I’ve never tried making anything alive. Aside from the stuffed animals I make for the kids, I’ve not tried anything with dolls.”

“You should! There’s already living dolls here in the carnival. There’s living scarecrows, living statues. It’s not that far fetched. Perhaps you could utilize your magic that way, outside the wonderful clothes you make.” As he turns, the dress shifts from red to green.

I arch my brow at Oriharu. “You just want more flexible back up dancers, don’t you?”

Oriharu mimics my expression. “I knew I should have hired someone whose needles didn’t squeal like a prison stooly.”

I smirk at Oriharu and return to the fitting. “Just ask. No need to bury the lead with me. If you want patchwork doll dancers, I can see what I can make. Now-” I step back from Oriharu so he can admire himself in the mirror alone. “What do you think?”

Oriharu tilts his head to the side, letting his long white hair flow down. His tails spread out from the back and fluff up. He smiles and looks at me. “Perfect. As always.”

I tuck my needles back into the bun in my hair. “Do you have those sketches for the Versailles number?” 

“I do,” Oriharu continues to admire himself. “They’re on the desk as we speak.”

His desk is his vanity, and I find the sketch book under a stack of makeup pallets and false lashes. A small blue box drops off the desk and opens on the ground. As I pick it up, I see a beautiful engagement ring inside. 

“Careful!” Oriharu scurries over and shuts the box. “What if Nick were to walk in right now?” He takes the ring box and holds it between both palms.

“Are you proposing?” I ask excitedly.

He shushes me. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want anyone to know.”

I’m genuinely excited for Oriharu. He and Nick have been hot and heavy for years, they’re a wonderfully adorable couple. “Why not?”

“Because as soon as Mr. Faire knows, it becomes an event! I want this to just be Nick and I.” He then smiles dreamily at the box. “I plan on doing it soon, though, so keep your mouth shut or I won’t let you make my wedding gown.”

I smile brightly. “How long have you been planning this?” 

“Ever since I met Nick,” Oriharu and I go to sit down and he holds my hand. “From the moment I met him, I knew. The more time I spent with him, the deeper I knew. Every day I am with him, it becomes harder and harder to hold it all in.”

“That sounds nice,” I murmur.

Oriharu eyes me curiously. “Are you still seeing juggler?”

I frown. “Nope.”

“Sorry.” Oriharu leans back on the sofa. “Don’t mean to rub salt into the wound.”

“You’re not, I’m happy for you. I would much rather hear about this than bemoan a bad relationship,” I chuckle.

I leave the cabaret that evening with my work in hand. I would finish up Oriharu’s new costume while looking over the plans for the next one. While working, I placed scraps into the chest where I kept all my extra materials. I usually used these patches and leftovers to make the toys for the kids. Oriharu had got me to thinking, though, about the living doll idea.

I knew there was a method my mother used to use when she was young, in making dolls that could be connected to someone. It made me think that, if I made some dancers like Oriharu wanted, I could connect them to Oriharu so they would know all the choreography as needed, right away with little to no practice.

Giving the idea a try, I begin sticking fabric together. To give it a try, I use my own hair to make some of the stitches. My mother would do this too, using the hair of another person to make her dolls. She called them Poppets, so I suppose that’s what my creation will be as well. 

It takes about a week for me to get everything together. I eventually have an empty husk that I need to fill in order to complete the spell. I use a mixture of pillow fluff, feathers, straw and some of my old clothes to fill the poppet. I then make a heart, filling it with some of my hair and using one of my childhood dresses for the fabric. I also put inside the heart a piece of my jewelry and a piece of paper with a wish upon it. I then seal the heart and stitch my initials into it.

Once the doll is filled and sealed, I stand back and look at it. It’s not too bad, actually. I take pride in my sewing skills, so I’m impressed with just how grand this project turned out to be. Maybe I should have started on a smaller scale, but I have never been one to shy away from a difficult and time consuming project.

“Okay now,” I breathe. I shake out my arms and hands, and wiggle to loosen up my back. “Three needles broken while stitching you, which means there is three times the magic used to make you.” I take one of the pins from my bun, one that had a fat round tip. I come back close to the doll and hold the head up. “With this pin, I bring breath.” I stab the pin in at the temple and there is a jolt through the body. It flops then falls back against the chair. 

I remove the second pin. “With this pin, I give movement.” Carefully I place it into the temple as well, as I do, I feel a sharp pinch in my own temple. I recoil, clapping my hand to my forehead. “Shit!” I pull my hand back, seeing a small pearl of blood on my palm. “What the hell?”

The poppet mimics my movement and the pain fades away. 

“Oh, wow! It worked!” I laugh and stand up. “Okay now, stand up so I can have a good look at you.”

The poppet goes to stand as well, but it trips, falling over flat on its face. My nose and the palms of my hands begin to hurt. I scowl and hold my hand over my nose. 

“Did I make a mistake somewhere?” I think to myself.

“Oops!” The poppet laughs. “Guess I’m not used to my feet yet! Hope you didn’t sew me two left ones.”

“Wait-” I watch as the doll sits up on their knees. They look different, still patchwork, but somehow more human. “Did you just talk?”

The poppet stands up and smooths out the clothes I had placed on it. “I think I did. But let me make sure. Yes! I did. I am!”

I gape at them. My mother’s poppets never talked, at least from what I can remember. They were often temporary things. I had made mine to last a little while so I could work out the kinks, so I could make more for Oriharu.

“You think?” I ask again.

The poppet scratches their head. “I think I’m thinking. But I’m not sure.”

I start to laugh then hold myself back. “Well, this is interesting.”

The poppet tilts their head to the side. “Is it?”

“I didn’t think my magic was strong enough to bring about thought, let alone speech. None of my siblings' magic has done this. I just assumed you would be like a shadow or a puppet.”

“You underestimated the power of what you do,” the poppet says, wagging their finger. “Don’t you know what magic is capable of?”

“Do you?” I step closer to them. “You’ve only been alive a few moments! What could you possibly know?”

The poppet spreads out their arms. “I know lots of things. So maybe I do think.” They touch their hand to their chest. “Each piece of fabric, each thread that works through me had some sort of magic to it, whether it was love, age, or just you.”

I look them over top to bottom, their body looks more solid than pillow, almost completely life-like. Their face, too, seems more human, although the eyes still look like buttons. The mouth, the smile, even the cheeks, look almost real.

“I didn’t mean to make a Furby,” I murmur to myself. “Perhaps I over estimated what I would need for this. I should have gone much more simple.”

“Do you talk to yourself a lot?” The poppet asks.

“Not anymore apparently.” I cross my arms against my chest. “So you think, you speak, and you know. So who did I make? Are you Frankenstein’s monster or are you something else?”

They run their hands down their chest again. “You made me, didn’t you? What did you make me to be?”

“That’s just the thing, I didn’t make you to be anything. I made you for practice.”

The poppet rubs their chin. “I see, I see. I am an accident, a happy one perhaps.” They start to walk but trip again. They fall with a thud against the floor and my arm aches. 

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Never better!” The poppet jumps up from the floor. “But what's wrong? You’re holding your arm now.”

I look down at my arm and I see a bruise begin to appear. “That’s funny. I was just standing here, but when you fell-” My eyes pop wide open. “Oh no.” I pinch the poppet’s cheek and my own cheek hurts. I pinch again to make sure and step back. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

I rub my cheek in the exact place I pinched them. “I think I cursed myself by accident.”

“That’s not good!”

I grab their hand. “I need to make sure about this. Come with me.” I take them from my tent and head towards the only person I know who can confirm my suspicions.

Ruby Faire is Mr. Faire’s wife, and she has empathic powers. Through her, I can discern how much I have gotten myself into trouble creating this poppet. I find her in the mess tent, having lunch with Mr. Faire.

“I’m sorry to be a bother to both of you, but I need your help, Ruby.”

Mr. Faire looks at me then smiles at the poppet. “Who's your new friend, Ulalume?” He asks chipperly.

“A problem,” I grumble. “I need Ruby to confirm just how much trouble.”

“A strapping young man like this?” Mr. Faire asks. “How is that a problem?”

I sometimes wish Mr. Faire wasn’t so upbeat and chipper all the time. He sees too much good to understand the bad of some situations. “Wait, strapping young man?”

“Isn’t he?” Mr. Faire beams.

“Are you?” I ask the poppet then I scoff and shake my head. “Gender aside, I need Ruby to confirm my suspicions about this.”

“I’ll try to help.” Ruby replies. “What is it you’re looking for?”

“I’m a curse!” The poppet announces loudly.

I grimace and nod my head. “Yes. Well,” I clear my throat. “In my attempts to practice an idea Oriharu gave me, I may have accidentally cursed myself. I need you to tell me just how deeply this connection goes.”

Ruby rises from her seat. “Okay, just stand still for a moment.” She lays a hand on each of us. Her brow pinches and she hums. “Its thread,” she says.

I purse my lips. “Thread? What does that mean?”

“If you pluck it, it will all unravel,” Ruby says softly. “You can’t remove it without removing it from yourself first.”

“Oh no.” I slouch down into a seat and hold my head between my hands. “I’m stuck with them forever?”

“It’s very strong thread,” Ruby says apologetically.

“Isn’t that good?” The poppet asks.

I lay my head down on the table. “I did curse myself.”

Mr. Faire pats the back of my head. “He’s handsome! What’s wrong with that?” 

“Authaire,” Ruby scolds. “That’s not the point she’s getting at.”

“Let me go get you some water!” The poppet turns to leave, but as they do, they stumble. They take a fall, dragging down a few people walking in line with them. My shoulders and side ache and a bruise begins to appear on my temple.

“Oh,” Mr. Faire gasps in alarm.

I grimace, from pain and from embarrassment. “Yeah, you see now? I cursed myself with the world’s most accident prone punching bag.”

“Maybe there’s still promise to this,” Mr. Faire tries to reason. 

“How can this show promise?” I point to the bruises on my arms.

“Well, what were you doing when you were making them?” Ruby asks. “What steps did you take that are different from how you usually thread your magic?”

“My magic is needles.” I rub my shoulder as I glance back towards the poppet, who is getting help from people around them. “I just used different supplies than usual.”

“Maybe you secretly stitched some desires into it,” Mr. Faire suggests. “Was there anything weighing heavy on you when you were making them?”

I promised Oriharu I wouldn’t tell about his planned proposal, but I knew it was weighing heavy on me when I was making the poppet. I wanted someone like Oriharu had with Nick, and all the while making the poppet, I had ideas of the perfect partner running through my head. 

“Oh god, I fucked myself.” I lay my head back down on the table.

“That’s fine, but did you do it around them?” Mr. Faire asks.

I sit up in a flash. “No! I mean-” I huff hard. “I didn’t-never mind.” I stand up and go back to the poppet.

“You look upset, is everything okay?” They place their hands on my arms and smooth down to my hands. “Oh! Guess what? I thought of a name for myself!”

I don’t know what I am going to do. I really did a number on myself with this one. Maybe if I had been properly taught my magic when I was young, rather than a guileless teen, this wouldn’t have happened. Or, maybe I shouldn’t have been so blase about my own skills. 

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Vult Ludure.” They squeeze my hands and I feel warmth rise through my arms. “And I think I am a man, like Mr. Faire said.”

“Oh,” I nod my head slowly. “That’s...that’s great.” I’m still uncertain, horribly uncertain. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Vult suddenly pulls me into his arms, hugging me tight. “I’ll try to be something you can be proud of. You made me, you put life into me, the least I can do is honor you.”

I cautiously hug him back. “You don’t need to do anything. I made a mistake and you came to be. So it’s my responsibility to look after you.”

Vult pulls back and smiles. “We can take care of each other then.”

Did I accidentally make the perfect boyfriend? Perhaps. “Let’s go back to my tent. We’ll need to make some room for you.”

“You don’t need to do that! I can sleep in a chest still so I’m not in the way.” We leave the mess tent, hand in hand. Partly so I can maybe stop him from falling. Unfortunately, along the way home, he walked into a couple of polls, stepped on his own feet, even swallowed a bug. Coughing up a fly is never fun, especially when it hadn’t even flown into your mouth.

Back at the tent, I make Vult sit down and not move while I make space for an extra bed. “You’re not going to sleep in a chest, it might make me suffocate.”

“I’m happy with whatever,” he chuckles.

“I’ll have to get another bed from storage, but if you like, for tonight, I can make you a palette on the floor.”

Vult stands and walks over to me. “Let me help, it’s the least I can do.”

“Careful!” I yelp. “There’s a lot you can hit your head on in here.”

Vult’s expression becomes soft and apologetic. “Oh, right,” he chuckles. “I think it must be the feathers in my joints.”

I sigh. “It isn’t your fault,” I grumble. 

“Why did you make me then?” Vult asks. 

“Right now, I’m not sure.” I sit down on the edge of my bed. “I was trying to do something nice for a friend, but I’m starting to think I had ulterior motives as I was crafting you.”

Vult sits down beside me and places his hand over mine. “I can’t complain. I’m here and, so far, I’m enjoying my life so far. So, it’s okay with me. Don’t feel sorry. I like it. We can both take care of each other now.”

I chuckle and look down with a smile. “I’m kind of a snark grouch. How did you come out so sweet?”

Vult grins. “I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out as we go along, won’t we?” He squeezes my hand and I feel that warmth again.