There is a place where forgotten children lay.
So driven by loneliness, upon death ears do they pray.
Here eternity is a punishment- their crime? Being born.
To a world that suffers the destitute and the poor.
- Persephone
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When Renata was 6 she had first taken the Greisway Line.
It was a seemingly endless stretch of tracks starting from the state of Arulem that reached all the way to the city of Rem in state of Brueholm.
A nearly 1500 kilometer journey that should have taken a little less than a day was completed in under four hours. Nearly 400 km an hour. (The fastest trains in Curlorn traveled at 200-300 kilometers an hour).
Marquis Myer, who was a member of the Ministry of Railways at the time had described the process as attaching a train to the end of slinky that was stretched out as far as possible. Let go, and that spring will want to return to equilibrium. Imagine Rem as equilibrium. In a similar way, the further away the Greisway Express was from the city of Rem where it wanted to be, the faster it would travel to where it belonged.
When she was younger, the explanation made perfect sense. Afterall, to a 6 year old the world was fairly concrete, abstract theories and ideas like anima still a stranger to her. Never mind the details.
As she got older however, she learned that the anima infused into the titanium-alloy core right at the center of the train was so unstable, so incomplete it continuously sought out its remaining half waiting across the country in the city of Rem, lugging along the massive locomotive cross country at record speeds to do so.
But it wasn't the Duke's explanation or the reason behind Grisway's speed that had stuck with Renata. It was the experience of hopping onto that train, and watching the scenery outside melt into a brown blur. It was the pull of her stomach, and that subtle feeling of weightlessness that was slightly dizzying and disorienting. Like her body was being dragged into another place.
This was what Renata felt as she entered the Dollhouse. A reel of places flashed before her eyes like a film strip- or ones dying moments. These were places familiar to her, like the greenish-grey bleed of the Rosewoods, and the swirling spires like petrified dragon's tail, that were the silos of the West where settlements lay. She saw cobble stone streets, and narrow alleyways with even narrower walkways in Stagton. She saw Oxynbrooke, and the Greenhouse, until a bright light radiating from her peripheral, spread across the whole of her vision, and before she knew it, she could feel the ground beneath her feet again, and the tight grip of Nelly's hand.
"Whaddya think?"
"I think I died."
Nelly laughed. "If there is a Heaven, I doubt it would look like this."
She was right. The room that stood before them, was grandiose, but with none of the beauty a room of this size was suppose to carry. It appeared to be a foyer, but with the charm of a closet. But unlike the closet, this space was not living up to its potential.
Wooden flooring was upended, and lifted by an overgrowth of weeds. The large shrug thrown across the ground bunched together from the decaying floorwork beneath. The smell of mildew hit her nose and peeling green wallpaper like lichen, was pressed against the cornice and dado and that bordered the ceilings and floor, respectively. Like an indoor terrarium gone wrong. Her mother had taught her it was the most valuable and beautiful of things, that were kept hidden inside the plainest of chests, to safeguard it from those outside. But this place was ugly, both inside and out.
"You live here?"
"My apologies. A good host ought to clean up before her guests arive."
Floorboards squelched beneath Renata's weight. Above her a chandelier on its last leg swayed menacingly. She stepped cautiously to the side. A staircase to her left disappeared into a second floor. This couldn't have been the small one story place, she had seen in the Briarwood. Could it?
"This house is much bigger on the inside."
"One word." Nelly lifted a finger. "Magic. Follow me."
Nelly led her through the back. She opened the door, and Renata was instantly hit with smell of sea breeze. She stepped into a wide stretch of green, as far as her eyes could see in all directions. The land was not level, however, and was marked with deep craters and mounds of sharp rock, like ragged grey teeth. In the distance was the ocean. A cliff by the sea, thought Renata. She realized, wherever they were, it was not Stagton. In fact, it couldn't have even been Culorn. Culorn was not a country with a coastline. She searched her memory, for places on the map. Elvira or Jocasta perhaps?
"We call this place the Beyond," explained Nelly. She pointed toward a small house, nestled between two massive pillars of rock, keeping watch like golems . "That right there was the Doctor's workshop."
The Doctor. "You mean to say he built all of this?" Renata knew her grandfather had been a genius— but this was incredible.
"More or less. The Beyond is a place, he fixed the house to. But the house, the workshop, even me- are all the Doctor's creations."
Creation. Did she mean to say, her grandfather has made her?
"He called us the Dolls," continued Nelly. "Five of us. We were to be the family Helena never had. As brilliant as he was, he was a failure of a father. Honestly, there wasn't much else, aside from alchemy he was ever good at. Perhaps that was his curse. One can't be good at everything."
Renata looked at the porcelain hued woman before her, with flaxen lashes like the ray of the sun. So full of life, so full of vigor were her movements, her features, it was hard to believe she was a creation—a doll as she had put it. Plus, Nelly looked to be no more 19. If she has known Helena as a child...
"I wonder why she never told me about this place," Renata wondered aloud.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Nelly shrugged. "Embarrassment perhaps. Or fear. Helena never wanted to leave. But she had to grow up." Nelly smiled faintly, it was a sad pull of the lips. "Little girls can't play with dolls forever, you know."
Renata remembered her mother's words. A lifetime ago. A childhood would feel like a lifetime ago to any adult.
"Nelly...why did you bring me here?"
"Do I need reason to invite you here?" Asked Nelly. "And for one it seemed like you were trying to invite yourself here, if I recall correctly. Secondly, you remind me of Helena. That moment we first locked eyes in the forest was when I realized. And it's not just those wistful mannerisms, and that skin as rich as the deeps of the earth. Its sadness in your eyes. But its not that type of sadness Helena had— hers was the type of sadness where you've already lost something. I know that type of look all too well. No, its the type of expression someone has when they look like they're about to lose something. So tell me, Renata. What ever is the matter with you?"
Nelly leaned toward her. Renata inhaled sharply. No one had ever asked her that question unprompted before. It was usually asked only after she had done something egregious enough to warrant it.
She hit Thora Bane, the governor of Rem's daughter who had shattered all of her apparatuses for inorganic alchemy, a keepsake given to her from her mother? Whatever is the matter with you, Renata? When the girls in her boarding room dumped her mattress into the flower beds of the school garden so she moved all their things to the hallway, and locked them out of their room for an two entire days? Whatever is the matter with you Renata?
And Renata knew what her problem was (she just didn't know what the problem was with everyone else around her). But was the fact that she had a problem that transparent, that obvious to those around her? The dissatisfaction in her voice? The restless in the mind like a broken record? Renata struggled to look into eyes, that seemed a little too astute, a little too lucidly blue for her liking right now.
Suddenly, Nelly lifted her gaze, and straightened her posture, the playful glint in her face was forced into somber stare as she looked past Renata.
"Oh lovely. Just our luck," muttered Nelly. "Renata you let me handle this."
Renata followed Nelly's gaze. Unmistakable long red hair. A scowl as fiery as locks. A boy was charging—almost running towards the two of them. In his hand was a book held a little too tightly.
It was the boy in her mother's painting.
"When you hit your head, last week I did not think it had robbed you of the very little sense you had."
There was a familiar edge in his voice, Renata recognized in Bran's. Impatience. She curled with disdain.
"The Dollhouse is not yours. I have the right to invite who I want here as a guest."
"Guests? This is not a hotel."
"It's not as if I brought a complete stranger."
"A stranger would have been better than her."
Her? Renata cleared her throat. "Do I know you?"
Eyes as black as coal fell upon Renata. But she refused to falter beneath his glare. There was none of that subtle anger she had seen in the painting. This was unbridled and seemingly senseless indignation directed toward her. But why?
"No humans," he growled, and in final protestation, brushed past Nella, knocking her firmly against the shoulder.
Renata watched him angrily. She had half a mind to run up behind him and pull on his hair. Her fingers itched with the thought. It wouldn't be the first time.
"What an arse!" Renata exclaimed, hopefully loud enough for him to hear. She was disappointed to find, he did not react, instead, retreating into the back of the house.
"Aye. Such a waste of pretty hair," Nelly agreed.
"Is he always like this?"
"A grumpy, old man? He has his tolerable moments. Dare I saw even charming?"
"You lie." Renata grinned widely.
Nelly laughed. "Through the teeth. Although," she added quietly, "Vivaldi doesn't like humans. And it's just—you look so much like Helena."
"I suppose he and my mother aren't on the best terms."
"They were. The best, in fact. You can't really hate someone so much without having loved them once."
Loved?
Renata had never given much consideration to her mother's life, before marriage and motherhood. And how could she? Hers was a painful past, kept safeguarded and locked away, even from those she knew best and loved most. Her immediate family had died at a young age. Aunts and Uncles with greedy eyes and ill-intentions forced Helena to grow up fast, and preserve what was hers rightfully: the Briar Estate. It was initially the reason why Renata thought Helena indulged in her childish fancies so much. Because she had never had the privileges of acting on her own. But now, being within this Dollhouse, Renata became very aware, and almost upset at just little she truly knew about Helena.
"Don't look so down," Nelly said (just how did she know what she was feeling?) "Helena's secrecy was less about keeping you in the dark and more about keeping us safe."
Safe? "Safe from what?" Or maybe Safe from whom was the better question.
Nelly, turned toward Renata and facing her, grabbed both of her shoulders. Her grip was strong. She was at least a head taller than her.
"Look at me Renata. How old do I look?"
"No older than 19, I would say."
"Aye. But I have been alive for over 30 years. When the Doctor created us, he created us with the intention to last. A man who was afraid of death himself, despite having been no stranger to it, was intent on having his creations never die. They are afterall a part of his being. I do not age, I do not sleep. I do not thirst."
Renata watched as Nelly pulled back a sleeve and pointed toward her milky white forearm. "I do not bleed. And worst of all, I can not die. Humans are so fearful of their mortality they'd do anything to avoid it. And something, in the 5 of us just might hold the key."
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There he was, pacing around the foyer, like some wounded fox: long limbs on a slender, and tall frame. Protruding cheek bones and a aquiline nose. Coppery skin, like the color of a penny. A long but wide face. Handsome? A reverse Geode, thought Renata. Dazzling on the outside. Rough and brash and rude on the inside. The world was full of people like that.
"She has to go," Vivaldi repeated, pointing at Renata with a skinny, dusky finger like a wand that would banish her immediately. She thought the gesture unnecessary. He spoke as if she was invisible anyway. "When you said you saw her the other day, I thought you were going to leave it at that."
"She had the key anyway," explained Nelly. "She was coming in, one way or another."
"Bullshit. So you invited her in for cookies and milk? And you." He scowled at Renata."Who gave you the key to the Dollhouse?"
Renata stepped back. "Who else? But why does it matter? I won't let you have it."
"Give it to me."
"Absolutely not."
"Then I'll take it."
He lunged toward her with surprising speed. In the blink of an eye her hands were pushed against her back, and she could not move. She swept her leg backward and attempted to kick him. She was met with empty space. The grip was a familiar one. As strong as Nelly's—perhaps even stronger, for there was no consideration, no care for the way his hand twisted around her wrist. He would hurt her, if necessary. And there was no room for escape.
"You pervert!" She exclaimed as he searched through the pockets of her pinafore. "Just wait until you release me!"
"Oh shut up," he snapped, retrieving the key. "And Nelly-quit standing there with that stupid grin on your face. I have you watch the Dollhouse for a reason. If you wish to put yourself in danger don't drag us along to do so."
"Oh, but how could I pass up the chance to Helena's girl?" There was an odd countenance to Nelly's expression Renata had not seen before. Perhaps it was that too wide smile stretched across her perfect features a little too far. Like she almost enjoyed watching this exchange, between her and Vivaldi—or perhaps had even anticipated it.
"What is going on?"
The voice of a woman drifted from above. Immediately, Vivaldi released her. An older woman descended from the stairs. Behind her, hiding beneath the bustle of her dress, was a small girl. Renata's eyes remained fixed upon the older woman.
The prominent lips of a Briar. Skin like one too. But of a darker shade with that hint of a pale pink undertone, that made her look cold in a distance sort of manner. Dark hair pinned into a crown like mound on the top of her head. A red rose fastened into one of the curls. Regal.
It was like looking into a picture, and mirror. Hers was a face whose features were subtly mirrored on Renata's own.
And that was because, Renata was looking at the face of her grandmother.