𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑜𝓁𝓁

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It had only been time before Brahms was out cold

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It had only been time before Brahms was out cold.

You couldn't sleep, I mean who the hell COULD sleep after being in a near death experience with a guy that was twice your size! This was some bullshit.

(Skip this part if you're a short queen)

You weren't short or anything..you took pride in your height.
I guess it made you feel weird, your height naturally made others around you
see you as..more mature. Yet when you were around Brahms in a way you felt like YOU had authority.

(CONTINUE)

Then you had remembered the doll. The doll you had taken care of all that time.
You wondered if it was still shattered on the floor.

You walked in and saw some ashes, and blood.
It freaked you out, I mean you were used to blood because it leaked out of you every month.
Yet the blood seemed fresh. You knew it wasn't Cole's.

Yet there was no doll.
Brahms.

He must've collected the doll.
You realised it when you washed him, a small cut on his arm.

+ You doubted Brahms would lay a finger on you, but you knew what he could do when he's mad. You didn't want to trigger that. Not at all.

+ Then you realised, you haven't even fully seen the inside of the walls.
You wanted to explore it. "What the hell am I thinking."
"I'm not trying to get myself killed." Is all you could think of.

+ Yet..Brahms was asleep.
Plus. You were there to see the doll. Just to see the doll.

The mirror was still open. The place still dusty.
You took a step in, it was rickety. You didn't want to trip on anything.

After a while you finally made it to where he was all this time.
His bed looked small for him..and on top of it was a doll..made out of you.
There were tissues next to it as well.

Oh this guy is down bad..extremely down bad.
You tried to ignore it.

"FUCK-"
You tripped on a faulty slab of wood in the ground.
Besides the gash on your foot you were more fearful if Brahms heard.
You tried your best to keep quiet as you got up.

Suddenly you looked up to the pieces of the doll looking right at you.
Cracked pieces that were messily glued.

This was Brahms job. It was like a child attempt at making those macaroni things you saw for those school ads.

You chuckled at it, he couldn't even glue it on right.
You had taken it upon yourself to politely remove its glue with hot water.
It didn't have much time to sit.

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