Chapter Text
The sanctuary looks unassuming from the outside; a large, nondescript building on the outskirts of town, beige paint chipping off of gray cinder-block walls, separated from the road by a small parking lot. The sign over the door reads “Dearheart Living Doll Sanctuary” in a soft, looping script font that looks out of place on the otherwise industrial facade. Closer to the road, there’s a cheap A-frame changeable sign. You’ve driven past here a few times, and each time the sign has had a different cheesy doll-related joke or saying on it. The only exception was one time, close to the holidays, when it was just an open plea for donations.
This is the first time you’ve actually stopped here, although you’ve thought about it many, many times. The welcome mat in front of the door, which was unreadable from the road, turns out to have “Yay! You’re here!” written on it.
The room you enter into is cramped, housing a front desk with an outdated computer setup. There’s a tall filing cabinet behind it, and a big, boxy printer-scanner. Above the printer-scanner, there’s a whiteboard with what looks like a daily schedule written on it in neat, careful letters. Off to the side, written bigger than anything else, is “CHECK ECLIPSE ROOM EVERY 30 MINS.”
There’s no one at the desk. There is a bell labeled “Ring the bell if I’m not here!” but you’re more interested in the open door that leads into the main area. It’s warm and colorful and a little overwhelming. There’s the sound of multiple people murmuring at once. There are dolls. There are living dolls. Right there in front of you. You’ve seen them in person a few times before, but not often, and never more than one at a time.
It looks like the majority of the space in the building was given to this room, and you can see why they might not have had much money left over to fix up the outside. The closest familiar point of comparison is that it’s like a very, very large living room or playroom.
A rainbow-colored cat is curled up on a sunshine-yellow pouf ottoman. A big blue teddy bear, a rag doll, and something that kind of looks like a bigfoot are perusing a huge shelf full of board games and whispering to each other.
Two humans are seated at a wooden table across from a bipedal rabbit and a very soft looking pastel-purple horse, both of which are about the size of small children. The four of them are playing a card game together, and the horse has a wooden card holder in front of it. It nudges one of the cards with its nose, and the rabbit sets that one face-up on the table.
The most precious tiny little round elephant you’ve ever seen is sitting on a colorful braided rug and using its trunk to hold a stylus. It’s playing a game on a tablet, accompanied by a human lying on his front next to it. A big, square-shouldered guy with cropped blond hair. He looks like someone you’d run into at the local gym if you ever went.
There are quite a few indoor tents scattered around, some of which are closed. At the back of the main room, there’s a door with a sign that says “Quiet Room” on it.
“Excuse me,” you say, after spending probably too long just watching.
All of the humans and most of the dolls look at you. The little group apparently trying to select a board game remains engrossed in their private conversation.
“Hi there!” says one of the humans involved in the card game. She’s a tall, broad woman with long graying hair that fans out in untidy waves around her shoulders. The younger woman sitting beside her glances at you and offers a shy smile, but she doesn’t say anything and turns quickly back to the game. The man on the floor gives you a warm grin but is clearly in the middle of something important.
The woman who greeted you excuses herself from the game with a few apologies and strides over to you. She has a name tag that says “Diane” on it, the “i” dotted with a little heart. “Welcome to Dearheart Doll Sanctuary! I haven’t seen you here before. Is this your first visit?”
For a moment, you’re paralyzed by how overwhelmingly friendly her voice sounds. “Yeah, I haven’t been here before.” You introduce yourself to her, and she tells you her own name, despite the nametag.
“Is there anything I can help you with, or do you just want to visit?”
“I, I’m here to… I’m hoping to adopt,” you haltingly explain, not sure how much you should commit to the idea before meeting the dolls.
Her face, which you thought was already lit up, lights up even more. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”
She has questions for you now. No, you don’t have roommates or a spouse or partner or family living with you. No, you don’t have any pets. No, you don’t already have one or more living dolls. No, you don’t find any types of dolls especially frightening.
“Well, you sound like a great candidate to me! Why don’t I introduce you to some of our residents? I’m sure you’ll make a friend in no time!”
As Diane introduces you to different dolls, she gives you space to talk to them and get to know them yourself, but she hovers nearby almost the entire time, only leaving the room briefly a few times. Not all of the dolls want to socialize, but quite a few seem to be up for it.
The rabbit, gray and fluffy. The fur on his paws is patchy in a way that makes you think of how an anxious dog will lick a certain spot until no fur is left. It looks like the rabbit has been wringing his hands over and over. You try not to stare too hard, but looking a little more carefully, you can see peach fuzz where it’s starting to heal. He’s shy and nervous but has a surprisingly wry sense of humor.
The rag doll has a soft, scratchy voice and seems to be in good health and good spirits. She talks to (and about) everyone at the sanctuary, dolls and staff alike, as if she’s been friends with them forever. You start to wonder how long she’s been here, but she talks to you the same way after a few minutes, so it’s impossible to tell. She’s the first to excuse herself and retreat to the quiet room.
The big blue teddy bear has one black glass eye and one button eye. From what you’ve read while researching, it seems likely that the button eye was a repair done so long before he came alive that it became part of him in his person’s mind. A feature completely unique to him, no matter how many teddy bears just like him were made, given to him by someone he’ll never see again. He doesn’t say a word except to whisper to the rag doll a couple times, but his laugh comes easily and is infectious.
The bigfoot, the horse, another rag doll who eventually comes out from his tent. Every doll you meet is lovely and you’re sure you could get along with them fine, but you don’t feel a connection to any of them.
Maybe it was a mistake to come here. You don’t know why you thought you could do this. Verifiable success stories of living dolls being re-homed are impossibly rare, a miracle every time it happens. You feel exhausted by the time Diane asks you to come to the front desk with her.
She shuts the door that leads to the main room. “What do you think?” she asks. From the sympathetic look on her face, you think she knows what you’re going to say.
“I don’t think I can do this.”
“There’s no pressure to take anyone home! Plenty of people just stop by for visits.”
“I— The dolls are all very nice, I liked everyone a lot! But I… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
She gives you a small smile. “Hon, you only just met them, don’t give up yet! Anyway, I have one more doll I want you to introduce you to, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Wonderful! Before you meet him, I want to warn you, he’s…” She frowns as she searches for the right words. “Eclipse has been through a lot. I’ll let him decide how much he wants to share, but I can tell you that he’s badly injured and there’s just a bit of a lingering smoke smell. Will that be a problem for you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good, good! Please don’t say anything about the smell in front of him, okay? It’s a sore spot.” Diane leads you to a small hallway in an area that feels like a back room, where you’d expect to find storage or utilities. The hallway itself is being used for storage, judging by the stacks of plastic totes and cardboard boxes. Diane shows you to a door with a sheet of printer paper stuck to it, laminated with what looks like strips of clear packing tape. It reads “Eclipse’s Room” in permanent marker. Whoever wrote it added a few stars around the words, and it does make it seem just a tiny, tiny bit less depressing than it might otherwise.
Diane seems to notice you taking in the scenery, such as it is. “I know this looks bad,” she whispers. “It’s because of the smell. We don’t have much in the way of private rooms, and we can’t keep him with the others. The dolls wouldn’t notice — they can’t smell a thing — but visiting humans sure would. Anyway, you ready?”
You nod.
She knocks on the door in warning, then cracks it open to peer in. “Eclipse, baby? Someone is here to see you.”
When she opens the door properly, you do smell smoke. It’s not overpowering, but it’s present. It’s clear that effort has been put into decorating the room, making it cozier — there’s a rug, a fake plant, a small quilt hanging on the wall like a tapestry, a colorful goose-neck lamp — but it feels haphazard. The main feature of the room is what looks like an old hospital cot.
A doll lays there, covering as much of his face as he can with one arm, leaving only a single red eye visible. Most of his body is hidden under a blanket, but you can see a little bit of the ruff around his neck, and his big, puffy sleeves are each a different color. They’re so dirty that it’s hard to tell what the colors actually are, but you can tell that they don’t match. The arm that isn’t over his face is draped around an object, half-hidden under the blanket. You didn't recognize it at first, but now realize what it is — a conical hat, pale blue with gold ribbon wrapped around it.
“This is Eclipse,” Diane says to you.
“Hello,” he says. His voice is slightly muffled behind his sleeve, but it sounds soft and gentle.
“Can you put your arm down, honey?” Diane asks, nearly as gentle herself.
Eclipse’s visible eye darts to the side. “Oh, I… I don’t think they want to see that.” There’s a self-deprecating laugh in his voice.
“Please?” Diane presses.
It takes him another moment of deliberation before he lowers his arm.
It’s obvious now that he’s a porcelain jester. His face is white on one side, but on the side you had a glimpse of before, it’s painted matte black, creating the shape of a crescent moon. He has shiny gold spikes around his head, half-hidden in his messy black hair. They look like sun rays.
Several of those rays, however, are broken off at the ends, leaving behind surfaces of rough unglazed ceramic. Open wounds. There’s a similar patch of missing glaze in the middle of his face where it looks like the tip of his nose would’ve been originally. The crescent-moon side of his face has a horrible fissure, a crack that runs from his forehead to his jaw, splitting his right eye in half. That eye is pale yellow and has a glazed-over, milky look to it.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is still soft and gentle, and he’s giving you a tiny smile. “I’m a bit of a mess right now.”
Porcelain dolls aren’t something you’ve specifically looked into much, but from what you do know, it’s incredible that he’s keeping his voice so calm and level. He’s smiling. You can’t even begin to imagine how much pain he’s in, and he seems to be trying to make sure that you aren’t uncomfortable.
“That’s alright,” you tell him. “I’m… I’m so sorry you’re going through this. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” You think he’s beautiful, but you aren’t sure if this is the right time to say it.
“Please don’t worry about me! Everyone here is taking great care of me! I’m going to be just fine.”
“That’s good.”
He nods, and the motion makes him wince.
Diane is still there. What if you say the wrong thing? You’re already enchanted with Eclipse’s calm, cheerful demeanor. You don’t want to mess up. The silence is making you uncomfortable. What if you’ve already made a mistake with him? What if—
“Have you met the others?” Eclipse asks brightly. “The other dolls?”
“I have, yeah. They all seem really nice.”
“They are! I don’t get to see them very often, but I remember meeting some of them when I came in, and everyone was…” He trails off. “Well, everyone was a little scared at first,” he admits, still smiling. “But I understand! Once they got over the shock they were all very kind and welcoming.”
“Scared? Why?”
For a moment he just stares at you. Then, he gives a quiet laugh and gestures at his face. “Just the obvious reason.”
“You don’t look scary to me,” you tell him.
Your serious tone seems to catch him off guard, and he takes a second to decide how to respond. “Well, that’s, that’s very kind of you to say! Thank you. Oh, but I was going to ask you what you thought of everyone! Did you get along with them?”
You let him change the subject. “Yeah, I had fun talking and playing with them.”
“I’m so glad! Are you just visiting, or are you looking for someone to take home?”
“I… I’m hoping to find someone to take home.”
“Oh! That’s so, so good to hear! The other dolls all really deserve good homes! Do you have anyone in mind? Or anyone you'd like to get to know better?” He seems earnestly excited about the idea.
“Well, I— I was thinking—“ You can’t bring yourself to outright ask him. “How do you think we’re getting along? The two of us?”
“What do you mean? I think we’re getting along well! I’m glad to have been able to meet you. Why do you— Oh!” He gives a startled laugh. “Me?”
You'd be embarrassed if he didn't seem so flattered. “Only if you want.”
“It’s so, so sweet of you to offer, thank you so much! But I don’t need a new home. I’m just staying here until I’m... Until I get better. Then my person will be back to pick me up. You’ll give the others a chance, won’t you? I’m sure you’ll find someone you really like!”
“Eclipse, honey, can you excuse us for just a second?” Diane says.
It’s brief, but you catch a glimpse of distress in his expression before it flattens back into something pleasant and neutral.
“We’re not talking about anything bad,” Diane reassures him. “Okay?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” He smiles, like nothing happened.
Diane ushers you out of the room and carefully shuts the door before walking you to the other end of the hall.
“I’m so sorry.” She gives a weary sigh. “I should’ve warned you. I was hoping it wouldn’t come up the first time you met him.”
“His person…?”
“His person isn’t coming back. She left him here to be… Well, she didn’t want him to suffer anymore.”
Diane pauses, giving you time to speak. You don’t. You don’t know what to say.
“After she left, he told us he didn’t want that, so of course we didn’t go through with it. But that’s how he ended up here. He’s just… He’s confused.”
“I see.” You feel numb. You can’t imagine ever, ever giving up on someone like that, someone who completely relies on you.
“With that in mind, would you still be interested in potentially taking him in, if he likes the idea? We’d provide as much support as we can, and you don’t have to decide right now!” she rushes to add. “He’s difficult for us to manage along with everyone else, but we all think he could really do well with someone able to spend more time with him!”
You want to take him home right now. “I’m still interested, yeah.”
“Wonderful! Now, the thing is… The thing is, we’ve already explained to him that his person isn’t going to come back. Gently, of course, but we have tried to tell him. It’s like he doesn’t hear us.”
“Oh.”
“If you’d be comfortable with presenting it to him as something more like fostering, I think he’d take to it a lot better.”
“I… don’t know. I don’t want to have to lie to him.”
She gives you a sad smile. “Think of it this way. In theory, we would still get in touch with you if his person came back looking for him. It’s just that she won’t.”
You still hesitate.
“I don’t like it either,” Diane admits, “but, hon, we don’t know how much longer he’ll make it like this.”
* * *
“Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” Diane calls into the room before the door is open all the way.
“Hello again!” Eclipse has managed to prop himself up on his pillows so that he can look at you more easily. He’s holding the covers up over his chest. “Of course, Diane, I didn’t doubt you for a second.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, as if he thinks it’s silly of her to worry about him so much.
“Eclipse, how would you feel about a foster home?”
He tilts his head inquisitively, like a puppy. The edge of a broken ray grazes the pillow behind his head and he lurches forward with a gasp of pain, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth faster than he should have. You hear the sharp clink of porcelain-on-porcelain and a muffled, closed-mouth cry. His eyes are scrunched closed. Diane sucks in air through her teeth.
Eclipse opens his eyes. “Gosh, sorry!” he says with a laugh. “I can’t believe I did that, I’m so sorry. That was very silly of me. Oh, no, don’t—! Don’t be upset! It did hurt a little but I’m fine now!”
You try to look like you aren’t upset, but it’s difficult.
“Anyway! What were you saying? I’m sorry. Foster home?”
“Our friend here is interested in taking care of you, to help you get better.”
“Wh— Really? Please don’t feel like you have to! I don’t mind staying here!”
“No! No, I want to.” You try not to sound as frantic as you feel. You can’t leave him here.
“I think you’d really benefit from the dedicated care,” Diane tells him. “We all love you here, honey, but you’d get better so much faster if you lived with someone who can devote more time to you.”
“Gosh,” he says with a little laugh. “I’d be blushing if I could.” Despite the lightness of his voice, his brow is pinched. His eyes move to look at you. “Do you really want that? You’re sure? I’m not really… I mean, I don’t…” He trails off, looking uncertain.
“Yes, I’m sure. I would love to help you get better, Eclipse.”
“I, I don’t know what to say.” He’s smiling again. “If that’s what everyone thinks is best, I’d be very grateful. But…” He pauses, thinking. “But, you know I can’t do much, right? I won’t be very entertaining to have around.”
“You don’t have to do anything. I don’t mind,” you say, desperate. “Just let me take care of you. Please.”
“Oh.” He moves as if to bashfully turn his face away, bumps one of his rays on the pillow again, and makes a strangled noise of pain and frustration. “I need to stop doing that,” he says with a strained laugh.