#this skirt is one of my favorites because i think its just some random handmade thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

Red

I always loved the color red.

A color of such passion and ferocity, yet so beautiful and warm. Many of my creations incorporates this sinful color into its main attributes. Whether it’s woven into the clothing material or its stroked through the hair, it always brings life and beauty to the lifeless and ugly.

My latest creation will easily be my greatest masterpiece. But the process before finding the perfect canvas is a tricky one.

I waited for a good month before deciding on the right medium. I watched from the nearby café as the walking dolls strolled down the road in their finest corsets and dresses, their skirts blowing gently in the breeze. Most had their dark and unnoticeable hair tucked into their bonnets and hats, but one of my choices was different. She had long gold hair that seemed to catch the sun’s rays every time she moved. Her outer skin was a cream color with small lips and big eyes.

She would make a beautiful piece in my collection.

My eyes following her as an audience would watch a puppet show, I carefully stood, and tipped my top hat just so. I strolled across the street; once coming across the creature, I stopped and bowed just slighty.

“My lady,” I began. “I couldn’t help but to notice the lovely trim of your dress.”

The woman smiled largely and folded her arms behind her back as to give a better view. “Oh, are you a tailor?” She asked innocently.

“Something of the sorts.” I said slowly, taking note of her breast size; not too large, but that can always be altered.

“It is made by Geodori d’Over. He is from France. He is the latest thing in London.” She kept smiling at me with a strange hint of infatuation. How easily humans fell for the opposite sex. Though she is at the tender age of young womanhood, no older than twenty one I would suppose.

I could use this to my advantage.

“Miss, if I may?” I started, as I watched her other gal friend’s watch, clearly interested in the show. “I have a small little shop around the corner with the most beautiful dresses, created myself. Would you care to stop by sometime to have a look see?” I gave a small smile to show my interest in her.

She seemed skeptical. “Oh, I don’t know… my father-.”

“I could make you a dress of your own. It would be completely original.” I stepped closer. The closeness of characters gives a feel of intimacy to them; make it big for the whole audience to see.

With a quick blush to the cheeks she grinned back. “Of course I will stop by.” She stared into my cold eyes, her own sparkling. I bowed to her slightly, watching her. Then with a quick turn I headed down the street.

I needed to hurry, I had to prepare for the show tonight.

* * *

“Hello?” the young girl called. She had opened the shops door to see a small dark room with only a few candles for lightning. She looked around, feeling dazed by the sight.

Along the walls were hundreds of handmade dolls, all wearing a unique dresses and some fairly large, nearly life sized. But all of them had a red ornament or material of some sort. A dark red, like the color of blood. One of them caught her eyes: a pale doll with large blue eyes and curled red hair. Her hair was darker than most red heads she had ever encountered, but it was beautiful none the less. But something about it seemed familiar; she reached up a finger to touch the flowing hair.

“Do you like what you see” I said quietly. The girl jumped and whipped her head in my direction.

“Oh, you startled me.” She said meekly. I stared at her, mentally measuring her.

“I am glad you decided to visit my little stage.” I murmured. She cocked an eyebrow.

“Stage?” Her hair was especially beautiful tonight.

“Yes, a stage. You see,” I said, gently lifting one of the dolls arms to reveal strings attached to the wrists and ankles. “These are my puppets, and I present them to the world on this stage.” I waved my hand to the rest of the dolls. She looked around in amazement.

“Did you make all of these?”

“Yes. Every piece I created with my own hands.” I said, setting the doll down and examining its dress. “Every dress, every strain of hair, every color.”

“You’re quite the artist sir.” I turned to her, taking a chance.

“Would you like to see the workshop?” She turned away from the red haired doll and smiled brightly.

“Yes, of course!” She was excited. She should be, for the show soon to come.

“It is right in the back. Please follow me.” I grabbed the nearest candle and began to descend to the back. She followed suit without question. Either the girl was clearly interested or rather stupid, because she never questioned the distance to the workshop. But she was beautiful, and I was eager to begin. She would make a fine creation.

We traveled to the back, where we saw the hallway. I could feel her tension begin to rise, but I continued forward knowing I was approaching the backstage.

“How far away is the workshop sir?” She muttered, as to not disturb the heavy silence.

“Not too far. I keep it down under the earth to preserve the paints.” I said, not turning away from the dark hallway.

Then we came to the large door. The girl peeked her head around me and watched the door as I turned the knob, revealing the dark room.

“Please, enter.” I said with a genuine smile. She smiled to me, and cautiously stepped in.

“It sure is dark in here.” She said. With a gentle close of the door. I stepped behind her and put down the candle.

“Here, how about some light?” I said, lighting another candle. The light filled the room, illuminating the benches with spare doll pieces and random pieces of material. I walked over to the nearest shelf where a music box laid and I lifted the lid, allowing the sound of small bells to fill the room. The girl looked at me with light amusement, and continued to look around. Then her eyes fell onto the main work bench at the end of the room. It was large and had straps on it. And dark stains that spilled onto the floor.

Not quite understanding, she turned to me, who was beginning to pull out my tool box. “Why do you have straps on that table?”

“Sometimes my puppets are hard to control.” I said pulling out my favorite knife, the one with a saw tooth towards the end. “So they must be restrained as to not ruin their bodies.” And I started humming along to the piece. The girl stared awestruck at the knife and back to the stained restraint table. And with a gasp, it finally clicked. She flew to the door but found it locked shut.

She started to bang on it and scream for help. How silly of her. Didn’t she know that no one could hear her from down here? Humans are so dense sometimes.

While I cleaned the knife, listening to her cry for someone who would never come, I set it down parallel to my other supplies and took off my top hat.

“Please, try to stay calm.” I said, grabbing her harshly by her shoulders and dragging her back. She squirmed and screamed, but I ignored her.

Eventually you will learn to get used to it son.

She threw herself to the ground, taking me down with her. She clawed at my face, until I released her and scrambled to the door again. I sighed, knowing I had a tough one this time. She might be stupid, but she was stubborn. Why were humans so stubborn?

With a few steps, I grabbed her by her beautiful hair and yanked back. She cried aloud again holding onto her hair as I dragged her back to the table, where I grabbed her under her arms and slammed her onto the table.

Try not to struggle boy.

Daddy I don’t want to wear this dress, this is Stefanie’s….

The girl screamed as I pinned her fragile wrist to her sides, and stretched the leather straps over them. Her once beautiful hair was now in strands, and laid all around her. Once he finished the straps on her ankles, he gently pulled her boots off.

Breathing heavily, she looked up as far as she could and saw a horrifying sight in the far corner. A young girl about her age, but she was frozen. Her mouth was closed, and blood red paint covered the now pale lips. Her eyes now had glass ones in its place, giving her an appearance of her staring at you. The girl inhaled sharply, causing me to follow her stare.

“Oh, that is Miss Emily. Isn’t she gorgeous?” I said, occupied with getting my material together. The girl frantically looked around, tugging on her restraints.

“Why are you doing this? Please just let me go!” She cried desperately.

Daddy please stop! Please I don’t want to play anymore-

I don’t care what you think, you whore.

Daddy please!

“Please stop… look, my father is rich.. he can pay you any amount you want...” the girl continued to cry, as I approached her. Tears now streaming down her delicate cheeks, charcoal dripping over her pale skin. I stopped and watched her. Raising a finger, I gently wiped away a tear and leaned in close.

“Don’t worry….” I whispered.

…it’ll all be over soon.

Her eyes grew wide when she saw me pull out a red scarf, and placed it over her mouth. She screamed louder, but it was muffled when I pulled the scarf tighter. Then, with a small smile, I raised the knife to her throat. Her eyes now bugging out of their sockets, she screamed more.

You look so pretty in that dress.

“You look so pretty in that dress.” I whispered, and with a quick flick of the wrist, I released the waterfall. So theatrical, so fierce, the blood flowed from her pretty neck onto her French designed dress. Her muffled screams turned to gurgles as the blood began to spill to the already stained floor. I raised a finger to put it under the flowing faucet, allowing the warm liquid to run over them.

Daddy please stop… it hurts. Daddy please.

I watched as she desperately tried to stay alive, but her performance wasn’t enough. With a last cough, her eyes rolled back into her skull and her head rolled to the side.

Once the blood had been mostly drained, I moved onto removing the now ruined dress. Gently taking the knife, and pushing it into the thick material, I sliced it down to the corset, and slid it down to her waist. Then ripping the dress apart, I exposed her pale body. I peeled back the dress and threw it to the ground; it was a cheap costume anyway.

Now don’t tell your mother about this got it?

Ok daddy….

This is our secret.

Yes father….

I walked over to the sink and filled a bucket of sudsy water. Remembering I still had the music box on, I began to hum along as the bucket filled. I brought the bucket over to the unfinished doll, and pranced a little to the frilly part of the song.

The little boy loved to play piano. He was rather good, but he has his father knack for creating puppets, his mother would always gloat to the neighbor women.

Grabbing the glass jar of embalming fluid, I walked over to the doll and began to work, cleaning it off gently with a sponge.

So Michael, tell me what your favorite color is?

My favorite color is red, daddy.

Why is that son?

Because that’s the color you always use on the puppets.

Once the doll was cleaned, I grabbed a needle and thread from one of the drawers.

“A pretty girl always keeps her mouth closed.” I said, as I threaded the string through the needle. “At least that is what my father always told me.” And with a quick adjustment of her head, I stuck the needle into the bottom of her lip.

The boy’s mother walked in to find the boy wiping something red off of his lips.

What is this? She asked frantically, trying to wipe it off for him.

The boy said nothing, for he could not talk without his puppet master to guide him.

Her pale lips now together, gave her a look of skepticism, like when she entered the shop. I then turned my attention to her eyes, now wide, reflecting the earth ceiling above her. They were quite beautiful, but like anything, beauty erodes away.

But glass doesn’t.

I held up a scalpel and plunged into their dark abysses.

Come here son, the boy’s father said, and the boy came automatically.

Look at this puppets hair. What do you notice about it?

It is red father.

Exactly, do you know how I get it this color? The boy shook his head.

The father smiled.

Her eyes now glass orbs, I smiled at my work. But her hair was the wrong color. Her blonde strands were lovely, but not fitting for such an occasion. I grabbed the bucket off of the floor that was collecting the flowing blood and placed it under her hair. Then adding a chemical, I mixed it together. I lifted her hair and dropped it slowly into the mixture. I began running my fingers through her strands, bringing the red chemical further up into her scalp.

Where did you find this blood father?

The father had a faraway look in his eyes, and looked into the corner where a crumpled body laid, blood staining the white dress, her red hair sticking to her neck.

Your mother never looked so beautiful, Michael.

After hours of labor, my master piece was complete. My puppet was propped up against the wall, wearing a white dress with her hands crossed in her lap. Her eyes stared blankly at him, her face calm and still, but beautiful. Her lips were now painted red, still held a straight line. And her once gold hair was now a dark red, the perfect shade. She was beautiful, father would be proud.

I sat for a while, taking in my work. I stepped up and walked towards her and gently tilted her chin up towards me and touching my lips to her cold ones.

“Let the show begin.”

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