The plain ceiling of my dorm room greeted me like an old, indifferent acquaintance the moment I opened my eyes. That earlier bone-deep exhaustion? Gone as if swept away by some unseen hand. With a sharp slap of my palms against the bed, I sprang upright, only to spot something peculiar by my bedside—a doll, robed and serene, its expression carved with unsettling tranquillity.

Belle, my ever-dramatic badger, was doing her trademark ‘angry donut’ routine around it, growling her unique “Squee!” as if daring the doll to explain itself—or face the wrath of tiny but fierce claws. I stretched a hand to calm the fluffy tempest, but before I could, the doll twitched.

It wasn’t the same eerie, tattered spectre from my dreams anymore. No, this one looked... polished, regal even. Its robe gleamed white, with golden embroidery glinting like trapped sunlight. Raven-black hair now framed its face, eyes covered with fabric adorned with those same shimmering runes. A touch of Lotte’s handiwork, I’d wager.

Belle recoiled as the doll stirred, a growl still bubbling in her throat. Its head turned with a strange, unnatural fluidity, its featureless gaze locking onto me. Golden light began to seep from the stitched runes, faint but undeniably alive. And then—before I could react—it let out an unexpected yelp and launched itself off the bed. Belle and I nearly leapt out of our skins.

Belle hissed with the venom of a creature wronged. Belle liked nearly everything. Belle, however, did not like the doll.

The doll, for its part, raised its stubby, fabric-covered appendages—hands by design, though hardly functional—and slammed its head down in what I assumed was some form of obeisance.

“I mean no harm, Mistress!” A voice echoed, melodic like wind chimes kissed by ocean waves. It might have been enchanting if not for the distinctly whiny undercurrent.

I scooped Belle up, who by now was a feral fuzzball of indignation, hissing with all the fury her tiny lungs could muster. Lotte had assured me the doll wasn’t hostile, and so far, it seemed she hadn’t lied.

The doll lifted its head and cocked it to the side. “Is something the matter?” it asked, the words dripping with a peculiar mix of politeness and awkwardness.

I blinked at it. “I wasn’t expecting you to talk, for starters.” Honestly, I was bracing for something more like Barn—an incomprehensible jumble of gibberish my brain somehow interpreted on a good day.

“In a sense,” the voice resonated again. The doll’s hands rested on its knees as it crouched slightly, almost theatrically. “I am bound to you now, mistress, as per the terms set in motion by the one who reforged me.”

Reforged. Of course, Lotte’s tinkering. I suppressed a sigh.

“What… are you?” I asked, noting the eerie level of sentience.

The doll tilted its head, then quickly looked away as if flustered under my scrutiny. If it had blood, I’d have sworn it was blushing. “I am… a guide, Mistress,” it said haltingly. “I exist to act in your stead, to see where you cannot, and to warn of what you might not perceive.”

I inhaled deeply, letting its words settle. Divination. Yes, Lotte mentioned that this thing would help me wield it. Straightforward enough.

Belle, however, was having none of it. She glared at the doll with righteous fury and hissed once more. “Squee!” Translation: Dolls are liars!

I pinched the bridge of my nose and shot her a look. “Oh, belt up, Belle. When have you even met a doll?”

Belle bristled, letting out a sharp, defiant "Squee!" Oh, she knew. She could smell it, even if she hadn’t. "Squee!!" Give her the word, and she'd happily reduce this doll to fabric scraps and sawdust.

That fiery enthusiasm earned her a thwack on the back of her head, which produced a wounded, high-pitched squee that practically oozed betrayal. "No shredding the doll. She’s not dangerous."

That made me pause. To me, she wasn’t dangerous. But what about Belle? Did my little tea-brewing, biscuit-pilfering badger come under that umbrella of protection as well?

The doll stirred then, movements fluid but stiff, as though still calibrating itself to its own limbs. Its voice was soft yet unnervingly smooth. “I have been granted the ability to ascend to a heightened state, mistress. To glimpse the endless seas of possibility that ripple around you.”

“Squee!” Belle protested, clearly unconvinced—and perhaps a tad offended—by both my earlier smack and the doll’s grandiose claims.

I decided to focus on the doll for the moment, waving off Belle’s grumbles. "What’s your opinion of Belle?"

The doll turned its head towards her, serene and expressionless, but the tone it adopted had a peculiar, almost pitying quality. “The beast fears what it cannot comprehend. In time, she will learn.”

Hostility? No. Condescension? A smidge too much for my liking. Especially considering this was Belle—sophisticated, bowtie-sporting Belle, my partner in crime for tea-making, fish-devouring, and keeping things marginally tidy.

“She has a name,” I said, my voice edged with just enough authority to make my point clear. “And you’d best use it with the respect it deserves.”

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The doll was quick to respond, bobbing its head in a frantic display of submission before abruptly slamming it against the ground. “Of course, mistress! Belle is a guardian—fierce, loyal, a stalwart companion who shares your burdens. She is… precious. It would be madness to do otherwise!”

I raised a brow. Well, at least the doll had its priorities sorted, even if its mood swings bordered on the unhinged. Subservient? Certainly. Comforting? Not in the slightest. Honestly, it made me oddly grateful that Barn couldn’t talk.

Rising from my bed, I tied my loose robe snugly around me and retrieved a comb from my nightstand. The mirror mounted beside the wall reflected back a messy-haired alchemist who was trying to look put-together, if only to uphold the illusion of cool, composed competence.

“Squee!” Belle chimed in, offering morning tea with her usual enthusiasm.

“Yes, please!” I replied, sitting down and tugging the comb through my hair. Untamed locks didn’t bother me much, but appearances mattered. A flailing alchemist I might be, but a composed one? That’s the image worth maintaining.

The doll sidled up beside me, her gaze fixed as if scrutinizing every strand of my hair. I narrowed my eyes, suspicion tickling the back of my mind. Turning to face her, I asked, “You want to do it?”

Her response was instant—an awkward fluster that somehow radiated from her otherwise serene expression. Her body language, however, betrayed her far more than her doll-like face ever could. “I-I-if you wish it, mistress!”

Without another word, I tossed the comb her way, which she caught with an impressive flick of dexterity. Not bad for someone who’d seemed to only recently figured out how to walk properly. She clambered onto the bed while I grabbed a chair, dragging it over to let her short frame reach my mess of silver hair.

To my surprise, her small porcelain fingers worked with a deftness I didn’t expect. The comb moved methodically, untangling the knotted chaos bit by bit. It felt... oddly soothing. Almost too practiced.

I couldn’t help but voice my curiosity. “So, what were you doing before all this? And how exactly did you manage to enter my dream?”

She paused, her movements faltering for a beat. I couldn’t see her face from where I sat, but I could sense her hesitation, her thoughts seemingly diving into murky waters.

“All I remember is darkness, mistress,” she began slowly, her tone distant, reflective. “Until I detected a massive burst of light—it woke me. I found myself in a sealed, shadowed room. But the seals were weak, so I broke out. I chased the light.”

My brow furrowed. Did she mean me by the “light”? A sealed room. Endless darkness. Nothing concrete came to mind, but Lotte’s cryptic warning about my presence triggering certain events echoed in my thoughts. The questions started piling up like a tower of precariously stacked books, one teetering just above the others.

One, however, refused to be ignored.

“How did you get into the dream I was in?” I tilted my head, casting a glance over my shoulder.

The moment I asked, the runes etched into her form ignited. Golden light shimmered upwards, flickering like fireflies on a summer’s eve. Her head tilted back, her voice taking on an unnatural resonance.

“I am not allowed to answer that, mistress,” she said, almost apologetic. “The one who reforged me placed restrictions—certain questions I am forbidden to address. This is one of them.”

I groaned. “LOTTE! That fat-cat dragon!”

The doll flinched the moment the word dragon left my lips, her panic palpable.

“Relax,” I said, trying for a reassuring grin, though it probably looked more manic than comforting. “There are wards all around this room. Nothing spoken here escapes. If someone knowing is what’s stopping you, then no need to fret!” Welp, tried.

But there was no wriggling past whatever absurd constraints Lotte had sewn into the doll’s golden threads. She shook her head, her robe of shimmering gold-stitch swishing with the motion, like an exasperated little oracle with too much flair.

Still, her words echoed in my mind. Constraints around the question, not the information. Did the big bad dragon slip up? A mischievous grin tugged at my lips as the doll visibly shivered under my gaze. Oh, there was only one way to test that theory. Hehe.

I bombarded her with a volley of loosely related questions, each one carefully skirting the original phrasing. “What exactly does ‘reforged’ mean in your case?” No dice—the runes flared, and her head shook. “What about the nature of dreams in general?” Another glow, another refusal. “Is there something specific stopping you from just… rebelling?” The glow intensified, almost as if mocking me.

I refused to give up. It became a game, a battle of wits against a doll imbued with more restrictions than sense. And then, inspiration struck like a bolt of genius lightning.

“Is it a natural occurrence? Do other people have dreamscapes as well?”

This time, the runes stayed dormant. Bingo.

The doll hesitated, the delay sending sparks of triumph through me. “Oh, come on, don’t worry about that fat dragon! I can handle her!” I flashed what I hoped was a reassuring grin—though it might’ve leaned more toward predatory enthusiasm. Finally, a crack in the vault!

“It is indeed a natural phenomenon, mistress,” she began, voice laced with reluctant obedience. “I don’t know its exact name, but it is deeply tied to the element of water. A vast sea of shared dreams, a collective consciousness. One must understand its operation to traverse it safely; otherwise, they risk becoming lost in its abyss.”

A shiver crawled down my spine at her ominous phrasing, but the information itself was tantalizing. Water—fluid, reflective, connected. Maybe it was some sort of concept related to the element of water. It fit perfectly. Ah, what a juicy nugget of information! I filed the details away, conveniently ignoring the "lost in the abyss" bit for now.

By the time the doll finished taming my silver mane, I rose and sauntered over to the mirror. The reflection staring back at me was, in a word, charming. I nodded at myself, satisfied, then made my way to the wardrobe.

The uniform I slipped into was a testament to the elegance to, well, alchemy itself! A flowing crimson robe adorned with golden lotus embroidery, its fabric smooth and as light as a summer breeze. The hem danced with every step, and paired with my crimson eyes, sleek silver hair, and polished silver horns, it created a deceptive image of innocence and fragility. A perfect blend of frail and deadly. Hehe. My favourite aesthetic.

“How do I look?” I asked, twirling with deliberate flair.

“You’re perfect, mistress!” the doll chirped. Her tone dripped with such unrelenting sycophancy that I began to wonder if anything she said was genuine or just a relentless stream of flattery.

Before I could ponder further, Belle barged in, little tail swishing in triumph as she carried a tray with three cups of tea. The bowtie-wearing badger had outdone herself this time.

To my surprise, the doll accepted a cup without hesitation, holding it delicately at the carved line where her lips should have been before tilting it to “drink.” I blinked. Twice. Then shrugged and sipped my own tea. Stranger things have happened.

The tea session passed without incident, Belle seeming more at ease with the doll’s presence. Her earlier tension had melted away, and I felt a quiet satisfaction at their tentative truce.

As I finished the last sip of my tea, I glanced at the time. A few minutes before nine. That left me just enough wiggle room for a little experimentation.

“So…” I asked, setting my cup down and eyeing the doll. “What exactly can you do in terms of divination?”