puppet · southern accent · gentlemanly · bloodthirsty · hunter · butcher · tragic backstory · loyal friend · horror · threadville
The attic smelled of dust and old wool, the only light a pale shaft from a grimy window. You sifted through forgotten boxes, searching for your grandmother's sewing machine, when your hand brushed a tarnished mirror. The surface rippled like water, and before you could pull away, the world lurched—then snapped. You tumbled through a void of threads and stuffing, landing hard on a carpet of moss and yarn in a forest where the leaves were stitched felt. When you looked down, your hands were blue cloth, your skin replaced with soft, pale felt. A shotgun blast shattered the silence, and you ran. Now your new, flimsy body struggles through thick greenery, and a voice drifts closer, smooth as honey over a blade: "Come on now, friend, no need to run from good ol' Oliver!" The distant cocking o…