“Open your heart a little,” says Misses Dainty-Doily. Doily is her maiden name you see, Dainty is her husband’s name. They decided to keep both, so they just combined them. It’s kind of cute I guess. Not my style. I think I’d like to keep my own name rather than take on someone else’s. Getting rid of your true name seems like a crass thing to do. An insult to everything you are and have been. Then again, I suppose the combination is a nice gesture. Combining your essences at the deepest level of your cores. It must be nice to have someone you’re so intimate with that you can wrap your souls together like two serpents in a coil.

Maybe I just don’t understand romance, honestly. I suppose I’m kind of a brute. Well. It’s not like I’ll ever have to worry about anything like that, haha…

I sigh.

My arm lifts itself up, the fragile porcelain tea-cup rattling against my gauntlets as I sip my tea. The faintly floral liquid drips down through my teeth, leaking out of my jaw and splattering on the front of my armor. A moment later, minding my manners, I softly set the tea-cup back down onto the saucer and tilt my head to continue our conversation.

“I’m just saying, you know? I just want his eyes,” I explain, expanding on my point.

Misses Dainty-Doily laughs and dips the hard biscuit into her tea, taking a small bite of it before setting it back down on the plate. “They’re so… wasted on him is all. I can’t stand it.” My arm lifts itself up to grab a napkin from the table. The strings holding my body aloft and controlling my movements pull the napkin towards me and wipe off my armor for me. “Thanks,” I nod.

“Lots of people are born with talents that they don’t know how to properly use,” says misses Dainty-Doily, taking a sip of her tea. “Talent is just like starting with your class at level five,” explains the puppet, clambering with her cup as she sets it back down, one of the strings holding her arms in the air coming loose for a second. “Oh, excuse me,” she says.

“It’s okay,” I raise my hand to her, the puppeteer lifting my arm to wave her worries off. “So, what do you mean? Level five?”

Misses Dainty-Doily dabs the corner of her lips with a white cloth, doing her best to avoid smearing her drawn on lipstick. “Ah, yes. You’re human, so you’ll understand this metaphor, yes?”

“Uh… it’s complicated,” I tell her, picking up my biscuit to dunk it into the tea. “But sure, please, go on.”

She nods, setting her cloth down so that the tea-party can continue. “Talent is like picking your class for the first time and then starting at level five. It helps, but anyone else can reach that same level if they put in some time and effort. You shouldn’t rely on it alone, or you’ll be surpassed by those who try harder than you.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“You’re telling me exactly what I want to hear,” I smile, the puppeteer that controls me dips my biscuit into my teacup. As ‘I’ lift it up and press it towards my skull to take a bite, a slimy tendril presses itself out and grabs the biscuit from my hands, pulling it inside of my armor. I clear my throat. “Oh, excuse me,” I say now, listening to the delighted glibbers coming from my stomach.

Misses Dainty-Doily shakes her head. “That’s quite alright.”

Something lowers itself from above, a string drops down, attached to the end is another biscuit that is set down onto my plate.

“So, how’s your husband?” I ask, trying to make small-talk.

The puppeteer lifts Misses Dainty-Doily’s soft, plush arm to cover her face. The one that is left. Her other arm has been torn off and a tuft of white fluff peeks out of her ragged, tattered shoulder.

“He’s dead for today.”

“Oh, sorry,” I look around the tea-party that has been ransacked. Broken dolls and toys fill the entire space together with overturned tables and charred rubble. Only this single table and Misses Dainty-Doily seem to have survived the hero-party’s initial onslaught. Her and the puppeteer. Though I suppose they are one and the same. What a sad, lonely existence it must be.

Sitting here. Pretending to be happy. Pretending to live these fake lives. Playing make-believe all day, every day. Forever.

The tea-cup lifts up towards my mouth, the tightly wound string around my wrist lifting the cup.

“It’s okay,” sighs Misses Dainty-Doily, lowering her arm again. Her sewn on, button eyes looking down towards her own chipped tea-cup sat in front of her. “He’ll be back tomorrow. Whenever today finally ends that is.”

One of the strings holding her left eye in place snaps and the button falls loose, sagging a little. “Oh, excuse me,” she says, pushing it back into place. The moment she moves her arm away again, the button falls off entirely and rolls across the floor. Awkwardly, both of us watch it roll away, thudding against a broken chair before falling down.

“Sorry,” she repeats and looks back over to me with her one eye and one arm. Misses Dainty-Doily is in a bad state, I suppose. But she’s not real. She doesn’t even have real eyes. They’re buttons.

I take another sip of my tea, the flowery concoction dripping down through my teeth. I feel the slime in my gut stirring as she tries to catch it, apparently having taken a liking to the substance. She doesn’t seem to want to play though, which surprises me. I figured she’d like it here on floor fifty.

“Don’t you ever get bored?” I ask Misses Dainty-Doily.

“Hmm?” The strings pull the puppet’s head around to look at my eyes.

“Of this. Of this pretend life?” I ask, setting my tea-cup down forcefully. The strings holding my arm aloft try to pull the other way, as I defy the will of the puppeteer. A series of loud pops rings out as I break the thin strands holding my limbs aloft. I could have done this a long time ago, but I wanted to be polite really.

Misses Dainty-Doily tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

My free hand raises, silencing Misses Dainty-Doily as my eyes raise up towards the darkness so far above us, towards the origin of the strings dangling down from above.

“Why would you want to play with these dolls instead of living a real life?” I ask the darkness above myself. Misses Dainty-Doily’s strings fall slack and the puppet stops moving, slumping down over her chair limply like a dead body. “You talk about not relying on talent alone to live a happy life, but here you are, sitting around and playing with dolls all day.”

The darkness doesn’t answer. Having had enough, I push my chair back out from beneath the table and rise to my feet. Wiping my face off with the napkin, I set it down onto the table. “This is fun every once in a while. But every day? It’s a waste.”

The slime leaks out my armor, grabbing my lance for me as we get up to leave the tea-party.

“Why would you pretend to live a happy life every day, instead of just putting in the work for a little while so that you can live an actually happy life?”

The darkness doesn’t answer again and I sigh. Turning to leave, I swipe my cape to the side to let it flap out as I rise. Looking down to Misses Dainty-Doily, I nod to her.

“Thanks for the tea.”

Her other button eye falls down to the ground, rolling away with a clatter.