A Star... and A Doll.

He walked into the room. His eyes were instantly drawn to her, the auburn-haired goddess in the center. But then, she was always in the center, wasn't she? All eyes were always upon her. It was her nature. Now she sat, laughing, joking, surrounded by friends, and admirers, the family she had collected at her beck and call, ready and willing at the drop of a hat to keep her safe, as was he.

That was his job, wasn't it? And in reward for keeping an eye on her, he got to watch the object of his desires. He watched over her, and in turn, she mocked him and brazenly declared that he would never win her. She knew he wanted her, they all did. It was fine, she belonged to someone else. Always did. He was patient, when the time was right, when he decided he must absolutely have her, she would be his.

Occasionally, she would cross the line, her playful mischievousness getting out of hand. One time in particular, she pushed too far, and he was quick to point out the line, and give her enough incentive to tread that line more cautiously in the future.

The swift fury of his reaction shocked and surprised her. It was clear she hadn't thought that he'd had it in him. She had mistaken gentleness and tolerance for weakness, mistaken him for a pushover. A mistake she was not likely to make again, though, it did nothing to curb her usual mischievousness, nor stop her toying with him, or anyone else who caught her by a whim.

She continued about her capricious ways, until one day, very suddenly, the bottom began to drop out of her life, not that any of them knew it at the time. Her owner vanished, much like a puff of smoke in the night, gone without a trace. She turned from one male friend to another seeking guidance, for she was unaccustomed to being alone, nor having to make difficult decisions.

Not long after that, she vanished altogether for quite some time. When she returned, she was changed. A mere shadow of the bright and bubbly creature she had been. No longer mercurial, capricious, bubbly, playful, or mischievous- some rotting despair had gripped her from within. Now, she was rude, volatile- less trusting, was she. Before where submission had come easily and naturally to her, now she shied and flinched at the least suggestion. Any show or even hint of dominance caused her to snarl, and fight back, so afraid was she of more pain.

On and on this continued, as she grew in strength and coldness, her beauty which before had been flame, - a heat that drew, and burnt, now more like ice, glittering, cold, and jewel-like. In time, she approached him once more. She had devised a disguise with the help of her brother. A way of hiding in plain sight, to shelter her, protect her from those who had always seen her, desired her, and tried to make her theirs without regard to her will or consent.

She could not leave that world that had been so integral to who she was, though the idea of submitting and yielding sent her into a state of panic. Thus, she would watch from the sidelines, guiding, teaching, and nurturing those who would come after her, passing down her knowledge to others who would benefit, without fear of the collar herself.

He agreed, though sadly. Though it hurt him to see her this way, he knew that now, more than ever, she needed protection, needed him to shield her from what she could not deal with on her own.

Years rolled by, and all the while, the longer she held herself separate, a barrier between herself and all those around her, the more he could see the cracks in the porcelain that she had covered herself in, to hide the wounds too slowly healing. The longer she feigned indifference, the more alone she began to feel.

She who had always thrived off of others was wilting without some deep personal connection. A flower too long denied water, in the form of light, love, and laughter.

Years in solitude spent had embittered her heart. But slowly, she began to withdraw, began once more to remember her past and what she had been, and she slipped, he saw, more than once, and for a brief blinding moment, she would reemerge, become her old self again, before the shield went back up, and she retreated once more into her shell.

He watched, and waited, waited, and watched. Poked at her, searching for chinks in the armor, some foothold to grab hold, with which to force her to acknowledge what it was missing from her life.

He watched, bemused, as she attempted to walk the fine line on the edge of a very slippery slope, watched as she, ranting and wailing, cursing fate and her Gods, as she clung to the slope, swearing she would not fall again.

When at last, she finally did fall and landed smack at his feet, where he had always wanted her, she looked up, and with a bratty pout and a playful twinkle in her eye, declared loudly that it was a mistake. No, no, she was not kneeling at his feet. Not at all. She had fallen and had yet to get up. Her ankle was twisted that was all, and that he was not to mistake this for weakness or submission on her part, or she would kick him.

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He threw his head back and laughed. What harm did it do her, after all, to permit her to believe the lies she told herself, for a while. It would take time for her to adjust, to clean the mud from her face, and realize that she was back where she had started, only this time, safe, protected, and cherished at his feet.

Before too long, however, she sheepishly admitted that she had fibbed about the twisted ankle, and hesitantly bowed her head to him, and bravely bared her throat to him. Kneeling beside her, he placed his collar where he had always wanted it. But the steel was old and worn, by now. Neither noticed as the key fell from his pocket, nor that the lock didn't quite lock all the way.

He kissed her, and gently picked her up, and doll-like, put her on a shelf, where many could come and admire her. But soon, a troubled wind blew his way and beckoned his attention further off. So he kissed her head, and patted her, saying that he would be just over here, within earshot of her, though out of sight, if she needed him.

She tried to amuse herself, on the shelf, but she had never been one, much for shelf-sitting. When others came to to coo and awe over her beauty, through the glass, she tried to point out the other pretty, unbroken dolls about, who, unlike her, were available to be played with, and taken down, and handled far more roughly than she. But they would have none, they were content to stare at her, and check the defenses.

A brazen few, tried to steal her away, and she screamed until she was hoarse, and in a flash, he would be there, and run them off, and then, he himself, would go off again, leaving her alone, on the shelf, un-played with, sulking, lonely, and sad, wanting, desperately, to be taken off the shelf, and used for her intended purpose.

Just about this time, a new set of eyes appeared in the crowd, and these eyes belonged to a dark man, with a dark purpose. As this man gazed at the lovely broken doll-like figure high up on the shelf, he saw also, the darkness, and the sorrow, behind her beautiful eyes. His eyes were quick to see what others had missed. There was no glass, on the back of her case, the collar worn and rusted, the lock had long since come loose.

More importantly, though she giggled and gossiped, trying to entertain those around her, he could see that she was lonely and unfulfilled. He walked boldly up to her, removed the glass, and caressed her face, speaking soothing words to her. He too, had a toy he said, though this one, not a doll, and a boy.

He spoke pretty words to her, and complimented her, though he admitted that usually pretty dolls such as herself never caught his eye, and he wondered whether it was the darkness behind her eyes, or the sorrow, or simply her beauty, which had called his attention.

He asked her, in a soft, gentle voice, about her Master, and she lit up, glowing from within, with love, but then, just as quickly, it faded, as she admitted that she had not seen him in quite some time.

Soon, too, in a soft, whisper, she admitted that she was jealous of the other pretty dolls, whom were touched, and played with, and loved, not locked behind glass, and tears welled in her eyes as she spoke.

He gave a disgusted sigh, and pointed out that though the damage was visible, she was much healed, and surely any fool could see that she would not break, with a little playing, for who ever had heard of a doll such as herself, locked away, unused, why, it was down right cruel!

Immediately, he sent a note to her owner, demanding to know why the fool had left her untended for so long, and when would he be returning for her. They waited and waited, and finally, a message returned. He was busy, he said, his family needed him, and as much as he missed her, he could not be bothered with his pretty doll, just now, for the whole world was falling down about his ears.

The dark man, disgusted, crumpled up this message, and wrote another, demanding that he be told immediately, how much longer, must this pretty thing suffer, alone, unattended, unused, and clearly- unloved.

She pleaded with the dark man, saying that she had faith in he who owned her, that of course he loved her, he was simply... busy.. that was all. That he would return, of course he would.

He gave her a hard look, one that showed that in this at least, he would be unyielding, uncompromising as stone, and tapped on the glass to get her attention.

Really, he asked, and tell me, pretty thing, how long have we been here? See? The others are all gone, taken all the other pretty dolls home with them, and you are left here, alone, and unused. It's been quite some time, a message ought to have been back by now. I don't think he quite got my message. He said, with a toothsome grin, as he reached for her, petting her hair.

It would be truly despicable of me to leave something as precious as you abandoned here. So now, you will come with me, and be mine. I know that the thought frightens you, but I promise, and you know I am good to my word, that no further harm will ever come to you, for I will always be by your side, to protect you, he whispered in her ear. Reaching forward, he wrenched the old rusted collar from her throat, and tore the rags she wore from her body.

He took a good hard look at her, and kissed her, admitting, that in truth, he was a doll maker, and he knew just how to fix her up. This porcelain was far too brittle and worn now, however, he said, with a knowing grin, he knew just how to make her new, out of a good durable cloth. This way, she wouldn't break again, and she could be played with, just as she wished, and if he was accidentally too rough with her, why, that was easy enough to fix.

They would learn, together, what would tear her, and what would not, all the fun ways in which she could be bent and stretched at his whims. She told him she didn't know how long she had been a doll, for it seemed in the far distant past she had been something else. He listened, on the walk home, as she told him her story, and he nodded, saying that when she had become a doll didn't matter. For she was his doll now, no matter what else she had been, and he took excellent care of what was his.