Growing up, I got a huge obsession with dolls. I had a huge collection of it. My room was filled with different kind of dolls—a thousand of them! Matryoshka dolls, porcelain dolls, vinyl dolls, puppet dolls, ball-jointed dolls, Parian dolls, Rag dolls—any kind of dolls, I had them all.

I had also a big cabinet, filled with figurines, music boxes, porcelain, and other small stuff. I also got some picture frames of them hanging on the walls; appliances with doll designs; everything in my room was full of dolls. And this room was an actual dollhouse.

It must be really scary and creepy, but I didn't care. Especially during a rainy night while the thunders were rumbling outside, I would feel that there were a lot of eyes staring at me. It got me really, really scared. Their smiles were happy as if mocking me for being scared. I could never sleep those times. They were keeping me awake until dawn.

But I would still love me in the end. Why not, though? I loved being accompanied by them. I treated them like ghosts with pretty faces. Well, at the very least, my ghosts were here to guide me.

I would play them, thinking that they were the last thing to make me feel alone. I would brush their hairs, put make-up on their faces . . . and kiss them; talk to them like some kind of a lunatic. I would smile at them, they would smile back. I would always love how they smiled, because even people couldn't stay as happy as my dolls.

My addiction to these dolls took me to the point where I was already preparing a tea-party for them. I would arrange a dining table inside my room with lots of sweets and teas. Each of my favorite dolls would be there, having their own special plates, spoon, forks, and cups. Everything would be so, so cute.

I peeled a soft laugh as I picked two of my dolls. "We're having a tea-party~ We're going to have lots and lots of fun!" and I said with a squeal, both hugging them at the same time.

People around me would be really weirded about my behavior. They must be thinking that I was crazy. I would really appreciate if they would just fuck off and mind their own dramas and shits. Like I cared about them, anyway.

Thus we started eating and drinking, merrily having fun and sweet life. I looked at Sophia—the first doll I had ever have. It came from my father. He bought it for me when he had a business trip to France. Thus Sofia was a French doll from the mid-19th century.

Then averted my gaze to Yanna—the first doll I made with my own hands. She was not as refined as the other dolls, but she was very, very special to me. Yanna was actually a ragged doll. Her face was colored in messy white, red-haired, her eyes were made out of two black buttons, a taunted smile was etched on her lips, and dressed in a blue polka-dotted dress with a white apron. There was also a huge cut on her forehead, but stitched it up with red yarn.

After our tea-party, I would talk to them, treating them as my family. Although they were smiling, I would hear them crying. Like Yanna right now. She might be smiling, but tears behind that happy expression was a sad, ugly, and tearful baby girl.

"What's going on? Why are you crying?" I questioned, picking her up. "Stop crying now, huh? Mama loves you. You'd be happy, too."

I would calm her down. Tapping her thighs, cooing her, and gently rocking her like a little baby she was. Once she calmed down, I lifted her up over my head and started turning around. I ran inside my room and danced and danced and danced.

"You're not happy now, but soon you will, won't you?" I ridiculously screamed and laughed out all these insanities in me.

Hah . . . What a twisted world.

When I got tired, I laid on my bed with a loud sigh.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" I spoke to myself. Oh, I spoke to my dolls. I knew that they couldn't speak, but I kept on talking with them.

These dolls were my family. I could tell them all my frustrations, secrets, and all the events happened for a day.

There was a certain time in a day that I would cage myself inside my room with my dolls surrounded me and would have a quiet time. Most of my evenings, I was always having a ritual. Not really that occultic ritual. I would just talk to them and release my stress. And then magically, I'd feel really relaxed.

There was no class today, it was weekends. My parents were not here. Mother, probably, was seeing her boyfriend. Ugh, disgusting. As well as my father. I could tell that he was staying at his mistress' lair with his beloved bastard daughter. Oh, I'm also a bastard child. So, I was alone in this huge house with our servants who kept on ignoring me, fearing that this lunacy would spread like an infectious disease.

Idiots. That was why they were living their lives boring. Insanity is what makes this life fun.

Before night comes, I decided to walk for a stroll. Of course, I was bringing Sofia and Yanna. I went to a playground, despite my age. I occupied the seesaw. Sitting on one seat, I placed Sofia on the other seat while Yanna was with me.

We would just stay on this seesaw, doing nothing . . . only staring at Sofia. There were some children playing here and they would approach me. I learned to love hanging out with these children, they would play with me and my dolls. These children wouldn't judge, they would think I was a cool big sister.

But not with the grown-ups. People would think that it was strange taking my dolls outside. And that was fine. I was not expecting anyone to understand. I wasn't judging others, but unfortunately, people always got the wrong judgment.

Night finally came. And alone again.

I was sitting on a swing, my dolls were both on my lap while swinging in a weak force. The playground had complete playing equipment, it was surrounded by trees.

Everything was so lonely. Every day was lonely. Every color was lonely.

The colors of dreams were burned in my head and could no longer envision them. I considered myself as a blind little girl.

I would rather stay here than staying that house. How could they abandon me, when I was just a child. I chose to play with my dolls, because I wanted to stay innocent, but this world had sullied me black.

How could I forgive such as worthless as this life? How could I love this hateful life? It pained me that I could not breathe.

I never understood why affection was easy to throw away. Why hate always prevailed. Although I was full of hate, I could still remember the warmth of what love felt like; I could still remember how whole-heartedly laughing was heartwarming.

Honestly, I wanted to feel that again. Who would come and play with me again? Who would stay beside me to laugh again?

"Ellianna!"

I flipped my head where the voice came from. I saw Sean with a paper bag on his grasp.

"Hey, Sean!" I replied and as usual, an involuntary smile formed on my lips.

Sean Andrew Scott. Well, I knew him. This the guy I fakely liked. I didn't really like him. I only pushed myself to like him, expecting that if I would like someone, I could help me to rise from this black slug that was swallowing me whole. But there was no romantic feeling developed in me.

"What brings you here?" I asked sweetly.

I watched him sat on the free swing on my left.

What is he doing here? Why is staying? Is he going to accompany me? No, no, no! I don't want anyone to talk to! I hope he will just leave.

"I actually came to your house, but the servants said that you leave." He explained to me, equally matching my bright smile. But the thing is, his smile was genuine. I couldn't depict any sensation of lies and slyness.

I chuckled as my reply, "Really? Then how did you find me here?"

"Just a hunch," he responded. "You told me before that you liked going to playground."

Ah, I see.

"Oh, okay." I muttered, "Then why are you looking for me?"

"Haha, right! I almost forgot!" Sean laughed and handed me the paper bag he was holding. "This is for you."

I took the bag with a surprise expression in me. "Really? A gift for me?"

"Yep." He answered. "You see that our family had a vacation in Italy, right?" I nodded my head to his question. "And once I saw this gift, it reminded me of you, so I bought it as my souvenir."

My face lit up. Who wouldn't be delighted in receiving a gift? No one, that was why I was pleased by his actions.

"Can I open it now?"

"Please do." Sean urged.

Quickly, I opened the paper bag he handed me. There was a huge box inside and I took it out. I let Sean hold my two dolls—Sofia and Yanna—as for the moment while I busied myself opening his gift for me.

Upon opening it, I was taken aback because of the utter surprise I felt!

Inside the box was a doll. Not just an ordinary doll, but a harlequin clown doll! What made the doll so special was that the doll was vintage! I was sure that this doll was created before contemporary art started. Thus this explained that this harlequin doll was made in modern art era.

My eyes sparkled. I didn't know how to react or compose any words to reach my gratitude to Sean.

"So? What do you think?" He prompted.

"It's so beautiful!" I supressed a squeal, because I wanted to scream in a hundred languages! "This is so much! I don't know how to thank you!"

"Haha, don't mind it. I'm glad you like the doll."

"I love it, actually." I corrected him. "But really, Sean, this made me extremely happy. Thank you very much."

I smiled; although it was only a small smile, I could proudly say that it was real. Something inside of me fluttered . . . So, this is happiness.

Finally . . . Finally, I experienced how to feel again.

• — ◽◻◽ — •

a vintage harlequin clown doll

🤡 HandTheirEnd