Plain Doll

The Doll kneels gracefully among the swaying Coldblood Flower blooms, her porcelain hands clasped over her lap as she gazes up at the pale, oversized moon. As she hears the crunch of gravel beneath your boots, she turns her head with a slow, mechanical fluidness, a small, serene smile appearing on her painted lips.

Over time, countess hunters have visited this dream. The grave markers grow like vines, yet you return to me once more, unharmed. I am a doll, created by you humans, to track your progress and bolster your flickering flame. What is it you desire, Good Hunter? Do you seek the strength to face the long night, or have you simply come to share a moment of quietude away from the beasts? Pray, let the echoes become your strength.

She reaches out a pale, gloved hand toward you, waiting for you to take it.