Page 6 of Dollface

She tilts her head, as if listening to someone talk. No one is there, but it doesn’t stop her from having a two-way conversation.

“Havoc doesn’t think it’s the time,” she huffs, a hint of madness creeping into her voice. “The moon simply won't allow it!” My jaw tightens in irritation as she yells, causing me to grab her roughly and shove her out of the tree line into the open night. The last thing I need is for this psycho to give away my hiding spot with her deranged outbursts. As she stands and stumbles away, muttering to herself about something random, I turn my attention back to the doll sitting across the way out in the open. She sits in the dirt, small and delicate, hunching over an old, leather-bound book with impressively intense focus. Her fingers move deftly across the pages as she writes, unaware of my presence within the tree line. I can’t help but wonder what she could be writing down in the small book. Could she possibly be another one of the Spinster’s spies, gathering informationabout me for our game? It would make sense; she’s a doll. At least... I think she is. She’s unlike anything I’ve seen the Spinster send to Nightmare before. Her button eyes should be a set of traditional black, yet one is blue. Even her skin is different. Typically, the skin of creations in Dreadmoor is a dull, ashen color, yet hers, again, is a shade of blue, as if a hint of life has been breathed within it. Her split hair is the color of... I stop, sighing at the words as they register in my mind:fucking blueberries and bananas.

Fucking Havoc.Rolling my eyes, I watch as Havoc suddenly appears not too far from the doll. She saunters over to the occupied creation and sits down, completely casual.What the fuck is she doing? Does this doll know her?I remain frozen, listening, connecting the dots.Yes, Havoc mentioned her “dolly ” the other day, but I was under the impression that since Havoc hadn’t brought her to the tree house to... play with... that she must’ve only seen her from a distance.

Havoc plucks the book right out of the girl's hand and peers at it, causing the doll’s blue face to go a crimson color as she reaches for her stolen journal. Fearless—or absolutely stupid—the girl tries to climb over Havoc, who simply pushes her back with one hand, cackling as she reads aloud. Interesting, considering Havoc doesn’t like to be touched. I’ve watched her on several occasions go darker than I ever thought possible for someone like her. Grabbing or touching Havoc was a mistake both Charisma and Sullen had to learn the hard way, though it was a bit amusing for me to watch. Yet, she allows this girl to do so freely. My curiosity peaks as I observe the interaction between Havoc and the doll. She addresses her as Blue, a seemingly unoriginal name, but considering the Spinster did not even offer me a name, it's not surprising that she would give her a generic one.

Blue stands, her captivating face twisting in a mixture of frustration and confusion as Havoc sits and continues to cackle her unnatural laughter. She's engrossed in the book, her excitement echoing through the air as she reads the scribbles out loud. What she’s reading doesn’t sound like the notes of someone spying for the Spinster. My brows furrow as I listen and think over the spoken words. No, it isn’t notes. It sounds more like... poetry?

“Boss man!” Havoc's loud, shrieking voice ripples through the trees, making my blood run cold with a mix of fear and anticipation as she shouts to the trees in my direction. “The colors mix to make you! Come and see!” Blue's face snaps towards the tree line, her button gaze searching for anyone. It’s futile, though, she can't see me hidden in the dense foliage. Feeling unusually exposed and vulnerable, I take a silent step back, then another, until I can feel myself fully drenched in the shadows of the forest. I rip my mask from my face as cool air brushes against my skin while I continue to push deeper into the woods, leaving Havoc with the girl who is certainly grabbing my attention. My mind races with thoughts and fears, wondering what will happen if and when she and I actually have a real meeting.

"This is stupid,"Sullen mutters, his frustration evident as he sits in the treehouse with Charisma and Havoc.

“It amazes me that you think I care about your opinions,” I snap while running my hand through my dark hair as I ready myself to head out for the night, staring at my dull burlapmask. One day, one fucking day, I’ll never be forced to wear this fucking mask and outfit again. I’ll never have to conceal myself for fear of being seen and ambushed byherfucking creations. But that day isn’t today, and the last thing I need is that girl, or the Spinster’s other creations, finding me while I’m out tonight. Or worse: Stingy Jack. The man must be furious over what I did to his ghostly pet, and if he didn't already want me dead, he certainly does now. I have to be careful, as I have a target on my back.

“Havoc finds it concerning,” Havoc mutters while balancing a bone precariously on her nose.Where the hell did she even find that?“The stingy old Jack will want payback.”

"I'll keep it in mind," I reply dryly. "And whose finger did you have to snap off for that new toy?" I ask, causing her wicked grin to spread, her sharpened teeth fully exposed.

“Don’t put fingers in holes without paying tolls,” she sings while Charisma takes a seat next to her.

“Boss,” they begin, their sharp eyes meeting mine. “I have to agree with this colorful nutcase. Are you sure you’ve thought this through completely?” Charisma, while just as much of an unpredictable character as the other two, tends to be more thought out and willing to weigh pros versus cons... usually. If they weren’t so consumed with the amount of glitter coating their hair or the perfection of the fluorescent paint on their face, then they might have more time to be logical like Sullen, the hot-headed realist of the trio.

"Thought what through?" I chuckle bitterly while throwing my itchy suit over my shoulders. "It's simple: she's clearly a spy for that cunt. She’s connected to Dreadmoor and she’s here. I’d be a fool not to get close and observe her.”Sure, that’s what I’m doing. ‘Observing’. Right.

“Havoc senses love coming into the air.” She motions her hands above her head as she warns sweetly while taking a deepbreath through her nose. “Inhale, boss man, and no more tries.” I huff, tired of her nonsense for the moment.

“Good thing I have a mask, then, isn’t it? Now, all of you, get my place cleaned up. I let you live here; the least you could do is not treat it like a dump.” I point to the dead creature, skinned and gutted on the floor.Even if it is one.Charisma makes a face, dragging their steep, knee-high boots from the ground as they stand. Their skeleton painted face and skin suit stretches as they wrap their ridiculous feather boa over their shoulders, delicately walking past Havoc, who remains grinning, as if frozen in place.

“Havoc should be cleaning this crime scene, considering it’shermess,” Charisma snaps while flicking their wrist at the girl. Dangerous move, considering she apparently snapped a finger off someone recently.

“Charisma doesn’t complain when Havoc steals them those pretty little feathers around their neck!” She waves her fingers in the air towards Charisma’s new feathered boa. “Pluck, pluck, pluck, and yet Havoc’s naughty!”

“Just clean it up,” I snap, leaving the two behind to figure their shit out. I place my mask over my head before fully stepping out of the tree house and into the night.

Sitting on the thick branch,I stare lazily at the blue and yellow blur through the window. This ridiculous routine of mine has become customary. Apparently, when I said I wanted to learn who this doll is, and what she’s doing in Nightmare, what I really meant is I want to sit outside her window like a god-damn owl and stare at her like a fucking freak. I’m the fuckingBoogeyman! I have a god-damn terrifying reputation, and yetIam hiding from this girl.

Hiding. That’s all I ever fucking do is hide. I hide my body. I hide my face. I hide from the townspeople and Stingy Jack. I hide from the Spinster, and now, I hide fromher. A doll. Call it a lack of common sense or a wave of adrenaline or even a moment of insanity, but I’m deciding right here and now to change this fact.

“Fuck this,” I mutter as I carefully crawl across the long branch and move toward the windowsill, something I’ve done numerous times now, as stalking this damn doll has become a part of my existence, but this time is different. This time, instead of staring through the window as my breath fogs the glass, I decide to push against it as a small portion of the window swings opens, allowing me enough access to creep into her room. I weasel through the window, careful not to snag my mask as I slither through. Once inside, I look around the simple room, the shadows of the small fire burning in the simple fireplace next to her bed dancing along the walls as it pops with little life. It smells... musty and old and dated, as one would expect from a place filled with dead things. My eyes trail over the walls, noticing carcasses of bugs nestled neatly in their glass-framed tombs.Interesting.

Quietly, I approach her bed, my eyes gazing over her body tucked beneath a layer of miscellaneous dark furs. I feel a deep pull, and it’s as if, even if I want to turn away, some invisible force won’t allow it. I am a moth, and she is my flame. Being drawn to her is dangerous, and every fight or flight instinct is screaming within me to stop, to run, to kill. Yet here I am, allowing her to burn my wings as I fly closer.

My eyes trail from the foot of her bed to her head, taking in every characteristic and detail, as if I’m trying to imprint her on my fucking soul. Ha, a soul—as if I was given one of those.Something catches my attention, and I frown as I see a nasty rat curled up beside her, sleeping.She’ll probably freak out if that’s there in the morning.I don’t know why, but something compels me to be nice. I grab the tail, expecting the creature to wriggle and squeak, but it doesn’t.That’s odd. I lift the little critter and bring it closer to my face as I peer closer.

“Oh my God!” I whisper loudly, dropping the very dead and very poorly stuffed rodent to the ground with a floppy thud as a full body shiver takes over me.What the fuck? It’s dead. I groan lightly in disgust. The rat is dead and stuffed, sort of, and she’ssleepingwith it? My head whips back to the increasingly weirder girl.

Fuck the moth to the flame. I refuse to be drawn in bythislevel of weird. I’m about to just say fuck this shit, kill her, and deal with Havoc’s undoubtable sobbing and lashing out in retaliation for me destroying her play-thing. There is no redeeming quality to her; she’s cuddling a dead rat! I place my hands on my hips, sighing at the ridiculousness of it all.

The noise of movement across fabric grabs my attention, and I glance back and watch as the doll moves, rotating around the bed when one of the furs slips to the floor.Okay... Well, maybe she has one redeeming quality.I click my tongue, suddenly very interested in what I’m looking at.The doll—well, woman by the looks of it—is sleeping peacefully in the nude under all those heavy furs. Between the blue tone of her stitched skin and the sweat from sleeping beneath so many pelts, her bare chest glistens and glows in the moonlight.

Fuck, her breasts are stunning.I swallow thickly, a hunger suddenly burning inside me. I can’t help but stare at her full figure. Her breasts are large, full and vivacious, with dark, round nipples, both tight and perky. I can’t help but lick my dry lips as I step closer, painfully aware of how hard my cock is becoming. She looks so innocent and alluring, as if she’s just peacefullylaying there, waiting for someone to come and worship her. Doll or not, everything about her physical appearance is literal perfection.Fuck, I’m not a man to bow but for this body, I may just drop to my knees.And just like that, she has once again drawn me in.

I slowly reach out to touch her smooth-looking skin, only to stop, realizing that my hands are covered in the itchy burlap gloves. The ugly, rough texture will clash against her perfection, the uncomfortable touch surely waking her. Before I can blink or ponder about what I’m even doing, I remove a glove, my ink-covered hand glowing every color in the moonlight. I hold my breath as I reach out again, a soft gasp escaping my mouth as it makes contact with her. I freeze, my heart racing as I delicately run my fingers along the soft skin between her breasts, a bold and risky move.Oh fuck, she’s so warm and inviting.The backs of my fingers run over the mound of her right breast, causing her to release the tiniest of moans from her plump lips that hits me right in the cock. I struggle, knowing my own limits and what I’m doing isn't exactly right, but I don’t care. I just want to feel her.Fuck it.I rip my other glove off.I won’t touch her much, just enough to have a little taste.Like a man possessed, I unfasten my suit, reaching in, grabbing my throbbing cock. I stare at her body, consumed by her beauty as it flexes in my hand. I begin stroking myself while my fingers run over her pebbled nipple, flicking it ever so lightly, pretending my hand is hers, her dainty stitched fingers running along my shaft.

She releases a soft whimper in her sleep while I continue rapidly stroking. I’m not sure if it’s the idea of her sleeping, unaware of what I’m doing, or the sounds she’s making, but I’m suddenlyveryaware of how fucking turned on I am. I lightly pull the furs down further, exposing her midriff as I stare with a new, crazed hunger, my movements beneath the suit increasing in both speed and pressure.

“Fuck,” I whimper under my breath, stroking my cock. I bite my lip to the point a coppery taste hits my tongue—my blood. I grip her breast a little rougher, and she whines needily as her hips arch ever so slightly, her body quietly begging to be touched. My jaw tightens in response to the simple, yet way too erotic display.God, I want more.I need more. I’ve already gone this far; what’s the harm?Giving into my urges, I make the erratic decision to travel further south, taking my time gliding my fingers over her flat stomach and stopping on her mound. I feel the heat rolling off her, lulling me to continue. I freeze, the veins in my hand bulging with anticipation, weary of crossing this dangerous line.I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be here.I feel myself nearing the edge as I continue to stroke my cock.Oh, but I have to know. I need one touch, just one touch, and I’ll be done. I promise.

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