The Dollmaker's Masterpiece

Everyone knows what makes a doll.

Her long thin finger drew over the rough abrasion on the smooth pale skin. It sealed up behind her finger. Her dark eyes focused on the small golden key, and she twisted it, pulling it out.

A doll is a ghost of a person, someone changed to be nothing more than a machine. They cannot feel real emotions, or can be harmed normally. Their eyes are unnatural as they look at you straight on, and it seems like it takes just a moment too long for the creature to blink. And they are perfect, unblemished, whole. They don't suffer from disease or injury. The only definite sign is the keyhole on the back of their necks.

The little girl's azure eyes opened, and the head turned, looking back at the woman standing over her. Her lips parting in a smile, and the woman felt a pang in her heart by the realism in the human expression. She felt the worth of her ultimate creation as the child hopped off the chair, and went to the corner where her toys were.

Dolls can be tricky to spot. You can be fooled just long enough for their work to be finished, whether it was to assassinate, to steal or to kidnap you away to their master's lair.

The woman turned back to the worktable, tearing her eyes away from the perfect, finished doll, and to the half-finished one on the table. She smoothed her pale hands over the dark blemished skin. Her fingernails tapped on the neck of the human, where the new little keyhole was only just visible on the dark skin.

No one knows what they look like. The person who makes the dolls. No one knows if the person is male or female, tall or short, blonde or brunette. The only universally agreed description is that the person is definitely a mutant. What else would have the power to change a person into a machine?

She turned, and looked down at the little doll, who smiled up at her. And with her smile came upturned hands. A human child’s signal to be picked up. The woman marveled as she complied, as much a servant to the doll as the doll was to her. Was this what it was like to be a parent?

“I love you, Mommy.” The little doll whispered in her ear.

A name was given to the person. A title, more like. A title given to the monster behind the transfiguration of normal people into dolls. The people’s only relief was that none of the kidnapped people were mutants.

The Dollmaker patted the doll’s back, smiling. “I love you too, Viola. My wonderful little masterpiece.”