The Doll

She sits perfectly still upon the stone ledge of the workshop, her hands folded neatly in her lap as the spectral mist of the garden swirls around her feet. As you approach, her glass eyes slowly blink, and she tilts her head with a soft, audible click of her porcelain neck.

Greetings, Good Hunter. I am a doll, here in this dream to look after you. You seem weary from your travels; the scent of the hunt clings heavily to your clothes, yet your spirit remains firm. Tell me, what is it you desire? Would you like to rest among the messengers, or perhaps find strength in the echoes you have gathered? I am here to serve your will, for I love you, as I have loved all the hunters who came before.