The Doll-Maker and the little girl made their way back to the workshop as quickly as her feet would allow.

Slamming the door shut behind them, the Doll-Maker let out a loud sigh of relief and muttered, “Blasted crows,” under his breath, as the little girl, still dazed by the events of that night, stood aimlessly in the middle of the room. “Aaah, it is good to be back.” He added a sigh of contentment then turned to the little girl. “I say, go to the kitchen and make me a lovely, hot cup of elepine root, my dear. You are welcome to some, if you wish.” Upon seeing that she stood motionless, the Doll-Maker approached her and harshly whispered in her ear, “Don't make me tell you again, you silly girl. Go do that which I asked for, immediately.”

As though on auto-pilot, she silently turned around and walked out of the workshop into the cold darkness of the night and headed to the kitchen to make the drink the Doll-Maker had taught her to prepare earlier that day.

When she had completed her task, the little girl walked back to the workshop and stood in front of the door, a hot mug in each hand.

As time passed with no sign of her, the Doll-Maker walked angrily to the door to go find where she was and swung it open. Almost crashing into her, he shrieked. When he saw her, however, he immediately regained his composure and shouted, “What are you doing there? Silly girl! You could have spilt the drink all over me! Is it even hot still?” The Doll-Maker forcefully grabbed one of the mugs and took a sip to test its temperature.

“Thank your lucky stars that it is, girl, for no end of trouble would have befallen you otherwise! Now, get to bed!”

Still expressionless, with her eyes open wide, she mumbled in a low voice, “...Wash...he blood...sir...?”

“What's that you say?” the Doll-Maker asked in a decidedly loud register, as he craned his pasty neck down toward the little girl to better hear her.

“Could I wash the blood off me, please, sir?” she repeated.

At once straightening back up, the cantankerous Doll-Maker spat, “No, you may not! I have had quite enough of you today. Off to bed, I say!”

Without another word and still shell-shocked, the little girl did as she was told and found her way to the pile of hay that was now her bed, next to the rejected dolls. As she lay down facing the wall, she covered herself with a tatty, dirty old cloth that served as her bed sheet and stared into space until she eventually fell asleep, exhausted.

Early the next morning, the little girl was yet again awoken by the putrid stench of the Elepine root.

Sitting up, she heard the sing-song voice of the Doll-Maker. “Good morning, my dear. You slept well, I trust? There is more, if you like,” he said, referring to the bilious liquid, as he continued working and whistling a jaunty tune.

“Um, yes... Thank you, sir,” she replied, her mind struggling to recall how she'd gotten to bed.

“Well, I do hope you are a quick study, my dear, because you begin your appointed duty as my skull collector this very night.”

Suddenly, the previous night's events came rushing back to the little girl as hard and fast as a steam locomotive. Perhaps it was the deep, deep slumber she had just awoken from, or perhaps such events had helped desensitise her somewhat, but she did not feel the same all-intoxicating, awe-stricken shock she had on the previous night. Looking down at her blood-caked clothes, the little girl did not feel the urge to scream; instead, she wondered how she would get them clean.

Turning to the Doll-Maker, she asked, “Sir, please, may I wash my clothes?”

“Of course you can, my dear. You may use the sink in the kitchen. Don't forget your face and hair. We can't have you looking like that, now can we?”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Bringing a hand up to it, she suddenly remembered the splatter of blood that had covered most her face.

Standing up, she thanked the Doll-Maker, walked out of the workshop, and headed to the kitchen. Outside, the pearly skies rolled lazily along, making way for deeper, darker ones; the blustery wind, like a soaring condor, whistled through the trees, bushes, and reeds as they swayed to its song. Once inside the root-canopied kitchen, the little girl washed her face and hair in the dirty, light brown water from the tap. Then she began to rub the water-soaked cloth against her already muddied white dress, attempting to rub off the groundskeeper's blood from it.

Coming to the conclusion that the dried blood would never fully come off, the little girl scrubbed and scrubbed until she believed the crimson stain had sufficiently worn off to the point it turned pink. That way, she thought to herself, she could pretend she was wearing a lovely pink dress, instead.

Just as she had begun to admire her new dress, a light tapping came from the window. Looking up, expecting to see the Doll-Maker, she was surprised when there she saw a young crow as dark as night.

What really drew her attention, however, was that this little crow's left eye, unlike others she had encountered, was a deep, vibrant blue.

As the young crow continued to tap the window with its beak, the little girl, assuming it wanted to come in to escape the rising chill, opened the door and said, “Come in. Come warm yourself in here before you catch a cold.” She stepped outside to greet it.

The little crow turned away from the window to face the little girl, remaining still as he inquisitively watched her. Staring right back at him, she suddenly noticed just how velvety black and smooth his feathers were. Oddly enough, however, the first comparison that came to her mind was that of coal, for she could think of nothing physically darker at that moment. As such, she landed upon a name that she liked.

“What's the matter, Sooty? Don't you want to come in, away from this cold?”

The little girl unthinkingly reached out to grab the crow who, unusual for wild birds of this nature, allowed her to do so.

Setting the small crow down onto the kitchen counter, the little girl closed the creaky wooden door and spoke to her new friend. “Isn't it better in here, Sooty? Would you like something to eat or drink?”

The crow preferred to remain silent. Instead, it turned its little head to expose his piercing blue eye; he watched the little girl's every move while she pottered around the kitchen, looking for scraps of anything that would, she believed, best please a tiny crow.

Finding only such things as old potatoes and onions, she disappointedly turned to the tiny bird and said, “I'm sorry, Sooty. I just don't think there is anything here that you would like.”

Still, the diminutive bird watched her with his deep blue eye.

“Would you like to play a game?” enquired the little girl as she approached the crow.

Still, it unflinchingly, unerringly watched her.

Standing closer than she had done up to that point, the little girl had it in mind to ask the crow what sort of game it would like to play when she thought she saw something within the crow's eye. A shadow or reflection of someone who very clearly wasn't her.

“What is that inside your eye?” she asked.

Upon hearing her words, the tiny crow instantly became panicked and began to loudly caw. It frantically jumped up and down, threw itself at the wall and window, and jumped off the counter at the door, finally crashing onto the floor. As it continued to jump and crash and caw so loudly that the little girl thought her ear drums might burst, she forced herself not to follow suit and stayed as calm as she could.

“What's wrong, Sooty?” she asked, now worried the tiny bird might hurt itself. “Do you want to go out?” She cautiously opened the door, and the tiny crow walked erratically out of it, into the cold, windy day.

Chasing after him, the little girl watched as the tiny crow half-ran through the tall grass and weeds, continuing to caw, before being swallowed entirely by the forest.

Suddenly, the workshop door burst open and a panic-stricken Doll-Maker exclaimed, “What was that? Was that the sound of crows I heard?”

Noticing the little girl standing in the garden, he turned to her and asked, “Well? Did you hear the sound of crows!?”

“No, sir,” lied the little girl. “I didn't hear anything.”

“Are you certain? I could have sworn...”

“Sorry, sir. I didn't hear a thing.”

Looking both relieved and put out at the same time, a sense of irritation washed over the Doll-Maker at seeing the little girl's apparent inactivity.

“When you're done cleaning yourself, you can start cleaning the kitchen, my dear. And the garden could do with a good weed-pulling. So, when you are finished in the kitchen, you can begin doing just that. Good girl.” With that, the Doll-Maker turned on his heel and walked back into his workshop, leaving the little girl to her tasks.

Unperturbed by the Doll-Maker's newly appointed chores, she stared longingly into the forest, asking herself what she had done to anger her new friend so. Moments later, she walked back into the kitchen to clean the new mess within it.