Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Ah, a song echoes from afar.
High and high above—the fragile voice of a young child fell from the heavens, like stray fragments of weeping light.
Hello, Maria. Blessed art thou, Maria. Full of grace. The Lord is with thee. It was a hymn of prayer to the Holy Mother.
They say that mankind was moulded from the dust of the earth, receiving the breath of life from God. For this doll, it was this very song that breathed life into her silent frame.
Slowly, her earthen head was released from its mould, and the doll knew she had been born.
As her porcelain skin was polished with tender care, a quiet joy filled her heart. Her complexion had become so wonderfully smooth.
Then came the fire. As she was baked in the kiln, she felt the trembling certainty of her own existence.
Eyelashes, lips, and the softest blush were painted onto her face. Baked once more, the colours melted into her skin, becoming one with her.
Finally, when her deep blue glass eyes were set, the doll was at last able to behold the world around her.
The human who had fashioned her was an old man, creased with countless wrinkles, possessing a long, snow-white beard and hair to match.
He handled the doll with such exquisite gentleness, such boundless devotion, that she fell deeply in love with his kind hands.
Suddenly, a strange weight was attached to her head, startling her.
It was a wondrous sensation, as if the boundaries of her awareness were expanding outward.
Ah, yes. This is my torso. These are my arms. These are my legs. She was crowned with a wig of golden, fluffy hair.
Dressed in a gown of fine silk and slipped into soft slippers, she felt herself placed gently upon the workbench, her velvet skirt fluttering like a settling butterfly.
“Wonderful! Oh, Grandfather, it’s magical! She looks just like a real princess!”
A young girl was staring at the doll, her eyes widened so roundly it seemed they might drop.
She was a stark contrast to the beautifully adorned doll. While the doll’s cheeks bloomed with the pink of a fresh rose, the girl’s face was pale and hollow, and her clothes were stained and worn.
“I shall sing for you, my princess.”
From the girl’s lips spilt a melody—clumsy, yet breathtakingly beautiful.
It was a voice like liquid starlight, soaring high into the rafters.
(So, it was you who sang that song…) The doll knew then, with absolute certainty, who had called her into wakefulness.
(To be continued)
[About the Theme]
This story deals with "real" and "fake" dolls.
I have deep respect for the tradition of "reproduction" bisque dolls that honour antique originals.
The "fakes" in this work are portrayed as malicious imitations and should not be confused with legitimate, respectful reproductions.
