The Dancing Doll (Bendy X reader)

Chapter 1: Performance

Another day, Another crowd, Another time with aching feet worn in bright heels that matched this expensive dress your father was making you wear for the show he had forced you into. Watery (E/C) eyes that burned from the stage lights that hung directly above your petite form were not an acceptance of your father.

The crowd simply adored your performances, at the young age of four your father had you doing dance lessons in his theater. Normally at times, you would be performing three shows each day with the acceptance of the weekends where you have time to rest.

Being an only child and living with an aristocratic father was tough, he'd hold a wooden ruler as he watched contently as you stepped on the white chalk and drew footsteps he made for you to follow. Normally you would be resting at the end of a performance soaking your aching feet in Epson salt in a gray bucket that used to be used by the old stage cleaner. But your father was rather strict about getting your performance corrected than having your delicate feet ruined.

On occasions, you would be leaning back in a chair, with a cool towel over your forehead to keep your little body from overheating. Looking up at the ceiling, dazedly lifted the towel that was on your forehead, and placed it over your irritated (E/C) eyes. All that existed now was the noises and music created by the other performers with their bands and squeaking tap dancing shoes against the wooden floor.

The scheduled hearing of your father's boots walking along the mahogany floor of the backstage was common. He would usually check to see you before telling you when your next performance was to be. Frowning, it was the only thing you could do without angering your father. He wasn't the kind to randomly hit you since all he wanted was for you to be successful. His doll.

Awakening to the morning finches and sparrows that perched above your window as they were bringing greetings of the new day. (E/C) eyes opened almost instantly with a casual headache from moving in your bed so much last night, most likely hitting your head on the headboard since your father had never bought you a new bed by the age of two. The Knocking came at the door. The only person who ever knew of where your door existed was your aristocratic father.

There was something off about this day. Your father would usually be pulling you up to the stage for general dancing lessons, but something seemed quite off about him this time. His legs were shaking awkwardly, and thinking it was best to help him you grabbed onto one of his hands since he was leaning against your door frame.

"Do not even dare! touch me! You will ruin your purity!" Your father sneered. Waving his hand to shoo your hand away from him causing you to jump back in shock and fear. Frowning at these times was something you have always wanted to do. Although the consequences would be no water breaks and no naps. Life as a young performer was not all that great.

Bowing your head down slowly and closing your (E/C) eyes with a couple of strands of messy (H/C) bed hair falling in front of your face as you walked past your father briskly, you headed to the showers. Curled into a ball while sitting in the corner of the green tiled shower with lukewarm water raining down on your fragile body. Watching as the water flooded in your folded arms before noticing that prune wrinkles were starting to appear along with your fingers and toes.

"Time to go."

Slowly rising, you reached to turn the stainless steel nob of the shower, with its red color on the left and blue color on the right. Reaching over to grab a gray towel to wrap your wet and shivering body before exiting the showers.

~

A simple cream-yellow dress, white stockings, and newly polished black shoes were laid neatly on your bed. It was only when your (E/C) eyes brightened with life at the sound of the engine of your fathers: 1931, Little Caesar car pulling up in the horseshoe-shaped driveway at the front of the theater. You could not keep yourself from grinning so goofily like some other child getting that very present they've always wanted. Not wasting any more time, you hurriedly pull on your stockings and then pull over your dress before heading to your dressing table to apply your favorite daisy earrings.

Impatiently waiting outside, tapping their foot while glancing at the car; debating on going without you was your aristocratic father as he glanced at his wristwatch now and then. He sighed when he saw you burst out the front doors and skip down the cement steps with a slight jump that was almost unnoticeable. He remembered how when you were only three you taught yourself to gallop around the theater as your grandfather would pretend to be the bandit who lost his steed.

"Where are we going, father?" Craning your neck up to look at your father, not caring if the sunlight was getting into your eyes blinding you from seeing your father's face. Your father glanced down at you and smiled one of his rare smiles "We are going to visit an old friend of mine." He replied simply. There was however a hint of remorse hidden behind his words, but you were too young to catch it.

The radio was turned into a music station that was playing the newest style of music coming from the city that the theater sometimes worked for. Watching curiously as several other cars passed by and honked their car horns to say hello. Your father being grossly popular amongst the music and dancing arts business had made him have less time to be with you. That's why his only option was to have you perform in the theater.

Resting your head against the car door as your headache was coming back again. Feeling the ruffled strap of your dress slip down to your right elbow made you somewhat annoyed. Even after tying the white laces along the front of your dress it just seemed like it would never hold itself up. Glancing up at your father who was holding a black leather suitcase with a hard stare. You stared at your father for almost a whole minute before looking out the window again. Thinking as you watched the city pigeons perched on the telephone wires whether or not you would tell your father to take your dress to have it fixed so the straps wouldn't fall the thought of him becoming disappointed lingered.

~

The car came to a stop after a short three-hour car ride to the east of the city. You held onto your father's seat since the car sometimes jerked when stopping. "Where are we?" You asked your father while slipping off your seat as the driver opened the door for you. From the corner of your (E/C) eyes, you could have sworn someone was watching you as the wooden badge color door invited your father and you inside. There was one detail you could most definitely remember; is pipes of ink as you walked.

"Joey Drew. Please excuse me for being early." Your father spoke properly to a man who walked up to them wearing a blue button-up shirt and tan pants. He seemed a little on the skinny side but that was just since you were young and still haven't learned that it's not nice to judge people by the way they look. You looked down at your shoes before feeling Joey's eyes on you. It was not a nice feeling.

"Who is this little girl?" Joey asked your father. Not realizing until you felt his hand brush yours did you see that you were holding his hand. "This is my daughter. She is the one I have been telling you about." You replied. Joey noticed how tensed up and your face turned a light shade of pink. "She is adorable," Joey commented before placing a hand on the back of your father before they disappeared behind the corner wall.

Knowing your father would never agree to you eavesdropping on his and his friend's conversation but being the five-year-old who wanted to explore somewhere new you could not help yourself.