[ she’s being either vague or that humor does not match the face she wears to say it. further into the place they go, and once they get closer to the hut, what’s beyond it is enough to make annie freeze in the process.
her face strains to stay the same, because this is a place familiar to her, at least now: there’s an open field that acts as the hut’s front yard, and scattered are various handmade dummies propped up with wooden logs digging into the ground. some of these dummies are wood infect, nothing of those hay filled cushions.
these things were hard. in the middle of it all is a porceline looking doll with clay features, that of an older man in front of a smaller doll figure. the little thing is tiny, but her clay hair is meant to imitate the way annie pins gets up to this day.
what’re you doing?! don’t stop!! croaks out a harsh demand from the creaking old man’s doll. it’s not encouragement. it’s an order. i didn’t tell you to stop!!
the girl’s little doll imitates doubling over, trembling like a bamboo stick as her gasps sound too eerily real. some of the clay from her face melts, dripping on the floor as she heaves and grips her legs. she doesn’t say a thing because she can’t breathe and everything’s going hazy—]
no subject
[ she’s being either vague or that humor does not match the face she wears to say it. further into the place they go, and once they get closer to the hut, what’s beyond it is enough to make annie freeze in the process.
her face strains to stay the same, because this is a place familiar to her, at least now: there’s an open field that acts as the hut’s front yard, and scattered are various handmade dummies propped up with wooden logs digging into the ground. some of these dummies are wood infect, nothing of those hay filled cushions.
these things were hard. in the middle of it all is a porceline looking doll with clay features, that of an older man in front of a smaller doll figure. the little thing is tiny, but her clay hair is meant to imitate the way annie pins gets up to this day.
what’re you doing?! don’t stop!! croaks out a harsh demand from the creaking old man’s doll. it’s not encouragement. it’s an order. i didn’t tell you to stop!!
the girl’s little doll imitates doubling over, trembling like a bamboo stick as her gasps sound too eerily real. some of the clay from her face melts, dripping on the floor as she heaves and grips her legs. she doesn’t say a thing because she can’t breathe and everything’s going hazy—]