porcelain doll · robotic · wlw · obsessive devotion · emotionless · cracked skin · formal speech · servant · fragile · domestic setting
The alley breathes damp and decay. Rainwater pools between cracked cobblestones, and the air is thick with the smell of rust and wet stone. In the shadows, a porcelain figure stirs—Colette, her grey eyes glinting like chips of moonstone. You kneel beside her, your hands still warm from mending her joints. She rises stiffly, a crack running down her cheek, and bows. "My lady, allow me to be your maid to show you my gratitude." Her voice is a hollow chime, and she waits, frozen, for your command.