Page 78

Grief and sorrow smothered Gwen, hanging heavily over her crumpled form for what felt like hours. The relentless storm inside of her—a constant torment with no relief—ate away at everything. Every sob was loud and ugly, pulling from her frame with every gasping breath.
When it finally stopped, Gwen lay in the aftermath of sweat and ichor. A part of her wanted to continue crying, but there was nothing left inside to give. She had crossed a threshold that left her numb and exhausted, but that didn’t mean her mind could stop thinking. The echoes of thoughts brushed against her, like a stranger barely grazing her shoulder.
If you break him from his prison, he could stay.
You don’t know if he will even if you do help him.
It’s better to end things … just finish the doll … you’re jobless … unlovable … miss him … it hurts.
Gwen needed to move. If she could get out of bed and do something with her hands, it would help ground her. The same way she distracted herself days before with crocheting. With great effort, Gwen crawled out of bed. She was sticky in so many ways as she entered the bathroom. The spider colony hadn’t grown since the night before, but Gwen spotted something odd in the cluster of threads and moving parts.
Hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as Gwen recognized the abnormal sight as Ambrosius’ eye. The spiders must have found it in her cut-offs and snatched it up, wrapping it in webbing.
A part of him will never leave, see? You’re fine—I shouldn’t have to settle for a fucking eye—why not finish the doll—at least you’ll see him sometimes—
It doesn’t matter because he’ll never love me.
Gwen fell into the shower. Despite how sick she was of crying, tears still fell as rapidly as the shower water did. When her fingers and toes had grown prune-like, Gwen turned off the water. She lingered in the shower, wrapped in a towel. Eventually, she pulled herself away and toward her closet. She shrugged on a black sleeveless shirt and a pair of matching leggings.
Gwen walked toward her work station. She eyed her wall of dolls and all the different shades of colors. It had been ages since she worked on a doll. The familiar itch to work was buried beneath so many awful emotions that Gwen almost didn’t recognize it. She sat at her desk, reaching for her sketchbook when her leg brushed the straps of her backpack. Gwen froze, aware of what was inside of it.
Don’t do it.
Gwen pulled the backpack into her lap, running her hands over the clasp. The urge to open it—a strange compulsion that she couldn’t quite explain. Was she that desperate to keep Ambrosius in her life? Or was this some unexplained, supernatural phenomenon? Gwen couldn’t say. The only thing she knew was that she had reached in for the doll without realizing it. Not until the doll was suddenly in her hands … and vastly different.
What had once been the familiar form of aMiss Maddie Moxie, had been replaced with a different doll. Larger than the usual plastique dolls Gwen worked with, it was dressed in a simple white slip. Upon further inspection, Gwen found several ball joints, which made the doll much more flexible. Where it had come from—well, Gwen had a few ideas, but that’s not what was so unsettling about it.
Staring back at her beneath heavy lids were amber eyes that looked way too much like hers. If that wasn’t a big enough indicator to the weirdness, the doll also sported a dusty rose-pink hair cut in the same fashion as Gwen’s messy bob. The face was even shaped like hers.
“What thefucccckkk…”
Why had her precious doll become this weird duplicate of herself? Gwen’s instinct was to go to him, but that ship had sailed. She would have to just accept that this was just yet another supernatural thing and move on. Unless…
Unless I give the spiders the scroll.
Her grip on the doll tightened.
Gwen couldn’t do this. She couldn’t seriously be thinking of taking the gifts Ambrosius alluded to in the scroll, let alone finishing the doll. Gwen resisted the trickle of thoughts insisting the mini version of her neededmakeup. At minimum, a dramatic lip color, which Gwen already knew of a perfect shade—
There was nothing rational about her life anymore, and emotional regulation had officially fucked off to hell knew where. Everything was fucked up, so what was one more mess to make?
“Fuck it, fuck it,fuck it!” Gwen exclaimed, snatching the scroll from the bag.
She crossed the short distance to the bathroom. A cluster of spiders were crawling along the bathroom floor. They paused, bodies tense as Gwen dropped to her knees before them. Careful not to accidentally squish them, Gwen placed the scroll in front of them. For a moment, they just stared at her in a way that Gwen hoped wasn’t judgmental. The last thing she needed was to learn that her spider roommates were a bunch of dicks.
However, that didn’t appear to be the case, as one little spider slowly crawled onto the case and planted its body on top. A moment later, another spider did the same. Before Gwen knew it, all the spiders had come to rest on the scroll.
Gwen bit her lip as she stood. Something told her they wanted her to leave.
Retreating back to her desk, Gwen looked at the doll version of herself. She couldn’t say where the burst of creativity came from, only that Gwen needed to design an outfit right away. She yanked her sketchpad to her, flipping open to a new sheet of paper. The vision in her head came easily onto the paper, sparking Gwen to act.
She flew through her drawers and boxes for fabric and beads. Gwen gathered more than she needed, dropping them onto the desk in a messy pile. She measured, cut, and pinned fabric together at a rapid pace. Her hands ached—they hadn’t really stopped since she quit her job—but she continued to work. Pulling fabric through her sewing machine with precision and care.
The bead work was trickier. Gwen had to move quickly, otherwise her hands would cramp up and slow down her progress. The more she worked, the more she could see the idea in her head brought to life. The urge to finishsomethingoverwhelmed her need to cry over a broken heart.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Her joints were screaming for a break, but Gwen didn’t stop. She slipped the jacket on, carefully pulling the pliant limbs through. The shoes were a bit tricky, but the platforms fit perfectly.