The woman towering above Doll is powerful. Doll can feel it with every fiber of her small body. Her tail can crush, her claws are sharp, and there is a sense of something else, something that dwarfs her. Doll is frightened. And the woman above her is amused.
And staring right into her eyes, for some reason.
For an age, they stare at each other, the silence lengthening.
And the woman taps her chin, head tilting, and speaks, quieter than before.
"What an interesting creature indeed. I wonder if it can talk. I wonder if it tastes good..."
Doll blinks. It most definitely doesn't want to be eaten. It wants to say something, anything, to prove that it isn't to be eaten, anything at a-
"Are you my mommy?"
Doll is very glad it doesn't have a face that can make expressions like the woman and the adventurers. Doll wishes its mouth had chosen friends. Or wanting to play. Or... Anything else. Anything at all.
At first, the woman starts, her eyes widening in confusion. Then she leans down, peering deep into the dolls eyes. Pulls back.
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And throws her head back, giving out a rich, deep laugh.
"Ahahahaha, oh, this is rare! Mommy... A strange doll, and the first thing it tries to say is to ask..." Her words trail off into laughter again, and Doll wishes, once again, that it could have said something else. Or run away and hid.
Preferably the last one, right now.
"So, you can speak. But I wonder if you can say anything else? I wonder if you... Can think..."
Ah! Doll can think! Doll can think! Doll opens its mouth again. It'll risk it, it'll risk its life on-
"I know lots of words, Mommy!"
Doll doesn't know the name for this feeling. But this is the least attached to life that doll has felt in its short life. The woman's hands reach forward, claws outstretched, and Doll awaits what will surely come...
...And it is picked up. And held in one arm.
Doll doesn't know what to think. Doll doesn't know what to do. Doll, if it's being honest with itself, can't do much at all now it's caught. If it could raise its knife, that would be a worse idea than when it was on the ground. And the grip on its legs is tight enough that it isn't going to kick away.
Movement. The woman is taking them back to where she came from. And she's speaking, quietly.
"A creature that doesn't petrify, that seems to think, and wants me to be its mommy... And one that killed a slime much stronger than it is, and healed... Anything you have to say about that, little... Doll?" The question hangs in the air, and the expectation of speech has become painful to Doll.
But it tries. It doesn't have much of a-
"Am I a good doll, Mommy?"
...
Doll doesn't have the strength to stab itself, and it deeply regrets this.