Living Doll Lovers (Complete)

    Pain and grief caused my soul to wander after I had died. I had slipped on ice, stumbling home drunk one evening, and when I hit my head, the snow buried me. I can sometimes still feel that cold. I feel it down to my fingertips, I feel it my chest. I am no longer alive, but I am also not dead. I hovered in a void between life and afterlife. I could see flashes of the world around me, familiar faces, growing cities. Sometimes, I felt as if they could see me. I would try to reach out to them, but all too soon, it was gone.

    One day, I noticed a man standing before me. He was alive, and he was calling me. He offered me his hand and a chance to fix my pain. He told me he would help me find peace. I wasn’t sure if I should believe him, but I took his hand anyway. He pulled from the rift between life and death and gave me a chance to heal.

    The Maker, as so many call him, created for me a physical form I could inhabit. It wasn’t a body of flesh and bone, but it was a body. I was a porcelain doll of my former self if I stayed still I looked like something a little girl might play with. I looked like me, or well, the old me before the grief took hold. I was young with blushing cheeks and wearing my old clothes. It was strange though when I looked in a mirror. I looked lifeless and yet I lived.

    The Maker gave me this form, promising me that if I were patient, the pain and misery that kept me from moving on would be healed. I’m not sure how he plans on doing such a feat, hell, I barely believe him. What can he do to help me? What can being a doll do to move me on? Sometimes I wish I had just stayed in that void. 

    The Maker provides me with a decent life. He’s given me a piano, so I can practice my art again. Although, much like before I died, I do not feel the call towards music anymore. I had once been celebrated as one of the finest composers of my time. I was called a genius, the Wild Stag of Concertos. But I soon grew to hate music. I lost my muse to my own hand, and therefore I gave up my passion.

    I met the love of my life when we were both still young. I was working as an assistant to a composer, and she was a member of the ballet. She became my muse, my divine inspiration. Every note of music I wrote was for her. Every song and concerto was my love letter to her. Elise Dieudonné, the Lioness of Ballet. 

    We kept our love affair secret for years. It was against the rules for her to take a lover and getting married meant she would have to forgo her career as a dancer. I never wanted her to stop dancing, I wanted her to dance to my music. So we hid our passion. With each passing year, it grew and grew. My talented soared, and I was hailed as the best composer of the century. She danced and rose to become the Prima Ballerina. 

    But happiness is all too fleeting. 

    I am not the only creation of the Maker, there are others like me within his shop. There are others, like me, who were trapped between this life and next, all struggling with something painful that kept them chained to this world. There is a doll house with a lone, young woman inside it. She lights candles in the evening and plays the violin. There’s a mask on the wall that is both hideous and beautiful, depending on the light that falls on it. Somewhere between beast and man, he often talks about the ocean. There’s a lamp, whose base is a young woman in a pink ball gown with a dog at her feet. She doesn’t move much, and her light doesn’t work. 

    There is also another figure like me, Yannik. He’s my confidant here and one of the few who even wishes to talk. He has the head of an Owl, and it can twist all the way around. His body is human though, it is only his head that is odd. Back in life, he was a psychologist who taught at a prestigious academy. He doesn’t say which though, but I don’t feel much like pushing the issue. He doesn’t question me about my pain, I return the favor and don’t question his.

    “The Maker is up to something,” Yannik says one day. “He’s been in the basement for weeks now. He’s barely been in the shop.”

    “What makes you talk of him?” I ask. 

    “His absence has me curious is all,” Yannik replies, his golden eyes widening. I am amazed by how his eyes seem to have light behind them. I’m not sure how the Maker did such a thing.

    “He lets us be,” I say with a shrug. “Why question it now?”

    “Because he is making!” Yannik whispers with intensity. “He is making some grand design. At least that’s what Sadeq on the wall says.” He points behind us to the mask on the wall.

    “What does Sadeq know?” I chuckle.

    “More than us,” Yannik tilts his head. “You know what is in the basement don’t you?”

    I frown at him.

    “The furnace,” Yannik murmurs. “Down there he makes glass and other things. He must be crafting something magnificent!”

    I remember the glass music box Elise used to have. She cherished that thing and took it with her everywhere. It was clear, showing off the gears and inner-workings. There was also a tiny figure inside that danced. She had it was a gift from her father, he gave it to her once she started taking ballet lessons. 

    Yannik’s hand waves before my face. “Where did you go?”

    I snap from my memories and huff. “Just thinking,” I turn away from him and run my fingers through my hair.

    He clicks his tongue. “Seems to me the Maker is bringing another soul into the shop. Wouldn’t you say?”

    I furrow my brow and remain silent.

    “The Maker only makes when there is a soul in wait,” Yannik chuckles. “I almost made a couplet there.”

    Yannik was smart on some things, but that was barely a rhyme and far from a couplet. But he was right. In terms of the creations here, I was the youngest. I had yet to see another come into the shop. The others had seen a few, some many. Yannik had told me before that when the Maker isn’t in the shop for long periods of time, he was fetching another soul.

    “What say a bet?” He asks.

    I laugh. “A bet? With what?”

    “Can’t we have fun? Or is Benjamin Faust too stuffed to enjoy a good bit of fun!” Yannik mimics my staunch posture. “Whoever wins gets to say those four magic words.”

    I roll my eyes. “Whatever you say. Fine.” I shake his hand as I agree to the bet.

    One day the Maker comes upstairs, carrying a large box in his arms. He sets it down on the table and then leaves the shop. 

    “I told you so,” Yannik whispers to me. “He’s made something new. A new soul for the shop.”

    I scoff softly. “He keeps bringing these souls, but does he actually help any of them?” I turn and look at my friend. “You have been here for ages. So has Sadeq, so as the poor girl in the dollhouse! Does he ever live up to his promises?”

    Yannik’s expression is hurt and strained. He looks away from me and turns his head around. “He has in the past,” he answers. “But he even says, some projects take time.”

    I shake my head. “He should work on the promises he has made rather than going and making new ones.” I stomp away, wanting to be by myself.

    That evening, I wake to hear the haunting sounds of a music box. I sit up in my bed, looking around the shop. I hear the violin music from the dollhouse as it follows along with the music box. I sit up and follow the music box.

    The sound comes from the box the Maker set down earlier. The song is eerily familiar, in my life, I had memorized that tune. I played it regularly for Elise after her music box broke, no longer able to play the song her father chose for her. The box is covered with a cloth, and I see an opening behind it.

    My hands shiver as I go to move the fabric away and peer inside. I fear what I will find, or perhaps, what I won’t find. I pull the cloth off and let is fall off the table. Inside the crate in a music box, a glass one just like the one Elise had. Exactly even, only much bigger. I can see the gears inside, the little rolling cylinder covered in precise pins. 

    And in the center, dancing so beautifully to the music is Elise.

    I cannot describe to you the feelings that I had at that moment. After all this time, after all this heartache, it is her. My love, my muse, my everything. She is there! Dancing again! I fall to my knees, weeping as I become overwhelmed. My life ended when she died, my world collapsed, and I withdrew from everything. Now, as she dances, I feel as if there is hope again.

    The music stops, and I hear a rapping. I look up, seeing her hands pressed against the glass. She bounces on her heels and waves. She pounds on the glass again and waves her arms out. I stand up, rushing to the glass and press myself against it. 

    Her lips move, but I can’t hear her. I shake my head, and she frowns, she tries again, but no sound reaches my ears. 

    “I can’t hear you!” I gasp.

    She puts her delicate hands around her ears and shakes her head.

    I press my forehead to the glass. “So close and it is still impossible.”

    Elise presses her forehead on the glass against mine. She places her palm up, and I lay my palm against it. She smiles at me and nods her head, she mouths something slowly, and I know what she says. 

    “I love you too,” I whisper. 

    She grins at me and kisses the glass, I kiss back. I have to find a way to see her, to hear her and touch her. She’s trapped in that music box. If this is what the Maker intended, to reunite me with my love and still keep me from her, he is not a good man at all.

    I find paper in my wardrobe as well as a pen. I decide that I can at least write her things and let her know how I feel. I have been given a gift. And even if the delivery is incredibly frustrating, I don’t plan on wasting it. 

    I write the first note to her. “I’m sorry.”

    She looks over the words and furrows her brow. She tilts her head and looks at me.

    I sigh and shake my head, continuing to write. “It is my fault you died.”

    She glares and slams her palms on the glass. She shakes her head furiously and then wags her finger at me. 

    I chuckle. “I thought you might say that,” I murmur and continue my note. “My standards were too high. I wanted the performance to be perfect. Your debut was all that matter to me, and I lost sight of what was truly important. It was my fault. You died because of me.”

    She kicks the glass and tumbles over and holds her foot. Her mouth is moving fast, and she calms herself. She stands back up and shakes her head.

    “I wanted you to be surrounded by light,” I whisper. “I wanted all eyes to be on you as you danced to my music. It was your song.” I then write to her again. “I started the fire.”

    She closes her eyes, and her shoulders sag. She shakes her head slowly at me.

    I sit down with my back on the glass. I can still remember that evening. Much like the cold and ice that killed me, I can feel the heat of the fire as the theatre burned down. It was my demands for more lighting that caused the fire. A stage light fell on top of Elise, crushing her legs and keeping her from escaping. I tried to save her and pull her from the fire, but I was ripped away. I wish I had died with her. I wish had been swallowed by the flames. Instead, I was trapped by snow and ice.

    The music box starts to play again, and I turn around, seeing her dancing. Back when we were young, we shared a loft where we could have our affair. When I was working and struggling, she would dance for me. I would watch her beautiful limbs as they swayed and moved. Her long dark hair as it fell from her shoulders and added to the beauty of the movements. She always danced to cheer me up. Same as I wrote music to tell her how endless my love for her was. 

    One evening, as I brush her hair, she reads over my scores. She shifts the pages, reading the small notes in the margins.

    “What does this say?” She points to a scrawling of German.

    I smile at her and chuckle. “It’s a secret my Persian Lioness.” I kiss her neck, and she smirks at me.

    “We are keeping secrets now are we?” She pinches my leg. “It is written near this crescendo. It must be something important.” She leans back, laying against my chest. Her long hair covers her bare breasts, and to this day, it is my favorite vision of her. “Un copain,” she murmurs. “Tell me what you wrote and I will reward you.”

    I grin down at her, dipping down to meet her sweet kiss. “I have enough of that just sitting here with you.” I pet my hand down the center of her bare skin. “I am happiest with you in my arms,” I whisper to her. “Sharing this love nest with you is all I want.”

    She looks up at me. “You need music.”

    “We can make that together too,” I grin at her. “We make it every night. Sometimes in the morning as well.”

    She snorts and pats my cheek. “You are far too young to be a dirty old man, un copain,” she coos. 

    “Liebling,” I kiss her palm. “I will be young forever, no matter how many years pass, as long as you stay beside me. If should you ever leave me, I will age into an old man in no time.”

    I am not certain how hopeless this situation is, I don’t know if I will ever be able to hold her again. But I will not give up this time. As the music stops, I hold up another note for her to read.

    “I will come to you. I will find a way to reach you, and we can be together again. I don’t care what it takes. I will never stop trying.”

    She smiles and nods at me. She places her lips to the glass, and I follow suit. 

    Before, when both of us were alive, there were periods of time we were separated. Her troupe often rehearsed in solitude, surrounded only by each other. I was left alone, pining for my muse and her divine inspiration. I would just think of her and barely focused on my own work. Without her around to inspire me, I found I was useless as a creator and songwriter. I was young and hung up on the most amazing woman I’d ever met, do not blame me that! It wasn’t until later I was able to focus that longing into music. I was able to pen a tune that was driven by my desire for her. I taught myself to turn music into love letters. It was this work that got me noticed and had me in demand. It was my love letters to Elise that got me branded a genius.

    Yannik looks over the letters I have written to Elise one evening. “I remember love letters like these,” he sighs. “I used to keep a correspondence with a girl,” his smile is nostalgic and a touch painful. “Of course, I never told her they were love letters,” he murmurs. “I was too afraid.” He huffs and sets the notes aside. “She stopped writing me,” he grumbles. “Suppose she moved on and found a man.”

    “Sorry,” I tell him.

    He shakes his head. “You have your love. A bit out of reach, but you have her,” Yannik replies. “I’ll never see mine because I did nothing. At least you’re trying.”

    “But what can I do?” I whine. “How can I set her free? What key am I missing?” I hold my head in hands as I bemoan our fate.

“Perhaps it is music again that will bring you two together,” Yannik offers his advice.

    “How will music help?” I mutter. “She’s trapped in a glass box. What am I supposed to do? I cannot write songs that will open glass!”

    He shrugs. “I mean, I was never an owl-headed man in my life. Yet here I am as one. There is magic and the unexplained at foot here.”

    I sigh. “True,” I grumble. I look up, seeing Elise watching over us. She smiles and waves and I wave back at her.

    “The Maker wouldn’t just do this for no reason,” Yannik waxes on. “There must be a purpose to it.”

    “Or he’s the devil, and this is hell,” I slouch forward.

    Yannik laughs. “I highly doubt that. I always assumed hell would be much colder than this.” 

I furrow my brow at this. Once again his odd word choices confuse me. “What do you mean cold?”

“Hmm?” the tufts at the top of his head flap and he looks at me.     

“You said you assumed hell was cold,” I repeat to him. “What makes you think hell is cold?”

“Oh!” He then chuckles. “I always hated the cold. And since hell is meant to torture us, I just figured, for me, hell would be an icebox.”

“Icebox,” I whisper. I turn and look up at Elise, and I press my palm to the cold glass. As she lays her hand on the glass, it feels warm. “I’ve got it.” I murmur. I grab paper and start to write.

“What are you doing?” Yannik asks me.

“I’m writing the last love letter I ever wrote for Elise,” I tell him as I start to pen the music to the paper. “On her first night as Prima Ballerina, I had written this music for her. It was to show the world our love without saying a word.” I reach for more ink and Yannik pushes the well towards me. “Unfortunately, the night of the dress rehearsal, one of the lights fell and crushed her. It started a fire, and I lost her.”

“I see why you never told me this,” Yannik murmurs.

“Some years later, I was drunk and fell on ice. I hit my head and died frozen in the snow.” I continue to tell him.

“Oh my god,” Yannik murmurs in horror.

“But even before then I was frozen solid,” I tell him as I continue to furiously scribble on the paper. “I stopped writing music. I sealed all my passion for it away as my grief and guilt took over.” I splatter ink all over the floor, and Yannik steps back, so it doesn’t get on his shoes. “Elise told me once before, a very long time ago, that what I needed in life was music.”

I gather the music together and rush with Yannik towards the dollhouse. I knock on the door and the girl inside answers. I have never seen her before, just her shadow moving about inside the house. She looks up at us, and her head is that of a cat.

“Can I help you?” her voice is small and soft.

Yannik’s eyes go extremely wide, and his pupils go to a dot.

“I need your help,” I say with urgency to her. “Your violin, can you play this music for me?” I hand her the sheet music, and she takes it.

She looks it over and sighs. “I should be able to,” she says. “But you have a piano, can’t you play it yourself?”

I sigh with relief and smile. “I need your help. I can play, but I need your violin to complete it.”

She glances at Yannik and dips her head. “I’ll need to practice. Is that ok?”

“It’s perfectly fine!” I grasp her hands and shake them. “Oh, thank you! You do not know what this means to me.”

“It will take time,” she says unsurely. “Do not thank me yet.”

“You will be helping to save me,”I tell her. “You’ll help return my love to me.”

She smiles shyly then. “Your love?”

I nod. “In the music box, the one that you’ve been playing along with,” I tell her. “She’s been given back to me, but I have to find a way to free her from the music box.”

She sighs softly. “How romantic.”

“Young lady,” Yannik steps forward. “What is your name?”

I sigh. “Yannik, I don’t think-”

She gasps softly. “Yannik?” She asks. “Like the professor?”

He nods. “Yes,” he whispers softly. “Professor Yannik Von Eule.” He reaches out and takes her small hand. 

She gasps softly. “I used to write you!” She exclaims. “Oh! I had read your book and was so fascinated!” She bounces excitedly. “I don’t think you’d remember me. Felizitas Katze,” she says. 

“Excuse me?” I murmur, trying to piece together what is happening here.”

“Felizitas,” Yannik whispers in awe. “Oh my sweet girl,” he touches her face. “Your letters were the world to me. How dare you’d say I’d forget them? Why did you stop writing to me?”

“I died,” she mewls softly. “I was sick, Professor.”

His eyes go soft. “Why did you never tell me?”

“I was afraid,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want you to mourn me.” She squeezes his hand tight. “I wanted you to stay happy.”

“Yannik,” I whisper as I watch tears fall from his golden eyes. 

He embraces Flizitas, and she holds fast to him. There’s a breeze and feathers flutter in it, they swirl and dance, falling all around their feet. When they step back, both of them have human faces.

Felizitas giggles and touches Yannik’s face. “You’re so handsome!”

Yannik has dark grey hair, slightly curly and wild. He has tan skin and a large, hooked nose, but his eyes remain golden. “My dear, look at you!”

Felizitas has bright red hair and a pale face covered with freckles. Yannik pulls her up, kissing her as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Uhm-” I clear my throat.

Felizitas giggles and taps Yannik’s shoulder. “Dear?” she whispers.

Yannik sets her down and smooths out his clothes. “Oh, right,” she clears his throat. “The uhm...matter at hand.”

    I smirk at him, and he glances down to Felizitas. “Right, practicing. Grab your violin, my love.”

Felizitas chuckles and goes inside, fetching her violin and following us to my piano. Together, Felizitas and I practice, trying to get my music correct. It’s been so long since I’ve played, she has to teach me all over again. Luckily, she is sweet and patient. I am the one who is growing irritated and impatient with myself.

“You’ll get it,” she reassures me as I hang my head, crying in frustration. “It is alright, Benjamin,” she rubs my back.

“I feel like such a fool,” I growl.

“For what?” Yannik asks. “Little boys all over the world don’t practice the piano. You just happened to have become one of them.”

“Dear,” Felizitas whispers at him.

“No, he’s right,” I scoff. “I’m like a child.” I wipe off my face and take a deep breath. “I just so very much want to see her again.”

“And you will,” Felizitas whispers. She gives me a smile. “I felt the same way about Yannik,” she tells me. “I can’t tell you how many letters we exchanged. All the while, I never told him that this letter could be my last. I just wanted him to stay happy. I didn’t want him to mourn me.” She glances over to him. “But that was my mistake. Had I told him maybe I could have seen him and told him how much I loved him. But I skirted around the issue too long.”

“I should have been braver,” he whispers. “Had I opened my eyes a little wider, I would have seen the truth. I would have found you and told you the truth.”

“There is meaning,” Felizitas holds my hand. “The reason the Maker has us here and the reason behind his creations. We just have to find it.”

“The music is the key to seeing Elise again,” I murmur. “I just know it.”

“Then let’s get back to work,” Felizitas stands back up and places her violin under her chin. She taps her foot and starts playing to the sheet music. I take a deep breath and start playing along with her. My fingers begin to move like they used to and I lean into the song. My body starts moving, swaying along with the music. 

I hear the music box begin to play and it’s not playing the same song as before. It’s going along with my song. We continue playing, even as the music box grows louder and louder. I look over at the music box, seeing Elise inside dancing like I’ve never seen her dance before. Her tight, perfectly coiffed bun falls, and her long dark hair falls, tumbling and cascading down her back and arms. It flows with her movements, adding beauty and depth. 

It’s then I see it, the melting of the music box. A puddle forms and chunks of it crack and fall. She twirls and dancing, kicking up water and bathing in the melting box. I jump up from seat, and Felizitas stops playing. I run to Elise and take her in my arms.

“Uncopain!” She cries.

“Liebling,” I whisper. “It's so good to hear you.”

She sniffles and as I move to kiss her again we slip. We fall, splashing into the melted music box. I hear Yannik bust out laughing and Felizitas suppress a soft giggle. 

I look at Elise, and she laughs as well. I take her in my arms again, kissing her and holding her fast. She kisses me back, wrapping her arms tight around me. The music box stops playing, and everything goes silent except for the sound of water pouring. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispers as she touches my face. “I finally get to touch you.”

I pet her wet hair out of her face. “I am the one is disbelief,” I grin. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

She places her finger over my lips. “Do not speak of that night,” she murmurs. “Do not blame yourself for the cruelty of that evening,” she sniffles. “I never blamed you. You are not at fault.”

I rub my cheek into her palm, feeling the smoothness of her porcelain. 

“We are together again,” she whispers. “Because of you.” She smiles so lovingly at me I feel like I could cry. “So from now on, blame yourself for this!”

I chuckle and kiss her again. “I will,” I whisper and nod my head. “Libeling, I will.”