Cora Blackheart, international ɱeṅẵçɇ

Cora Blackheart, international ɱeṅẵçɇ



The Witch woke up to grumbling. She followed it down the home's hall. The hall had been cleaned. There at the kitchen table was her doll, fussing over the broken arm. It had a set of welding goggles on. "My doll what are you doing?" The Witch asked. "Fixing my arm Mistress."

The Witch frowned at it as it slapped the hastily repaired arm in. The doll looked worse for the wear and it rotated its shoulder. The right one hung limp. It hit it with its fist and then it started to rotate both shoulders. "There we go." It stood up and the Witch shrank.

The doll approached the Witch who turned to run away. The doll grabbed its Witch's hand. "Hey." It spoke. "I'm sorry." "Don't be." "I'm a bad witch though, I let you get this way." "You were tired. And I was tired too." The doll tugged gently on its Witch.

"I know we get this way, you and I." The doll continued. "But that's okay." It held out its arms. "You are the best witch I could ask for." The Witch leaned into the doll's embrace and shivered. "Why?" "Because you understand what it's like to be broken like that."

Then the tears came. They both sobbed. The Witch clung to her doll, and the doll held the Witch up. "I love you." Said the doll. "I love you too." Cried the Witch. They carried on for some time like that. The doll spoke first after the tears. "Tea?" "Please." Smiled the Witch.

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